The Twilight Circle

Olathe is a werewolf, and a damn pretty one, too (On the front cover :P). Her name actually means beautiful. But when she meets a stranger, her life begins to stir up. Things are turned upside down! In this crazy life of hers, four men are each fighting for the right to claim her as their own. Some girls would dream of this; but circumstances are not on Olathe's side.
~The first compelling novel in the Grey Wolves series~


2. Examination

"Before you change, you must remove your clothes."


Both mine and Adonis' mouths drop open. Desdemona just snickers, obviously thinking my mother is joking, and laughing at our stupidity. Well, my stupidity. "But... You keep your clothes on when you change!" I protest, once I come to my senses.

"In time, you will learn." My father says softly. I blink. My parents look at eachother, then say in unison, "It is pack law." Great. The final word of both the male and female alpha.

What lovely parents I have.


"Of course, you will not remove your clothes infront of the pack," My mother says, matter-of-factly. I sigh with relief, but she's not finished speaking yet. "You will keep your clothes in the forest. Then, you will stand in front of the pack as you are."

Now I swear I hear the thump as all three of our jaws hit the forest floor. "Well, half the pack." My father says, before he begins to lead Adonis to the left, my mother pulling me and Desdemona to the right.


This is gonna be some Initiation.




As I hang my clothes and undergarments on a low tree branch, Desdemona does the same, staring at me for some strange reason. I cock my head at her. "What?" I ask, curiosity ringing through my voice.

"Nothing, just wondering why you keep on having baths in pimple cream to keep your skin flawless." She answers, a cocky grin plastered on her face. Ah. Should've expected that. What a lame joke. I stick my tongue out at her, just as my mother pokes her head through the tree line, speaking to the pack.

"All female pack members come to me, and all male pack members go to my mate." My mother's words were played out exactly. Here I was, standing infront of an old woman, probably in her eighties, a five-year-old, probably not knowing what the heck was going on, my auntie, and my mum. And to top it off on the weird-o-meter, me and Desdemona were actually getting along, for once. Why? We were both hating this, and I knew it. We looked at eachother for reassurement, and I gave her a weak smile. Her face remained blank.


As we were being watched, we had to keep our arms by our sides. I saw eyes of jealousy at my perfect figure, if I do say so myself. Finally, my mother said, "Begin."

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