Black Werewolf Princess Wedding

My name is Paula Jean-Guillaume. And today is my wedding day. To most young women, it's one of the happiest days of their lives. To me, it's a day of apprehension and uncertainty. Such is the life of a Werewolf in North America. Yeah, that's what I am. Not that you would know unless I told you. I stand five feet eleven inches tall, curvy, with dark brown skin, pale bronze eyes and long Black hair braided into neat cornrows. I was blessed with the kind of big, heart-shaped bottom which makes men salivate and causes women to shudder with envy. Just a blessing of my Haitian genes, I guess. I've got other stuff in my genes too. Like the uncanny ability to morph into a Wolf-like humanoid creature of amazing physical power. It's my birthright as a Werewolf Princess.

I came into this world on the ninth day of November 1988. I was born on a stormy night in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. Fast forward twenty four years later and I'm a second-year student at the Faculty of Law of the legendary University of British Columbia in the City of Vancouver, B.C. The finest Metropolis in all of Canada. Life is okay, I guess. Many would say that I got a lot to be thankful for. Until they walk in my shoes. It's not easy being a Werewolf. Seriously. You always have to look over your shoulder because a threat can come from anywhere. There are rival Werewolf Packs to worry about, and also hostile humans. Some of which are aware of the fact that Wolf-People exist. And they mean us harm.

Three months ago I almost died. My would-be killer was none other than Stephen Valentine. A young Italian guy I once dated. We have been in and out of each other's lives since our halcyon days at Saint Joseph Academy in Victoria City. We broke up a little over a year ago because we both wanted different things in this life. I really cared for Stephen, once. However, he is only human and there are things about me which he could never understand. My kind are cautioned about romances with the humans. Hardly any inter-species romances ever turn out well. When I told Stephen I was a Werewolf, I violated every commandment of the Code of my People. Stephen tried to understand, he really did. Unfortunately, his inner xenophobe got the best of him. He was okay with me but viewed my fellow Werewolves, especially the males of my species, as nothing but violent animals. I couldn't spend my life with someone like him. When I revealed this to him, he simply couldn't hack it. It drove him to the edge.

If it hadn't been for Thomas Dorval, I'd be dead. Thomas Dorval is the young man I'm marrying in a few hours at the Notre Dame Catholic Church in downtown Vancouver. Eight hundred people have been invited. The guests have come from places like the Republic of Haiti, the United States of America and even Europe. Us Haitians are a widespread bunch and I've got extended family everywhere. As I put on my resplendent white gown, I look in the mirror. My left shoulder is still itching from the bullet which Stephen put in me. Like all of my kind I healed really fast. Twenty times faster than an ordinary human being. Us Werewolves have splendid healing powers. We could make the Marvel Comics character Wolverine green with envy.

I close my eyes, and try not to think about Stephen Valentine storming my father's house in suburban Vancouver. Stalking from room to room, looking for me. Fortunately, I was home alone. My younger brother, Victoria University freshman Jeffrey Jean-Guillaume was out with his Jamaican-American girlfriend Stacey Keller. I thank God for that. If Jeffrey had been home, Stephen might have killed him. I was in the basement, watching a rerun of the television series Andromeda, one of my favourite shows. I sensed something was amiss, and went upstairs. That's where Stephen confronted me. He called me every name in the book, and emptied a full clip in me. I was severely weakened. Too weak to shape-shift into my Wolfish form. If Thomas hadn't shown up, I'd dead.

I smiled at that. Thomas was really not supposed to be there. Not after the way things had gone down between us. Yet if it weren't for him, I'd dead. He came back to my father's house to apologize for his behaviour, desperate to get another chance with me. I told him to get lost time and again. Romance with my fellow Werewolves has never truly appealed to me. I find the ways of my people too restrictive and too stale. The Werewolf Culture is matriarchal, and us females wield considerably more power than the males. The Matriarch of a Werewolf Clan runs the show. Directly under her is the Alpha Male of the Werewolf Pack. He who is charged with defending the Pack against all enemies. My father, Antoine Jean-Guillaume is the Alpha of our Pack. Hundreds of Werewolves in Vancouver City have sworn their allegiance to him. My grandmother Adelaide Vernet Jean-Guillaume is the Matriarch of the Pack. Someday, I will become the Matriarch. Someday, I will run the show.

Many of the female Werewolves in the Pack envy me. I was born into power. My father is one of a handful of Black Police Officers on the Vancouver Police Service yet he's risen to the rank of Captain. My daddy is the first Black man to rise to the rank of Captain of a Police Department in all of Canada. He's been on the Vancouver Police Service for more than twenty years. Letting him lead is the least they could do. Although Vancouver is a City where ethnic minorities outnumber Caucasians, the leadership of the City has always been mostly Caucasian. There are scores of Indians, Chinese, Japanese, Cambodians and Vietnamese in the City of Vancouver. Lately, a few Hispanics and Arabs have come in. Black immigrants in Canada prefer the Province of Quebec and the Province of Ontario.

The Province of British Columbia doesn't really appeal to them. That's why there aren't that many people of African descent up here. They're all in Montreal, Quebec, and Toronto, Ontario. I was one of eight six Black students at Saint Joseph Academy among a student body of nine hundred. My pops is a hard worker who always wanted the best for his brats. Especially after the death of my mother Astrid Guerrier Jean-Guillaume in a plane crash during the summer of 2005.

Poor mom. How I wish she could be here today. I could use her advice right about now. People say I look exactly like her. We're both tall, dark-skinned and curvy. My father is half Black and half Hispanic, of Dominican heritage. He's of average height and build, light-skinned, curly-haired and bronze-eyed. I don't look a thing like him except for his bronze eyes. If it weren't for my eyes, I could really be considered my mama's clone. Mom moved to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, from the City of Cap-Haitien, Northern Haiti, during the early 1980s. She attended the University of Ottawa, where she earned her Law degree. And that's where she met my dad, who was visiting a relative at the school one summer. They fell in love, and later got married and moved to Vancouver. With misty eyes I look at an old photograph of my parents on their wedding day.

Dad looks almost the same now as he did then. Five-foot-eight, slim, nervous-looking. He's got a few gray hairs around his temples, and a few lines here and there. He's fifty three but looks ten years younger. A benefit of Werewolf DNA. We age slower than ordinary humans. Much, much slower. It's not uncommon for some of our kind to live for hundreds of years. I can only hope I'll be so lucky. My mother wasn't so lucky. She was meant to live for so much more. Yet she died because human technology failed. Humans, how I loathe them for their trust in their infernal machinery.

If it weren't for the treacherous frailty of human technology, my mother would be alive today. To stand by my side as I marry a man who loves me more than life itself. For you see, it's Thomas Dorval's heart which beats in my chest. After Stephen Valentine put a silver bullet in my chest, I was a dead woman. Werewolves can regenerate any lost or damaged body part, including eyes, limbs, etc. But only as long as there's no silver involved. After killing Stephen and saving me, Thomas voluntarily went under the knife to give me his heart. His strong heart now beats in my chest. Forever binding us. Poor Thomas. Oh, he's fine. He's alive and well. Otherwise we wouldn't be getting married today. It took him mere minutes to grow a new heart after going under the knife to save my unworthy ass. I'm still shocked that he did this for me. My mother wouldn't have been shocked, though. She's known Thomas since we were brats. For my future mother-in-law, Thomas mother Geraldine Sentier Dorval is the Matriarch of the unified Sentier-Dorval Clans and my mom's former sorority sister. Both ladies were in Alpha Kappa Alpha, the legendary sorority for African-American women.

I have always had a tumultuous relationship with Lady Geraldine Sentier Dorval. The tall, regal Black woman who had been my mother's lifelong best friend didn't think much of me. Partly because of my taboo interest in dating human guys, something which most Werewolf leaders frown upon. And partly because her son Thomas was madly in love with me since we were brats, and it's only recently that I realized that I love him. It took a brush with death to open my eyes. How can I make her understand that I love Thomas and want to spend the rest of my life making him happy? Thomas has always stood by me. Even when I treated him like dirt. He showed me the best of him when I showed him the worst of me. No mother wants to see her offspring suffer. Somehow, I'm going to win Lady Geraldine over. I'm going to show her and Thomas how much of a loving wife and daughter-in-law I can be.

I flip through the family album, and come across a picture of Thomas Dorval in his cap and gown. The day of his graduation from Howard University School of Law in Washington D.C. He looked simply amazing. Six feet two inches tall, with medium brown skin. Everyone says he looks exactly like Hollywood actor Lee Thompson Young, but Thomas always denies it. He's tall, good-looking, educated and from a good family. Thomas mother Lady Geraldine Sentier-Dorval is a District Attorney in Washington D.C. She moved to America after graduating from the University of Ottawa Faculty of Law in the 1980s, and married a handsome Werewolf of Haitian-American descent. Eugene Dorval. Owner of Dorval Auto Mall in Washington D.C. A successful businessman. One who's had his picture taken with Washington D.C.'s most famous resident, President Barack Obama, shortly after Inauguration Day. Yeah, I'm marrying into Black Royalty. And Lady Geraldine won't let me forget it. Not that I expect her to. She condemned Thomas Dorval's heroic acts as foolish. The Lady doesn't think me worthy of her son. Like a lot of proud Werewolf females from powerful families, she doesn't think much of humans. Or those Werewolves like me who break the rules of nature by consorting with humans.

I've been a very foolish woman. I know that now. I threw away the good guy and shacked up with the bad guy. Only after the bad guy tried to kill me for dumping him did I come to my senses. A mistake many women make, I'm sure. What did I see in Stephen Valentine? In him I saw danger, and the promise of excitement. Being human, he represented the forbidden fruit. Too bad he turned out to be poison. Us Werewolves are for the most part a gorgeous bunch, especially the Royals. Those of us who are the offspring of Alpha Males and Matriarchs. The Royals of the Werewolf Culture. I guess I found flawed, ordinary humans appealing. Now I realize that I was foolish. I loved the wrong man and it nearly killed me. I learned from my mistake. I still can't believe Thomas Dorval wants me in his life. He asked me to marry him a month ago and I said yes. Looking at me gravely, he told me that I should marry him only if I could swear I did it for the right reasons.

Was I marrying Thomas for the right reasons? He adores me, this much is true. And I know I love him. I feel a tremendous amount of gratitude towards him for saving my life. He is, and always will be my Hero. The man who saved me from the evil man who tried to kill me. I looked at my mother's photo again. She was simply radiant in her resplendent white gown. She stood straighter and more confident than I would ever be. For unlike me, she is a true Princess of the Werewolf Blood. My mother always put her family first, and was steadfast in her loyalty to the Wolf-People, as well as her hubby and offspring. She would never endanger her family or her livelihood by straying. Her heart was strong and true. Was my heart strong and true? I pressed my hands against my chest. Feeling my heart, Thomas's heart, thundering in my chest. The heart of a Hero. Belonging to the tall, handsome young Haitian-American man who awaits me at the altar. At the Notre Dame Catholic Church of downtown Vancouver. Would I ever feel so worthy of such love and devotion as Thomas has shown me?

I close my eyes, and think back of another day, a long time ago. Thomas used to spend half of every summer in Vancouver City with us. His parents always visited and would stay with us for a couple of weeks. Our two families have always gotten along. Especially since the ladies who ran both households were very close. I remember sitting in the living room with Thomas and my mother, watching the movie Aladdin on the Disney Channel. Thomas was busy reading his Spiderman comic book. Disney movies didn't interest him much. I watched the movie, enthralled by Aladdin's steadfast devotion to Princess Jasmine. And the lengths which he went to impress her, and eventually save her from perdition. I remember telling my mom I couldn't wait to find my prince. A prince I thought would be human, daring and lively, unlike the sober, dutiful men of the Werewolf race. I remember my mom smiling at me, glancing at dreamy-eyed Thomas and telling me that I already found my prince. I rolled my eyes at her and went back to the movie. This brought tears to my eyes. Mom was right. Mom was always right. I guess she knew, even back then. Ah, the wisdom of our mothers. I smiled and kissed her photograph before putting it back in the family album. At last, I felt ready for my wedding day.

I walked into the church, and smiled at my family and the assembled guests. My father stood by me, misty-eyed. I blew him a kiss. I spotted my younger brother Jeffrey with Stacey Keller, the big-booty Jamaican chick he met in Boston. This Wolf diva from the islands came to my wedding with a brown taffeta dress. She's tacky but my brother likes them like that. I guess Werewolf ladies from the U.S. don't have much style. Oh, well. At last I feasted my eyes on my future husband, Thomas Dorval. He looked amazing in a Hugo Boss tux. He grinned at me shyly. I smiled, and grabbed him. Before he could say anything, I kissed him passionately. And he kissed me back.

The priest, an elderly Black man who looked like the dude who provides Vader's voice cleared his throat. He muttered something about it being bad form to kiss the bride before uttering the vows. I didn't really listen. I was kissing my man, and he was kissing me back like his life depended on it. When we came up for air, I nodded to the priest. And the ceremony got underway. We both said the magic words, and were joined in holy matrimony. As we exited the church, surrounded by friends and family, I saw someone I hadn't seen in a long time. A lady who looked amazingly familiar. I know what you're thinking. It's my wedding day and I'm overly emotional. I swear I saw my mom, smiling at me and waving. I waved back, and told her she was right. Mom nodded and smiled mysteriously, and vanished before my eyes. Clasping my hand in his, Thomas smiled at me. He told me he was going to spend his life making me happy. I grinned, and kissed him. Yep, mom was right. I had made the right choice at last. Life should be good from here onwards.