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Chapter 2

MARCUS'S POV

There are many things I enjoy doing in life. Sitting in the garden with my mother, Vivian, is not one of them, but there are things that just cannot be avoided. I find myself sitting there every Saturday morning, enveloped by the ostentatious display of nature that she so adores. The garden sprawls before me, a meticulous tapestry of vibrant flowers and meticulously placed sculptures, each vying for attention in a cacophony of orchestrated beauty.

The fragrance of the blossoms, meticulously cultivated to their utmost perfection, wafts through the air, attempting to infuse the surroundings with an air of serenity that I simply cannot grasp. The delicate roses, the cheerful daisies, and the regal lilies stand as testaments to the laborious efforts poured into maintaining this facade of natural splendor, yet to me, they remain nothing more than pretentious adornments in a life painted with insincerity.

Amidst the floral extravaganza, sculptures of cherubs and nymphs, their pristine forms carved with a meticulous hand, dot the landscape, their frozen expressions attempting to evoke a sense of ethereal wonder that I fail to fathom. Their angelic faces, frozen in perpetual ecstasy, serve as a stark contrast to the inner cynicism that has taken root within me, mocking the superficiality of the idyllic scene that stretches before my unimpressed gaze.

As I reluctantly settle into the meticulously positioned wrought-iron chair, the dappled sunlight filtering through the lush canopy above, I find myself engulfed by a sense of suffocating ennui, unable to appreciate the meticulous design that my mother so fervently extols. The tranquil ambiance she seeks to instill clashes with the disenchanted reality that has become an immutable part of my existence, leaving me marooned in a world where even the most exquisite beauty fails to mask the disillusionment that resides within.

"Your father and I used to sit down here every evening," she says to me. Her silver hair blows across her face but she brushes it aside.

"Mother, if you are going to lie to me then at least make sure I was not born at the time the lie took place. I mean, he was often away at business and work and family meetings, full moon parties, and such. Probably the only time I saw him in this garden was when he was pissing at the foot of grandmother's sculpture," I say.

"You are too much like him. There is nothing sacred to you, nothing worthy of respect," she complains. I bite back the words that come to my lips and sigh instead.

She looks at me, as though waiting for me to continue. She turns away after a while.

"The family is getting anxious. The pack is getting anxious and I am getting anxious as well. We have still been unable to find your true mate," she whispers and I can almost feel a headache coming on.

"Mother, do you just sit and worry about these things?"

"These things are important! Even your father knew that. Why don't you listen?" She asks and I shake my head.

"Why should I, mother? You fixate on this thing and I am beginning to think it is time you divert your mind to other things that will distract you from my personal life.

"You don't get to have a personal life as the alpha. Your strength and wit are constantly tested. Whatever you do is measured and your inability to be mated at this age is a weakness that must be removed, my son."

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knee. I feel the anger starting to rise up my spine."

"If there is anyone who thinks of me as being weak then are welcome to challenge me at the next full moon."

"Not everything is measured by physical strength. Your body will grow old but the strength of your seed remains. You need to be mated for that to show, to be revealed."

"I do not need to do anything. After the crises that ended Father's life, I shepherded us back into safety and wealth. I have proven everything that is required. Any one who is not satisfied can take it up with me. Don't bother me with this any more, Mother," I say to her.

She looks at me for a while but she doesn't speak again but I can't help but wonder if her worries are actually founded. I am thirty years old and wolves are mated at eighteen. I have not put much thought into it but perhaps it is time I started paying attention to the family. My head starts to ache. The smell of flowers sicken me.

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