Hiding Her Identity: The Wilford Wolf

The jarring sound of the alarm clock was abruptly silenced as it met with an unintended forceful blow. The remnants of the timepiece were scattered across my bedside cabinet and floor, a stark reminder of my latent strength. I sat up reluctantly, dismissing the covers off the bed. Monday mornings, truly a universal dislike, weren't they?

Trying to clear my foggy mind, I looked as lively as a zombie. I managed to drag myself out of bed, shower, blow-dry my hair, and brush my teeth. I threw on my day's clothing—baggy jeans, an oversized top, a loose jumper, and trainers. My hair was twisted into a neat bun and minimal make-up applied. I gazed into the mirror at my reflection.

The sight was disheartening. An eighteen-year-old girl, whose once sparkling eyes were now dull grey and lackluster. The baggy clothing concealed her fit and attractive figure. This was me—the girl lost within her own attire. This camouflage was my protection for the past four years, marking me distinct from the rest of the pack and subjecting me to ridicule. Underneath the light makeup, the remnants of a black eye from a locker slam incident were still barely visible.

Isn't my life a ball of joy?

Grabbing my pre-packed school bag, I descended the stairs, dropping the bag near the front door. My breakfast awaited me on the kitchen table, a bowl of cereal paired with a cup of tea. As I began eating, my mum entered the kitchen, greeting me with a warm hug.

"Happy Birthday!" she beamed.

I had entirely forgotten. Today marked my eighteenth birthday—four years since my life took a turn for the worse as a Wilford Wolf. Without a mate, despite our strength, speed, and intellect, we are potential prey for rogue werewolves who bear an intense grudge against our kind. I say "we", even though I'm the only one. The only ones in the know are my parents and our pack's Alpha.

"Thanks, mum," I managed to mutter, my voice devoid of cheer.

"Darling, please try to lighten up. It's your birthday, and I can't bear seeing you unhappy," my mum implored.

"I'm sorry," I replied, "Where's dad?"

"He's meeting with the Alpha. They had some business to discuss," she answered.

She handed me a birthday card with £100 tucked inside. I thanked her, glancing at the time and realising I needed to leave. Raindrops were falling outside, so I slipped on my raincoat and shoes, slinging my bag over my shoulders. I stepped into the rain, pulled the hood over my head, and set off to school.

I was prepared for an onslaught of teasing today. As per common knowledge, I was yet to shift, two years overdue, and was treated poorly for this delay. As I was halfway to school, the rain intensified, creating puddles alongside the road. The rhythmic sound of the droplets hitting the pavement filled the air as I kept my head low to shield my face from the rain.

Just as things seemed to be routine, they worsened. A massive puddle lay beside the pavement as I heard a car accelerating from behind. The driver honked, causing me to turn just in time to see the car splashing into the puddle, drenching me in water. I recognised Griffin's car as he sped away. The Alpha's son, the main instigator, was the reason for my widespread ostracisation.

I sighed, shivering in the cold March weather of England. I continued to school, now even more of a spectacle. The entire school, exclusive to my pack, was well aware of my predicament. The laughter and sneakers filled the air as I hurried inside.

The familiar chorus of taunts, the stinging insults, the hateful comments echoed around me. The torment they inflicted was profound, yet I never allowed my emotions to surface. Despite the pain, my emotions remained locked away. I recalled a time when these hallways were friendly, when greetings were exchanged instead of harsh words, a time when popularity wasn't dictated by the Alpha and his followers. Those days were a distant memory.

Upon reaching my locker, I quickly unloaded the books I didn't need for my upcoming classes. With a sigh, I locked the locker and was about to pick up my bag from the ground when I felt a sudden, brutal force. A hand gripped my hair and my head was slammed against the locker, leaving a small dent and a spray of blood across the locker door. I crumpled to my knees, clutching my throbbing head. Griffin and Lewis' laughter echoed in the hallway as they left me alone.

"Just perfect," I muttered to myself.

Although my wound would heal in a few minutes, to maintain the facade of being an omega, it had to seem as though it would take at least a day to heal. I swiftly grabbed my bag and dashed into an often-empty girls' bathroom. I secured the door behind me, tossed my bag onto a cabinet, and examined my reflection. There was a cut just above my left eyebrow.

Rummaging through my bag, I pulled out my make-up kit, which now doubled as a first-aid kit. I was no stranger to this routine. I meticulously cleaned the blood from my face and around the cut. I disinfected the area and could already see it starting to heal. Unfortunately, that meant skipping my first-period class to allow the healing process to complete before reapplying a false wound with make-up.

With a sigh, I reflected on my birthday morning - already injured, and I doubted they even remembered my birthday. I slumped down next to a sink. Why was my life so complicated? Why had the Moon Goddess selected me for this unique path? Why was I different?

Hunched over my schoolwork, I found myself gnawing on my pen as I drafted a history essay about Nazi Germany.

"The Treaty of Versailles spurred the rise of the Nazi Party due to German resentment towards the democratic government..." I murmured, forming my conclusion.

History was a subject I enjoyed. Noticing it was five minutes before the end of the period, I hastily packed my things. The cut was fully healed, so I got to work creating a realistic-looking injury, concealing yesterday's bruise and adding a couple of butterfly stitches. Why was I allowing this? Why was I letting them treat me like this?