The Alpha’s Pen Pal

Dear Pen pal, Hello.

My name is Wesley. I am 12 years old, and I am in 6th grade at Crescent Lake Elementary in Northern California.

I'll be honest, I am only writing this letter because my teacher said we have to. She said if we don't, we'll get an F, and I am not about to fail an assignment and ruin my track record of perfect grades. Plus, my dad would probably ground me or something.

Anyway, I don't really want a pen pal. I have friends here at school already, so why would I need to make friends with somebody who doesn't even live here, someone who I'll never actually meet?

So, yeah. That's really all I feel like I need to say to you. There's no point in telling you anything else about myself, since it's not like we'll continue to write to each other, or meet each other, or anything like that.

I hope you don't take this the wrong way. It's nothing against you. Like I said, I don't even know you. You're probably a really nice person, and I'm sure that you, just like me, have plenty of friends at your school, and don't need a friend who lives hundreds of miles away in a different state.

Thanks for letting me write you this letter so I can get an A.

Sincerely, Wesley Stone

WESLEY POV

"All right, class, make sure you address your envelopes the way I demonstrated on the board, and be sure to seal them properly before you leave them on my desk. I plan to put them in the mail to Colorado today after school, so hopefully by next week you will have an answer back from your pen pal! Now please, pack up your bags, and line up at the door in a single file line so we can head out to dismissal for today. Don't forget to put your letters on my desk!"

I rolled my eyes at Mrs. Appleton's words, exchanging an annoyed look with my best friend, Reid Thomas. He was just as unenthusiastic about this assignment as I was, but I knew I had to turn mine in. Otherwise, my dad, Alpha Harrison Stone, would make me run extra laps and do extra push-ups and sit-ups at training.

He had high expectations and standards for my brother and me. Well, mostly me, since I would be the alpha of our pack someday.

"What did you write?" Reid whispered to me while we both made our way down the aisles to drop our letters off on top of Mrs. Appleton's desk.

I shrugged. "I told whoever they are that I only wrote them because my dad would kill me if I got an F on an assignment that is as easy as writing a letter to a random person in another state."

Reid followed me back through the rows of desks to the back of the room, where we kept our backpacks. My black bag and his gray bag hung next to each other on the hooks below our names.

Even though we were 6th graders, Mrs. Appleton liked to keep her classroom set up the same as all the primary grade classrooms. Alphabetized everything: seats, backpacks, book boxes, even our line when we left for recess and lunch. It was a little childish, but I was not the teacher, so I tried not to complain. Often.

"I told mine to never write to me again," Reid explained, throwing his backpack over one shoulder and placing his baseball cap backwards on his head.

Hats weren't allowed inside, but somehow Reid always got away with wearing it. He would just flash his signature cheeky grin at the teachers and they would just pretend they didn't even notice he was breaking the rules.

If it was me, on the other hand, everyone would notice and make a big fuss. Because Future Alpha Wesley Stone should always be the picture perfect student. Future Alpha Wesley Stone should lead by example, even at only 12. No pressure, right?

"I'm just glad Mrs. Appleton isn't going to be reading them before she sends them to her sister's class. Can you imagine the volcanic eruption that would take place in my dad's office if he got a call telling him what I wrote?" I flinched and grimaced, and Reid laughed.

We were finally in our line, waiting for the bell to ring so we could make our way through the halls and off the campus, where the sprawling pack grounds waited for us to spend the rest of our day training and goofing around.

It had always been my favorite time of day. Getting to be outside, running through the forest and then throwing a football or bouncing a basketball around with my friends - nothing could beat that.

The anticipation spreading between all of my classmates was high. Not only was it the end of the day, but it was also Friday, which meant two whole days with no school. What kid, human or werewolf, didn't love the weekend?

The bell finally rang, and we all tried our best to not run out of the door. The kids at the front made a decent effort, but by the time Reid and I made it out, (with our last names being Stone and Thomas, we were always one of the last in line and out the door) we were all running, pushing past each other to be the first one through the gate at the front of the school near the office.

With werewolves, almost everything ended up being a competition, especially between young males. Being the first student out of the gate had always been one of those things that everyone automatically fought for. It was an unspoken tradition. No one ever declared it was a race, it just was, and always had been.

Even though I was still only twelve, and there were students one and two years older than me at our school, I'd had the honor of being first out of the gate since I was eight. I think, at first, the other kids were scared to beat me, afraid to be the one that made the future alpha come in second place. But at some point, I actually became the fastest.

Part of it was genetics. Werewolves born with alpha blood became Lycans and were genetically predisposed to be stronger, faster, and bigger than other werewolves. But it was also because I trained harder and longer than any other kid in our pack.

I reached the gate first- of course - followed closely by Reid and our other best friend, Nolan Shepard, who was one year older than us. Not far behind him was my little brother, Sebastian. He's two years younger than Reid and me, and three years younger than Nolan, but the four of us had been inseparable since we were pups.

Our parents were the current leaders of our pack, and the four of us would take over for them in the future. Once we were ready, of course. And once I found my mate.

"Ugh, Nolan, be glad you're a year older than us. Mrs. Appleton made us do this STUPID assignment. We have to write letters. To pen pals. It's just... so dumb and childish!" Reid complained as he punched Nolan lightly on the shoulder.

"Oh, poor you, you had to write a letter! Meanwhile, I have a ten-page report on the history of the Moon Goddess due on Monday!" Nolan shot back, shoving Reid off of the sidewalk and towards the copse of trees we always cut through as a shortcut back to the packhouse.

"And let me guess... you haven't even started it?" I asked with a smirk.

"No, I wrote some already!"

"How much? One page?"

Nolan paused for a moment, clearly deciding whether he wanted to answer me, before he finally, sheepishly, said, "A sentence."

Sebastian, Reid, and I all exchanged looks, all three of us trying to hold in our laughter. Reid broke first, his laugh sounding like a cackle and echoing through the almost empty forest, scaring a flock of birds out of the branches of a nearby tree. Sebastian and I joined in right away, and even Nolan chuckled at himself a little.

Our pack was in the Redwood Forests of Northern California, close to the Oregon border, near a little known lake that was the shape of a crescent moon. Hence, the name, Crescent Lake.

Our pack was a decent size. Large enough to have our own elementary school on the pack grounds. It actually went all the way up through 8th grade, so I'd be attending school there for two more years before they shipped me off to the local high school. Once I was there, there would be a mix of werewolves - both from our pack and the two neighboring packs - and humans.

My dad built the elementary school on our lands early on when he first became alpha, to keep the younger pups in school without humans. It's much easier for older students to keep our secret than it was for little kids.

My teacher, Mrs. Appleton, had a sister who recently found her mate in a pack in Colorado, so she had to move there. The elementary school her sister worked at was a mixed school, meaning humans and wolves all together, even from kindergarten. She's the teacher whose class we were exchanging letters with, so I had to be careful not to reveal anything about werewolves in my letter, since I didn't know if my pen pal would be a wolf or a human.

It was especially hard to not sign it "Future Alpha Wesley Stone," since that was how I was used to writing my name and being addressed by most of the members of my pack.

Not that it mattered. Because there was no way I was going to be writing to my pen pal again. I did the bare minimum for the assignment. I would get my A, and then I would never have to write to them again.

HAVEN POV

My jaw clenched after reading his letter, and I tucked my hands beneath my thighs, trapping them between my legs and the seat of my chair, so no one could see how much they shook.

I blinked back the tears that shimmered in my eyes, trying to remind myself that it was nothing personal. It was nothing against me. He didn't even know me, or anything about me.

He was just a kid, just a young boy, who obviously cared a lot about making sure he did well in school. He was just trying to be honest, trying to set the tone for what our communication would be. Or, I guess, wouldn't be, in the future.

His delivery may have been a little harsh, a little blunt, but then again, he was only 12. He didn't know me. He couldn't possibly have known how his words would affect me, how deep they would cut.

I shouldn't have let his words bother me. He didn't know I was an orphan. He didn't know someone left me at the fire station when I was a baby, wrapped in a deep purple blanket decorated with the phases of the moon, and my name, Haven Kenway, embroidered

on one corner.

He didn't know the social workers searched for any records of anyone with the last name Kenway having given birth in any nearby town, and that they found nothing. He didn't know I had spent my life being moved from home to home to home. He didn't know I was with my ninth family in the same number of years.

Again, it shouldn't have bothered me. Because I was finally in a home where I felt comfortable and safe, where I actually felt the beginning of a connection to the people who were fostering me.

When I was a baby, they moved me early. I was what they called "high needs." I constantly needed to be held, and hated to be left alone in any room, ever. I guess it was exhausting for my first family, because they moved me before I was even a year old. The next family lasted longer, almost until I was two, before they decided I was too old, and they only wanted to foster babies. And after I turned two, it had been one home every year. Until it wasn't.

My foster parents, Jack and Shirley Franklin, didn't have any other kids in their home. Well, not anymore, at least. Their children were all grown up and moved out, so they wanted to open up their home to a child in need. A child like me.

I'd been keeping my fingers crossed that this placement would last longer than the rest. It had already been almost a year since I moved there, when I was eight.

Jack and Shirley had treated me with nothing but kindness. They bought me what I needed when I needed it, and even got me surprise gifts when there wasn't any reason for them. They showed up for every school event, and Shirley picked me up from school in her air-conditioned car every day.

They even enrolled me in dance lessons, something I had been wanting to try since I was four years old and caught a snippet of someone dancing ballet on TV. Jack and Shirley even told me I could call them Mom and Dad, too, but I just couldn't bring myself to do that yet.

My hands were finally back to normal and not trembling from my emotions, so I removed them from beneath my legs, and scanned the letter one more time, checking the address on the envelope so I could write the correct address on mine.

He said he didn't want to continue to write to each other, but, just like him, my teacher was giving us a grade for this pen pal assignment. So I, of course, had to write him back.

I took a deep breath, calming my emotions and forcing the tears down. I was Haven Kenway, and I would not let some stupid, twelve-year-old boy get to me.

I grabbed my favorite pencil - one of the good ones, the kind with the type of eraser that didn't leave annoying streaks on the paper - and I sharpened it with my handheld sharpener until it was as pointy as possible. My pencils always had to be sharp. I couldn't stand dull pencils. I then took out a piece of my nice, crisp, white paper with perfect blue lines, and wrote back to my pen pal who didn't want me.

Dear Wesley,

Thank you for being honest with me. It's not a surprise that you don't want me as a friend. I'm used to people not wanting me.

You see, I'm an orphan. My parents left me when I was a baby. I was only a few days old. I have lived in pretty much one home a year since I was a baby. So I guess that would make it nine homes now, since I am nine years old. And since I move so much, it makes it harder to make friends. I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad. I just wanted to tell you I know why you did it and even though you didn't ask for it, I forgive you.

I hope you get your A.

Haven Kenway

**********

WESLEY POV

The reply letter came in our packhouse mail almost a week after I sent mine. I didn't realize that I wrote my home address as the return address on the envelope instead of the school's address.

I arrived home to find the letter was already opened. It was on the small, round dining table in the kitchen of the alpha suite (we called it a suite, but it was really more like a penthouse apartment) where my family and I lived. My mom sat in the chair facing the doorway, giving me "the look".

Every kid knew that look. It was the look that put the fear of Selene in the toughest of wolves and Lycans. The look that made even my dad, Alpha Harrison Stone of the Crescent Lake Pack, tuck his tail between his legs and say, "I'm sorry," before he even knew what he did wrong. The look that said, "You done messed up." That look.

Don't get me wrong. My mom, Luna Emily Stone, was the best mom any Lycan could ever ask for. I mean that. She was truly the glue that held our family, and our pack, together, just like any good Luna should.

That's why the ancestors of our pack made a rule that the alpha heir could only take over the pack once they found their mate- be it fated or chosen - so they had the person who could balance them, and keep them from being too overworked or stressed. Obviously, the pack had the Beta, Gamma, and Delta positions to help the Alpha with that as well, but those people couldn't calm down an angry, irritated Lycan in the same way their mate could. Even if something happened to the current alpha before the heir found their mate, the next highest ranked member with a mate would run the pack until the heir found or chose their mate.

Not all werewolf packs handled succession that way. Some packs designated an age at which they handed the pack over, and others let the current alpha decide when their heir was ready. But this was the way our pack had done things since the beginning. With that look on my mom's face, I was likely in for an earful. I didn't get in trouble often. I was usually well-behaved and a rule follower, but just like any preteen kid - wolf or Lycan or human - I messed up occasionally.

I sat down in the chair right across from her, folding my hands on top of the table as I eyed her curiously. She gestured at the opened letter on the table, so I picked it up, took out the letter, and read it to myself.

With each word, I shrank further and further into my seat at the table, my mother's eyes boring a hole straight into my brain, as if she might extract the words that I had written to this girl that made her respond so coldly to me.

We didn't get names when we got the assignment. Mrs. Appleton said her sister would just distribute the letters randomly to the students in her class. How was I supposed to know that my letter would be given to the one student in class who needed a friend more than anybody else?

That didn't change the fact that I now realized I shouldn't have written what I did. It wouldn't have mattered who she had given the letter to. Even if the student was someone who had tons of friends, my words would have been rude no matter what.

I lifted my eyes to meet the steely gaze of my mother's gray eyes, and she could already see the remorse in mine, could already see that I understood I had made a huge mistake. She softened a bit, and leaned across the table and placed her hand over mine, as she said in a soft voice, "You know what you need to do."

I nodded. She was right. I knew what I needed to do. I needed to do what any true alpha, any alpha worth his title, would do: own up to my mistake.

So many alphas thought they never needed to apologize when they were wrong, or even worse, that they couldn't possibly ever do anything wrong. One of the most important things my father had emphasized to me during my alpha training was to own up to my mistakes.

We were just as imperfect as any other person - human or wolf. Being an alpha didn't change that. We were just as prone to mistakes or f**k ups, as Dad liked to say when my mother wasn't around - as the rest of the world.

What made us different was showing that we realize we'd messed up, and how we reacted to that mistake, and whether we changed ourselves or if we kept making the same mistake over and over and over. If we truly learned from our actions, we could grow and move forward. If we kept repeating our errors, well, then that just showed that we were stuck in our ways.

These actions affected our pack as well. If the alpha was stubborn and set in his ways, then the pack would be stuck in the past. They'd plateau and never rise above the others or continue to be successful. But if an alpha was open-minded and able to learn and grow, then the pack would thrive and succeed in all of their endeavors.

My mother stood up from her chair at our small table and walked through the doorway of the dining room. Her heels clicked on the wood floor for several steps, and then she paused, picked something up, and headed back towards me.

I twisted in my chair so I could see her when she came back into the room. She was carrying my backpack that I had left unceremoniously next to the front door of our apartment. She sat it down on the floor next to my chair, her unwavering gaze boring through my skull as I tried to avoid eye contact with her.

"I am leaving to pick your sister up from pup care," she told me. "I expect your letter to be finished by the time I get back with Madeleine.”

With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of our apartment, leaving me alone with the letter from Haven and my own thoughts.

I sat there for a few minutes, the only sound the ticking of our old grandfather clock in the living room. I thought about what I wanted to write to this girl. Haven.

I slowly got out my pencil and a piece of paper from my backpack, and set them on the table in front of me as I got into my writing mode.

At first, it was difficult for me to find the words to say to her, but the more I wrote, the easier it became, until the pencil in my hand could not keep up with the words flowing through my mind.

By the time Mom returned with Maddie, I had written the longest letter I had ever written in my life. I had an envelope from my father's small office in our apartment already addressed and sitting next to the letter on the dining room table. I stood straight and tall next to it, waiting for my mother to inspect my writing.

She surprised me, however, by only checking to see if I finished it. Then she nodded without a word and walked away. She was putting her faith in me to treat this girl respectfully in my letter, and I was proud that she trusted me enough to not check over every word on the page.

I quickly folded the letter and carefully stuffed it in the envelope, sealing it and setting it in the stack of outgoing mail near our front door, just as Maddie came barreling into me. Her arms wrapped around my legs, nearly causing me to fall over on top of her. Her tiny giggles echoed through the entry, mingling with my laugh that was becoming deeper as I neared the age of receiving my Lycan. I lifted her little three-year-old body with ease, throwing her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Her giggles turned into full belly laughs as I ran through our home with her dangling behind me.

"Wessy!" she shrieked, just as I threw her down on her back onto her princess pink bed, topped with the squishiest feather duvet and the most ridiculous frilly and lacy pillows I had ever laid eyes on.

She wriggled around, trying to flee. But of course I was faster than her, and my hands tickled her belly before she even had the chance to attempt an escape. Her tiny legs kicked towards me as I continued tickling her, but I stopped before she became too hysterical or out of breath or, even worse, wet herself.

I turned to leave her room, hoping to wrangle Sebastian or Reid into playing a video game with me, but her little voice asked from behind me, "Wessy, pwease wead me a stowy?"

I sighed, and looked at her, prepared to say no, but of course she was giving me the wolf pup eyes, complete with the pouty bottom lip and batting eyelashes, her little hands clasped under her chin as she silently begged me. I couldn't say no to that face. No one could. Maddie had perfected that look, further cementing her status as the princess of our pack.

Without a word, I moved back to her bed, grabbing our copy of The Goddess's Tales from her bookshelf. The book of myths and legends and fairy tales was passed down through the generations in our family, but had somehow remained in decent condition, even with its age. It was well-loved, but the binding was still intact, and none of the pages had tears or bends.

The tales in the book made up all the stories that had been told over the centuries about Selene. No one knew anymore which of them, or which parts of them, were true. But every werewolf and Lycan heard them growing up, just as human children heard their own fairy tales, such as Cinderella or Hansel and Gretel.

They did not know most of their stories were based on a sliver of truth. That the magical beings they read about were actually all around them, hidden in plain sight.

"Which one shall we read today, Maddie?" I asked her, holding the book up for her to see.

She clapped her hands excitedly, settling herself next to me and saying, "Ria! I want Ria!"

I groaned. She always wanted Asteria's story. I liked it because of the part about the creation of the Lycan werewolves, but I had heard it way too many times. "No, we just read that one the other day," I argued.

I thumbed through the pages, looking at the titles as I flipped through them. "How about 'The Alpha Pup's Best Friend?"" I suggested, showing her the page.

"No!" she shouted.

I sighed. That was one of my favorites, because it told of the first beta, and I always thought of mine and Reid's friendship.

I flipped through the book some more until I ended up back at the very beginning. The first story, the story of our origins.

"The First of the Wolves'?" I asked, peeking at her from the corner of my eye.

Her eyes lit up, but then she forced a frown. However, it was too late. I had already seen her excitement. "First wolves it is!" I exclaimed in triumph, and she giggled and settled in next to me as I began to read.