CH 1-10

Summary

Zikara Farrayn has always been an outsider. Born human into a pack of hunters and werewolves, she lacks the beast inside her that makes the others strong, fast, and deadly. To her father, the legendary Alpha Tarak Farrayn, she is little more than a disappointment. But when a dangerous encounter with a rogue leaves her life hanging by a thread, her father grudgingly gives her a chance: train under the notorious beta, Makona, a man whose apprentices have all failed and often paid the price. Alone, unarmed, and weaker than the youngest wolf, Zikara must survive Makona’s relentless methods, prove her worth to the pack, and discover if she is capable of more than anyone ever expected. All the while, shadowed whispers of an ancient enemy stir: the lycans, the godlike ancestors of werewolves and hunters, may not be extinct after all. And Zikara’s fate may hold the key to a prophecy that could tip the balance of power forever. In a world where strength is life, weakness is death, and trust is a dangerous gamble, Zikara must find the courage to awaken the power within or be left behind in the shadows.

ONE

Getting in trouble was something I did very well. That was to be expected, given I was ignored by everyone, including my own father, the only family I had. I was just like every other child, wanting nothing more than love and affection, recognition from my father, or at the very least a friend.

I had none of that though. Not a friend, nor a family.

And it made me angry.

I hated everything and everyone. I hated how I was outcasted and looked down on. I wanted my father to look at me. I wanted him to see me and be proud of me. I wanted him to call me his daughter.

So, I made trouble to get back at him. If he wasn’t going to call me his daughter, then I would have everyone else whispering behind his back about how naughty his daughter was. At least someone would say it then.

Zikara Farrayn is the alpha’s daughter.

That’s all I wanted. To be recognized because I had alpha blood in me and yet it all counted for nothing because I was human.

Human, a word only ever used in disdain. Being human is equated to being useless. I was nothing but a drain on resources. Someone who couldn’t shift into a wolf form, someone who didn’t even have the enhanced abilities that most possessed. I was slow, and weak.

Practically, a blind, lame, deaf, and senseless invalid in the eyes of my pack. It was no surprise that I was disregarded by everyone. The only reason I was still allowed to reside in the pack was because my father was the one in charge.

This pack was elitist. They only accepted the best into their community. Only those who were formidable were allowed to call themselves part of this pack and for good reason. My father’s pack wasn’t just any normal gigantic community of werewolves. No, his pack was actually one of the smallest in existence but the skill and talent within it made up for the lack of numbers.

That and the gene.

Passed down only through the males was what was called the hunter gene. It was a genetic abnormality that served those who had it well. The gene gave the werewolf a venom gland that wreaked havoc on those it was used against. It strengthened a werewolf’s already enhanced attributes, making them the fastest, the most vicious, and naturally skilled werewolves in existence.

They were on an entirely different level, leagues ahead of any normal werewolf, and that’s why they didn’t even call themselves werewolves. No, they weren’t werewolves, they were hunters.

And my father was the leader of the only pack of hunters. The best of the best.

He was revered, an enigma in the eyes of many, and he’d been cursed with someone like me for his offspring. A human as the child of an alpha. It was unheard of, blasphemy even.

So yes, Tarak Farrayn liked to pretend I didn’t exist.

Most of the time, he was able to get away with it, too. Only in times like these was he forced to acknowledge me and honestly, I couldn’t even bring myself to care that he was looking at me with nothing but blazing eyes and a curled lip that showed me his sharp canine teeth poking down.

He was looking at me–in hate, disgust, annoyance–it didn’t matter to me because he was at least looking at me.

I couldn’t resist the hard swallow that pushed down my throat at the feel of my father’s overwhelming presence. I could sense my father’s rage radiating from his powerful body, his alpha dominance rising to the surface, his irises going black, the color starting to bleed into the whites of his eyes.

His fierce glare, ablaze instead of the ice that was usually there, was so dominating I involuntary bowed my head, lowering my eyes in submission. I hung my head under the pressure of his stare.

The warrior standing next to me shuffled his feet, his eyes focused on the ground, and his head also ducked in submission. My father’s overbearing nature was forcing all of those in our pack to bow in submission, even though that wasn’t his intent. “What am I supposed to do with you, Zikara?” he demanded, a deep growl in his throat.

I kept silent because I knew he didn’t want an answer from me.

“I’ve told you a dozen times to stay away from the boundary lines, and this is exactly the reason why.”

His voice was filled with fury, and I knew I would not be escaping this one lightly.

“That rogue would have killed you if Odin hadn’t been nearby. You would be dead.” He spat out the last word, making me and Odin wince.

I wondered why my father seemed particularly enraged by that fact. Was he angry that I could have been killed, or was he angry that I hadn’t been? It was impossible for me to tell. I hoped for the former because that would mean he had some semblance of affection for me. He’d have to care, even if it was just the tiniest bit, if he worried about my safety. What other reason could he have for wanting me alive? It wasn’t like I had anything to offer. Unless he was preparing to sacrifice me or something.

“You are nearly thirteen,” my father continued without pausing, “this must stop. Learn to obey quickly, Zikara, or you will not like the way I make you.”

He flicked his head at Odin. “Take her to the house. I’ll figure out how to deal with her later.”

Odin touched the small of my back and pushed me forward, even though it was gentle, I still stumbled a little. I hung my head as I trudged back to the house, feeling the eyes of the pack members follow me before quickly dipping down to the ground at Odin’s warning growl.

I scuffed my feet along the ground, kicking a rock that was in my way. I couldn’t believe that my father had dismissed me without even saying ten sentences to me. This was the angriest I’d ever seen him, and I couldn’t even get more than ten sentences out of him.

“I hate this.” I grumbled to myself, but Odin’s excellent hearing caught my words anyway.

“You may be his daughter, Zikara, but you are still a part of the pack. He’s your alpha, and you should listen to him.”

“Part of the pack?” I demanded, my nose wrinkling in a sneer. “What a joke. If I was part of this pack, then I should have been part of the apprenticeship this year. Instead, I’m forced to sit around the house and do nothing but menial chores like a human.”

Tears pushed at the back of my eyes. “I can’t help it. I want to explore, I want to fight, I want to be treated like I’m worth something. I want to be like the rest of you.” I stopped walking and stared at Odin’s feet. “I am the daughter of an alpha, so why am I just a stupid human?” The waterworks started, and I began to bawl at the unfairness of it.

Odin exhaled a breath, rolling his eyes at my tears. Hunters hated displays of weakness. Crying was for babies.

And humans.

He turned to me as we reached the entrance of the house and propped his finger under my chin. “Listen Zikara, I can’t do anything about you being human and neither can you, your father, or anyone else. However, it is possible that you are just late in awakening your beast.”

I sniffled, continuously running my hand under my eyes to collect the tears in an effort to staunch them. “I’m three years late without even the smallest sign.”

It was normal for werewolves to start showing signs of their beast at ten years of age. Their hearing sharpened as did their vision, their canine teeth formed, and they were stronger and faster. They began training the year after the signs started showing and learned how to fight in their human bodies. At fifteen they were finally able to morph sharp claws and teeth. They then trained under a master, usually one or two apprentices per warrior until they were deemed worthy to become a warrior and join the ranks of the pack and start working their way up the pecking order.

A master was not only assigned for physical training but mental training as well. They taught how to transition and to restrain a beast’s primal and violent urges and strong emotions. For those lucky enough to have the hunter gene, they were specially assigned under another hunter to learn how to master their extra skills. Skills I would never obtain or hone. I was as worthless as every other human.

Odin was silent as he pushed open the door and gestured for me to enter under his arm.

I trudged into the log house reserved for the alpha. It was set apart from all the other dwellings of our pack. All of the residences were uniform log buildings. Some were a bit larger and had more space for those with bigger families, but none of the houses were extravagant.

The alpha’s house was the most embellished with a sheetrock wall making up the front of the house. The houses were kept simple because our community was more concerned about functionality than comfort and aesthetics. According to them, there were a hundred better things to do with their time than decorating something they hardly ever spent time in.

The houses provided personal space, a place to sleep, a place to store food, and not much else. Most of the community would rather bathe in one of the two lakes when they weren’t frozen over in the winter than bathe in the tubs.

Part of pack life was socializing, and everyone was outside as much as they could be.

Outside is where life happened.

Outside is where they hunted, it’s where they met their friends, it’s where they trained and climbed ranks, it’s where they did their assigned tasks, and allowed their beasts to breathe.

Unlike them, I was sentenced to spending most of my life inside. Hidden away and sequestered in the boring house, I knew the exact number of logs constructing it because I had counted them hundreds of times. While they were allowed to breathe easily outside, I was trapped within these walls, suffocating.

Stepping into the house and squinting through the dim room, I felt my heart squeezing in my chest at the sight of the all too familiar walls I saw ahead.

Odin gave me a none-too-gentle push when I froze in the doorway. I tripped over my feet, barely catching myself from faceplanting as Odin stepped into the house. He gave the main room a brief once-over, looking for any possible threats. He nodded to himself, deeming it safe enough to leave me alone.

“Stay here, Zikara. Stay here and wait for the alpha, don’t get in any more trouble, or the alpha will stop leaving this door unlocked.”

He backstepped out of the door he hadn’t even bothered to close, knowing he wouldn’t be here long. Then he was gone, the sound of the front door closing as he left me alone in the empty house.

I stood in the darkness in silence, wondering if this was really all Fate had planned for me in this life.

Was I doomed to this pitiful existence that could hardly be considered any life worth living? I was alone, sad, angry, and disappointed.

Fate was cruel if this really was what he sentenced me to. Why even craft my existence if I was just going to be forgotten in a corner to collect dust?

I simply couldn’t believe I didn’t have any other purpose.

TWO

Dragging myself to my room, I headed straight for the mirror beside my vanity. Dropping to the floor, I sat cross-legged in front of it and stared at the reflection staring back.

I tilted my head, tugging my thick black hair half-fallen from its ponytail, over my shoulder. My deep brown eyes met my own, hollow and human. I tried to growl, just to see if there was anything inside me that might respond. Only pitiful, human sounds came out.

I tried again. Still nothing.

Even though I hadn’t expected much, disappointment still hit me like a blow. My heart sank, heavy and familiar, pressing against my ribs until breathing hurt.

This foolishness—this desperate need to be something I wasn’t—always got me into trouble.

For once, I hadn’t gone looking for it. I’d just gotten tired of being caged inside, so I’d slipped out to the border, hoping to scent another wolf. Maybe even one outside our pack. But I couldn’t even smell my own kind.

Still, I went. Hoping that maybe today would be different. That maybe my wolf would finally wake up.

Instead, I hadn’t even noticed the rogue that was stalking me. Odin had.

He’d been patrolling in his wolf skin, searching for intruders, and he’d found two. Me, and the one who wanted me dead.

Before the rogue could spring, Odin tackled it, ripping into its jugular before it ever reached me.

We called wolves like that rogues. They were a strange, tragic kind. Some were exiles, those who’d lost their mates or children, cast out of their families for being weak. Some, if found young enough, could be adopted into packs again. But most were too far gone, too wild from years of surviving alone. The kindest thing you could do for them was to end it quickly.

Then there were the born rogues. They were the truly dangerous ones. They hunted in small, brutal packs of four or five, ruled by a single leader until the next one killed him for it. They didn’t want land or power. They wanted blood.

Those wolves gave up everything human. They entered what we called The Wild when the beast took over completely.

Killing them wasn’t easy. They fought dirty, played dead, and went for the throat every time. Packs that couldn’t handle them sometimes came crawling to my father for help.

To outsiders, hunters like us were monsters. Abominations. But that’s what made us powerful.

Although this was considered the pack of the hunters, the majority of its members actually lacked the gene and had to make up for it in other ways.

But the ones who did, those who were true-born hunters, were different. Deadlier. The females carried the gene but showed no sign of it themselves and passed it on to their offspring. Those sons, no matter where they were born, would eventually find their way here. Hunters were instinctually drawn to each other.

Most times, the young hunter would find their way to my father’s pack, but sometimes one of the hunters would leave the pack to find their newborn kin. It was rare, but sometimes blood had to be shed to bring a new hunter into our pack. And my father had no qualms about killing others to claim what was his.

Although many packs wanted nothing to do with a pup that was born with the hunter gene, some coveted the strength that came with being one.

The hunter’s curse was strength—their claws and teeth carried venom that killed other werewolves, and they had an immunity to silver, a known poison that was always effective against werewolves.

But a hunter’s wolf skin was smaller than most werewolves’. They were slender and lean rather than muscular, which was considered an undesirable trait to werewolves, and it was true in a way.

If a hunter were forced to use brute strength against a typical werewolf, they would lose every time. However, their size made them quicker and nimbler, making them hard to catch and even harder to inflict damage on. As a result, their opponent was already down before they were ever forced to resort to brute strength.

My father, though, was an exception to this rule, along with his second in command, the beta, Makona.

They were both alphas, but my father was even stronger than the formidable Makona. Tarak Farrayn was bigger than most werewolf alphas—legendary among the hunters. They said he was the greatest ever born.

And I? I wasn’t even a wolf, not even a weak and tiny omega.

The thought cut like a blade. Tarak Farrayn, the infamous alpha of hunters, had a daughter who couldn’t shift, couldn’t scent, couldn’t run. I was a useless human in a pack that worshipped power.

My throat tightened. I reached toward my reflection, pressing my palm against the cold glass until it covered my face. Tears of desperation and fury returned. Rage followed close behind.

I curled my fingers into a fist, ready to shatter the mirror, ready to stop looking at the worthless thing staring back.

But before I could bring my fist down, a cold voice froze me in place,

“You’ll be left to clean up the broken glass, and you’ll also be left to bandage your hand on your own when you cut it up.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, my eyes darting up in the mirror to see my father’s reflection in the doorway.

I’d never even heard his approach, hadn’t even noticed the movement in the mirror when he appeared.

I swallowed and slowly turned to meet my father’s gaze, scooting around on my butt. His eyes narrowed at my daring gesture, and my eyes immediately dropped to the bed.

I should have known better than to look him in the eyes after how angry I’d made him.

“You’ll have to learn your place eventually.” He muttered under his breath.

My lips quivered as tears threatened to spill over.

“What were you thinking Zikara? Going off alone, all the way to the border? Even if you had detected an intruder, then what? You have no training Zikara, you don’t even have the speed to run.”

His voice was clipped, his annoyance obvious.

“I’ll never have the speed, will I?”

I was admitting it to myself even as I asked him for confirmation. My hair fell from behind my ear and hung in a curtain of thick black locks around my face. “I’ll always be helpless, no matter what.”

My father’s silence spoke louder than any of his words could have. I knew in that moment that I would never show signs of a beast.

I exhaled, unclenching my fists, the crescent marks from my nails burning in my palms. My breath shook as I looked back at the mirror.

I was so pathetic I could no longer even begrudge Tarak Farrayn for practically disowning me.

I wouldn’t want a worthless child like me either.

“I’m sorry fa–Alpha, ” I was able to catch myself. “I’m sorry that I can’t be good enough.”

The alpha said nothing. He only stared down at me with that stony expression of his that I could never discern.

When I finally dared to look up at him, his back was already turned to me as he slipped away.

There was no hope for me to ever gain my father’s favor, no matter how desperately I craved it. He would never see me until I became something worth seeing.

No one in this pack ever would.

I doubted even my mate would accept me as anything of worth. He would reject me as his future partner because no one would ever want a useless mate.

Once he did that, all of my hope for escaping this hell would be gone.

I truly needed a miracle. Only Fate could save me now, and all I could do was pray that he had something in store for me that no one would see coming.

THREE

Dust flew up around the apprentice, who hit the dirt with a heavy thud. He groaned and flung his arm over his eyes. “Is it lunch time yet?”

His master stood over him, amusement in his eyes as he held out a hand for the young wolf. “We’ve only started an hour ago. You’ve got a while, kid.”

I enjoyed watching the other apprentices train. I learned a lot just by listening to them teach and watching. I observed the teachers mostly because they executed everything correctly, but I would also occasionally sneak a glance at the apprentices to see what they were doing wrong.

The apprentices hated it. Their glares scorched me when they passed. They thought I was judging them when I had no skills of my own at all. They thought I had no place being around them when I didn’t even have a beast.

I hugged my legs and rested my chin on my knees.

Whatever. They could stew all they wanted. This was as close as I would ever get to warrior training.

I sighed and studied Judah, the apprentice, as he stumbled and corrected himself again and again until he finally executed the move correctly.

His master gave him a hearty slap to the back in praise when a sudden prickle rose the hairs on the back of my neck.

It was a familiar feeling; I was used to being stared at, so I tried to ignore it.

My brows screwed together as I tried to focus on the master’s advice about how to keep his claws from slicing his skin when he went to punch.

However, it grew increasingly difficult to pay attention, an uneasy feeling settling over me, no longer just discomfort but setting off warning bells of danger.

My head snapped over my shoulder.

The wooden bleachers rose behind me, empty as usual. I never sat in them since I would be too far away to properly hear the teacher, and no one came here to watch low-level apprentices. The bleachers only filled when the higher-ranking warriors wanted to have a go at each other.

My eyes moved to the slit between two of the rows, and that’s when I caught sight of him.

I gulped as I met a pair of grey-blue eyes that somehow always put me more on edge than my own father’s did. There was genuine malice in his stare, drilling into me.

It chilled my blood and froze me in place.

The beta scared the hell out of me.

Makona was massive, easily my father’s equal in height and strength. Standing face to face, I wouldn’t even reach his midriff. His expression was always severe and disapproving. Just a single look from him would shut up any boastful young werewolf or hunter running off their mouths.

I had witnessed it many times.

Makona was the subject of gossip in every imaginable way. The young males worshiped him almost as much as they did my father. He was an exceptional warrior, an alpha in his own right—a fact he never let anyone forget, even if this wasn’t his pack to lead.

The females whispered about him too. Their stares followed him wherever he went, all hooded eyes and flushed cheeks.

His jaw was squarer than my father’s sharper jawline, but his cheekbones were more pronounced. Accompanied by a straight nose set between those greyish blue eyes, it wasn’t a surprise that the beta was the crush of almost every female, young and old, in this pack.

Age only made him more dangerous, more… real. He wasn’t a boy playing at strength. He was the kind of man who’d seen too many winters and buried too many enemies. Maybe that’s why so many of the young women in the pack had developed a fetish for older men

Not that it mattered. Makona never took anyone to his bed, never entertained any of the looks thrown his way. The younger females were beneath his notice. They were too immature, too loud. Then again, everyone annoyed Makona, so maybe that didn’t mean much.

As for me, I had no interest in him. The other females could fight amongst themselves for his non-existent attention and favor all they wanted. I was absolutely petrified of Makona, which is why I avoided him as much as possible.

On the rare nights he came to our house for my father, I stayed locked in my room, listening for his deep voice through the walls and praying he wouldn’t notice me.

Usually, the beta wouldn’t pay any attention to me, and we didn’t actually cross paths often despite him being around my father most of the time.

Which made sense because I wasn’t around my father much.

Makona’s eyes narrowed as our gazes connected through the bleachers, but I was too terrified to look away from him. If I blinked, I was sure he’d be on me and rip out my throat before I could even scream.

My lungs seized. I wasn’t even sure I was breathing as those grey-blue eyes peeled me open, layer by layer, like he was trying to see what I really was beneath my skin. He was examining me as if I were a strange, confusing species.

Perhaps in his eyes, I was. A mere human was nothing like the powerful alpha he was. We were the furthest things from each other.

Seconds dragged on. He didn’t look away, which didn’t bode well for me.

Makona wouldn’t spare most people more than a glance before his expression said they were beneath him and not worth his time or interest. Yet here he was, holding my eyes as the seconds passed.

His stance was casual—arms folded, shoulder resting against the shed behind the bleachers—but everything about him radiated control. The beta’s finger tapped his own bicep methodically, his heavy brows pinched together, jaw tensed.

“Beta.”

The sound snapped me out of my trance. A warrior approached, his apprentice trotting at his heels, both bowing their heads in respect.

I scrambled to my own feet, not even bothering to dust myself off.

My eyes flicked immediately back over to Makona, wondering why he hadn’t responded yet, only to find he had never looked away from me.

I took a step back on instinct.

Only then did the beta finally pull his gaze away from me. His attention flicked to the warrior and his glowing but obviously nervous apprentice, who was shifting his feet at the sight of his idol.

He looked them over once and then pushed off the shed, turning on his heel and leaving without a word.

The werewolf sputtered behind the retreating form of the beta, not expecting to be completely ignored.

My legs trembled violently, and I stumbled back several steps, one knee buckling. I landed on my backside, my hands catching me.

“What in the name of the Moon was that?” I breathed to myself.

I didn’t understand in the slightest what had just happened.

Makona’s presence here didn’t make sense. The sparring rings at the edge of the woods were the oldest ones—barely used anymore except when the newer rings near the center filled up. No one came out here unless they had to.

So why was he here?

For Makona to show up this far from the main grounds, he had to be looking for something. Or someone.

My stomach twisted. It clearly wasn’t the warrior or his apprentice. He’d ignored them completely.

Which left only one possibility.

Me.

FOUR

Why? Why in the name of the Moon would the beta come looking for me?

I was on my feet in an instant, dashing past the bleachers and the two werewolves muttering to each other after the beta.

My fear for the powerful alpha-blooded beta was overridden by my curiosity as I chased after him.

Makona had a good head start on me, and people moved out of his way without needing to be directed.

I was less fortunate and left to try and dodge around the other werewolves, smacking into some of them and receiving threatening snarls and angry grumblings.

Ahead of me, Makona’s salt-and-peppered head disappeared into the long wooden building used to cure hides for blankets, rugs, and coats.

The place was packed, the air thick with the stench of meat, smoke, and wet fur. It always got busier this time of year, with winter creeping closer and every family desperate for new furs before the frost set in.

We had only just started into the fall season, but the waiting list would only continue to grow.

I slipped in after him, scanning the rows of hanging hides. No sign of the beta. My frown deepened as I weaved between racks heavy with half-dried pelts, each one stiff and pungent.

A sudden herd of people exited from the back of the building, ushering out the others with them. It was clear they had been told to leave.

I should have left, too.

Instead, panic took over.

Before I could think twice, I dove for an enormous wardrobe pushed against the far wall, used for furs waiting on a deep cleaning. I shoved aside the hanging hides and crouched at the bottom, swinging the door almost closed. It stopped just before clicking shut, leaving a sliver for me to see through.

The stench made my stomach twist. I gagged softly, burying my nose in my sleeve. Still, the smell would mask my scent. That was… something.

Minutes crawled by. The silence pressed in. No voices, no footsteps. Maybe Makona had gone deeper into the back. Maybe I was hiding for nothing.

I sighed soundlessly. What was I even doing? Hiding in a damn wardrobe like a child. I should have just approached the beta and asked why he’d been staring.

I started to push the door open but then—

Footsteps. Heavy ones.

Two voices followed, low and familiar. My heart stopped.

Makona.

And my father.

I snatched my hand away from the door and held it to my chest just in case it got any second ideas.

No way was I going to leave now. Not when it would be painfully obvious I’d been spying.

Their voices were muffled at first, too far away for me to catch. I leaned forward, careful not to move the door.

Then Makona’s voice cut through, low and sharp, the first full sentence I could make out. “You should have told Odin to let the rogue attack her. ”

My eyes widened at that. He was talking about me, obviously, and I wondered why in the name of the Moon the beta and alpha would be discussing me of all people.

Sadly, I was more surprised by that than the beta wishing I had been gored by a rogue.

“I know she isn’t good for much, but she’d be even less useful as a corpse.” My father’s back was to me, but I didn’t need to see his face to know it was set in his usual icy expression.

The shards of ice in his tone gave it away clearly.

Makona’s form suddenly came partly in view, his profile half obstructed by my father’s back. “I didn’t say Odin shouldn’t have stepped in at all. I mean, you should have let the rogue attack her. A life-or-death situation like that is usually enough to pull out even the most stubborn of beasts. ”

My father reached for a cloak stitched at the top with two different fox pelts. “Trust me, ” he said, slinging the heavy cape over his shoulders, “from what Odin told me, she was as terrified as she’d ever get. She passed out after Odin killed the rogue, and he had to carry her back. ”

“Then she doesn’t have a beast!” Makona snarled as if that was somehow news.

My father remained unconcerned as he adjusted the way the cloak hung on his shoulders. The color suited him, highlighting our shared deep, sun-warmed brown skin tone that never faded, even in winter.

He brushed a hand through his dark hair, the same black shade as mine. “Maybe not,” he conceded offhandedly, more interested in the fit of the clothing than in discussing anything related to me.

Makona did not share the same sentiment. “That’s it?” he growled out. “Everything that bitch told us was a lie, and we’ve wasted all these years we should have been hunting the last of them to extinction? We let that lycan whore into the pack for nothing?”

“No.”

It was just one word. A soft-spoken denial that also held firmness to it.

“We still have her alive, Makona, and as long as we have that, then he’ll come back.”

I leaned forward in the wardrobe, pulse hammering in my throat. Lycans?

The word snagged my attention instantly. Lycans were supposed to be gone. They were mentioned in ancient legends as the firstborn children of the goddess Lune. Every hunter and werewolf knew the stories. Lune had crafted her lycans with power unlike anything else on earth, her chosen ones. From them came the lesser breeds—werewolves, and later, hunters.

We hunters weren’t Lune’s favorites. We didn’t get her blessings, or those destined mates the lycans bragged about. We got whatever Fate threw at us; half bonds, false starts, nothing permanent. Maybe that was why we fought so hard.

Lune’s favor had made the lycans arrogant. They ruled for centuries, lording over humans, werewolves, and hunters alike.

But evolution had given us something her precious lycans lacked.

Venom.

It was the great equalizer. Their bodies were stronger, larger, faster, but one bite from a hunter could incapacitate them within minutes.

The blood feud between lycans and hunters had burned for centuries, flaring and fading like a dying fire that refused to go out. Each generation saw one side rise while the other fell, but neither ever won outright. The balance, however fragile, always held…until it didn’t.

When the hunters’ numbers suddenly surged, the scales tipped for the first time in history. The lycans, once untouchable, began to dwindle under the weight of sheer hunter persistence and venomous strength.

The werewolves, long forced to kneel beneath lycan rule, saw their chance. They turned on the lycans, joining the hunters in a shared hunger for freedom and revenge.

That alliance shattered the old order. The war that followed wasn’t a battle; it was a purge. The hunters called it liberation. The lycans called it genocide. In truth, it was both. The desperate war for survival ended with the extinction of Lune’s first children.

So why were my father and his beta talking like some were still alive?

“Really, bait?” Makona’s rough voice cut back through my thoughts. “You think he’d fall for something that obvious?”

“You know what she is to him,” my father replied. “You know what that means to his kind. He has no choice. He has to come back.”

“And what good will that do us?” Makona snapped. “That bastard never dies. Lune watches over him more protectively than a mother bear guards her cubs. We need what was promised to us. If only those vermin hadn’t killed Irene before she bore your son.”

Makona stepped around my father, running a hand over one of the cloaks as if to busy himself.

There was a stretch of silence, a sign of my father’s silent agreement. “If it was all a lie, daughter or son would have made no difference. Perhaps that means he can be killed in another way if the prophecy is false. And if she didn’t lie after all, then perhaps we just need to wait a little longer.”

The beta whirled on his superior. “How much longer do you want to wait, Tarak? Until those bastards manage to rebuild an army? Or did you want to give them a chance to resurrect their empire we’ve spent centuries destroying?”

I shrank deeper into the wardrobe. I’d never heard Makona like this before. He was usually a man of silence, able to communicate in a series of grunts and glares and the degree to which his lips tightened. But right now, the beta’s frustration with his alpha was plain as day.

And every word they said made my blood run colder.

“It will take them decades to repopulate and grow to a formidable size.”

Makona slammed his hand down on the wooden rack, the slap echoing through the building. “Moon, Tarak, take off your blindfold! They don’t need to repopulate to create an army. They are already starting. They’ve taken over one of the Old Kingdom packs. ”

“And their hands are full trying to keep control over it,” my father replied and shrugged off the fox-lined cloak, folding it neatly in half before draping it over his arm.

Makona followed alongside his alpha as they headed towards my hiding place. I shrank deeper into the closet.

“So, we are all just going to sit on our asses and wait to see if maybe Zikara will get a beast?”

“Maybe the point is that she’s human,” my father mused. “Underestimation can be a dangerous weapon if wielded wisely.”

The beta snorted, understanding something I didn’t. “And what poor bastard is going to be burdened with teaching that pathetic waste of time?”

I almost squeaked out loud.

Train me? My father was actually going to have me trained?

For a moment, all I could do was sit there in stunned silence as the words sank in. My chest swelled with disbelief and sudden joy. Could Fate really have heard me after all this time? Every prayer, every desperate wish to be seen answered at last.

I barely noticed Makona and my father moving closer, my thoughts spinning too fast. Who would he choose? Who would—

Their heavy footsteps stopped only a few paces from my hiding spot. I pressed my hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp, hardly daring to breathe. Then, after what felt like an eternity, both alphas turned and walked past, heading for the exit.

Relief shuddered through me. Warmth flooded my chest until my father’s next words froze it solid.

“Well, that would be you, of course, Makona.”

FIVE

Two days crawled by before the conversation I’d overheard finally came to life. I was going out of my mind waiting. Patience had never been one of my virtues, and keeping my mouth shut while my father stayed silent about the apprenticeship nearly killed me.

More than once, I came close to blurting out that I knew, that I’d heard him and Makona talking, that I was ready to start training. But the fear of ruining it, of having him strip that chance away as punishment, sealed my lips shut every time.

When he finally summoned me, my pulse hadn’t stopped racing since dawn.

He stood at the docks, overseeing the reconstruction after last night’s storm. The flood had torn half the planks from the riverbank and left the remaining section cracked and useless. Apprentices swarmed over the place under the orders of older wolves.

Makona was there too, by the canoe sheds, ripping down the roof where an oak had fallen. Even from across the clearing, I could see the tension in his shoulders.

The entire place buzzed with noise and movement. My father barely looked at me as he spoke, his attention split between barking orders and watching the repairs.

As usual, my father was paying more attention to the other things going on and only half focused on what he was saying to me. He gave no reason for his change of heart except that I needed some skills to keep me alive long enough for help to arrive if I got myself in trouble again.

But it didn’t matter what reason he gave. The words you’ll be trained echoed in my skull like a prayer answered.

Warmth swelled in my chest. My father cared at least enough to make sure I survived. And I’d finally be joining my peers, stepping into the path I’d dreamed of for years.

I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. Tonight would be the night. The ceremony. My initiation.

A low growl rumbled from my father’s chest, cutting through my daydream. He didn’t even need to raise his voice to shatter it completely.

“Oh no, Zikara. You won’t be getting any ceremony. You’re not becoming a true apprentice.”

The words hit harder than a blow.

My mouth went dry, and I had to lick my lips twice before the quiet words tumbled out. “B-but you said…”

The protest died before I could finish it. I couldn’t admit I’d eavesdropped, and now, thinking back, I realized they’d never said apprentice outright. That had all been my foolish, desperate hope filling in the blanks.

I dropped my gaze, heat flooding my face, anger and shame twisting in my gut. Behind me, a few young wolves snickered. I didn’t bother glaring at them. My father wouldn’t defend me. He never did.

“If you want to become an apprentice,” he said coolly, “then find a way to conjure up a beast for yourself.”

The words sank deep. I couldn’t summon what didn’t exist.

I swallowed hard. “I understand, Alpha,” I said quietly, because there was nothing else to say.

He didn’t even look at me when he added, almost as an afterthought, “Makona will oversee your lessons.”

A sharp crack split the air. The board Makona had been prying loose snapped clean in half.

He tossed the splintered wood aside and turned his gaze on me. His blazing eyes spoke volumes.

He hated this every bit as much as I did.

My heart stumbled over a beat before racing faster, pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. Everyone knew Makona’s record with apprentices. He had taken on only three in all his years

…and dropped every one of them before they finished training.

Too weak, he’d said. Unworthy of being warriors.

His methods were brutal. He never held back, never went easy on anyone. Even the youngest wolves were treated like full-grown enemies on a battlefield. It wasn’t uncommon for his trainees to limp away from a session with cracked ribs or broken bones.

But they healed fast.

I wouldn’t.

I had no beast. No werewolf genes. No accelerated recovery. Every injury Makona gave me would heal slow and painful—if at all. And he wouldn’t care.

As if my father could sense my hesitation, he said, “You don’t have to train at all, of course.”

Makona’s mouth twitched upward. It wasn’t quite a smile. It wasn’t quite a snarl either. The look he gave me was a cruel challenge, one that said Go ahead. Choose me. I dare you.

Hell waited for me if I accepted. But a different kind of hell was what I’d be returning to if I didn’t.

I understood the test. Makona was already measuring me, already trying to scare me into backing down. He wanted to know if I had enough spine to stand in front of him, if I wanted this badly enough to survive it.

A part of me whispered that it wasn’t worth it. That he wouldn’t teach me anything useful, only grind me down and use me like a servant until I broke and quit. I’d seen it before.

I had been forced to stand on the sidelines and watch for as long as I could remember. I probably knew more about the people of this pack than I did about myself.

I’d witnessed the eight weeks the beta’s last trainee had been turned into nothing more than Makona’s dog. I had watched the beta run his apprentice ragged without teaching the boy anything even remotely related to fighting.

That was what waited for me. I knew it.

And yet… if I refused, what then? I’d never get another chance to prove to anyone­­­­­––to myself––that I deserved to be here. That I could be worth something.

No. I couldn’t let this chance slip through my fingers. No matter how slippery and hard holding on to this opportunity would be, I wouldn’t let it go.

So, I raised my chin, though my lower lip quivered, betraying my fear through my false bravado. “I accept.” The words were nothing more than a dry croak.

“Alpha,” I said, nodding to my father, who only grunted in response and dismissed me.

“Master,” I managed next, forcing the word past the tightness in my throat as Makona dropped from the roof in a fluid motion. He landed in a crouch before rising to his full, giant height.

He came toward me with the stride of a predator that already knew its prey couldn’t escape. The smug smirk he’d worn moments ago was gone. His grey-blue eyes had gone hard as steel, his scent thick and commanding, his pheromones pressing down on me, a silent demand to submit.

I stumbled back a step. Then another. The ground was soft and slick from last night’s rain, and the heavy thud of his boots followed me like approaching thunder. I lifted my hands in front of me, a useless barrier against something that couldn’t be stopped.

“I–I look f-forward to starting t-tomorrow,” I stammered, my voice shaking as badly as my knees.

Makona didn’t even slow. “Tomorrow?” His voice rumbled low, a hint of laughter curling through it. “Oh no, little girl. You start now.”

He stopped directly in front of me, so close I had to crane my neck back just to meet his gaze. His expression didn’t soften. If anything, the faint twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth deepened as he watched me squirm.

“You can start by hauling these to the timber pit,” he said, nodding to the pile of wood at his feet. “And when you’re done with that, you’ll take the rest.”

My eyes slowly wandered around the fishing docks to see five identical piles to the one he had gestured at.

Before I had time to hope he was only joking about the impossible task he had just assigned me, the beta was already shooing me on. “Hurry up now, you’ll want to get this done before sundown, or doing it in the dark will be much more difficult.”

My brow furrowed in confusion. It wasn’t even noon—every werewolf here would have their loads hauled long before dusk.

Unless…no…Surely, he didn’t mean for me to carry all of that alone.

A sharp flick to my forehead snapped my attention back to him. I hissed and clutched the spot, glaring up instinctively.

“Don’t look at them,” Makona said, voice low but cutting. “You’ll do this alone. No tools. No help. Just your hands and your feet.”

I paled. All by myself? I was twelve, almost thirteen, and had no werewolf abilities to help me!

The full-grown warriors could haul this wood without breaking a sweat. For me, just carrying one of these boards to the timber pit would take ten minutes at least. Each pile had more than twenty boards, and there were five piles. It would take me hours. I would be lucky to finish before nightfall.

“Daylight is burning,” Makona reminded me, the feral curl of his lips exposing every sharp canine. “Come find me when you’ve completed your assignment. Don’t bother showing your face before then.”

A chill ran through my bones, but beneath it, a fire sparked.

Makona would make me regret every minute of this. I knew it. And I would. But I would also prove him wrong. I would train harder than any werewolf, push myself further than anyone had dared, and I would become stronger than them all.

One day, I would show this pack and my father that I was not a mistake, nor a burden, but a force to be reckoned with.

SIX

By nightfall, my resolve began to waver.

The day had flown past in what felt like minutes. Two full piles of wood still lay before me, and my body screamed in protest. My hands were raw and blistered. My feet felt like they were encased in bricks, each step heavier than the last.

My small frame struggled to drag the massive boards to the timber pile several hundred yards away. Deep grooves had been carved into the earth where the boards scraped along the ground. The morning dew had made it easier to slide the timber across the wet grass, but now the ground was dry and stubborn. The boards caught, pulling chunks of turf as I stumbled, tripped, and cursed under my breath.

Even with the grooves carved into the dirt, it was still a fight. Every inch was hard-earned.

No one was allowed to help me, though I doubted anyone would have offered anyway. I could feel their eyes on me, following every awkward, strained movement of this tiny human trying to wrestle boards four times her size. Snickers drifted from the apprentices and younger warriors. I tried to block them out, but their amusement only fueled a simmering anger inside me.

It gave me focus.

Alone, exhausted, blistered, I leaned on nothing but determination. I didn’t see the point in it, other than perhaps it was simply to make me quit.

But I would finish this. And I would be ready for the next one…and the one after that…and the hundredth impossible challenge Makona threw my way.

I would do this, and I would prove I was as good as any of them. Makona was the harshest teacher, but he was also the best. His way of teaching was bitter and cruel, but I would learn things through his methods that no other werewolf would. There were some lessons that could only be taught and learned through pain and tears.

At least, that’s what I told myself because the alternative was something I didn’t want to think about.

Right now, the only thing that mattered was finishing this task, even if it took me until morning.

Makona would make me cry. He would make me bleed. He would make me hurt. But the pain would fade. The blood would clot. Tears would dry. And I would be stronger than I had been before, with a new fire burning in me.

Call me ambitious for an almost thirteen-year-old, but I knew what I wanted, and I would not shrink away or back down from whatever was to be thrown my way. I was determined to take down a werewolf in their human form or wolf skin and lead this pack after my father. I would be the first human to lead a pack of wolves, and nothing was going to stop me short of death.

I would do it.

I would.

Salt burned my lips as I brought a raw, burning hand to my damp face, wiping at my nose and the underside of my chin.

My foot slipped on the slick wood, and the board tore from my grip, thudding to the ground. More hot tears blinded me, and rage and frustration coiled in my chest as I let out a strangled sob. I snatched the plank back up, my shoulders heaving, and forced myself to keep dragging it toward the pile.

I would do this stupid, pointless, annoying task just to spite them. If hauling a hundred boards across the yard got me one step closer to Makona’s lessons—if it earned me the right to stand in the same ring as the others even once—then it was worth every blister. Worth the cold, the hunger, the way my hands screamed when I gripped the wood. Worth the way my cheeks stung from crying.

I would fight and lose until I won. I was willing to lose a hundred times for one win, but I would fight and give it my all until I couldn’t any longer.

I wouldn’t train until I got it right; I would train until I never got it wrong.

Dropping a board onto the timber pile, I trudged back to the docks under a sky swallowed by clouds. Twenty boards left. Nightfall made each trip heavier, each step slower. My body moved on habit alone, muscles screaming, hands raw, limbs leaden.

The moon was hidden, the wind slicing through me, cold seeping into my bones. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, but I ignored it. My mind had narrowed, focusing only on the rhythm of dragging, lifting, dropping.

The last five boards were a nightmare. My arms trembled beneath the weight. The planks slipped and slid. I readjusted again and again, sweat mixing with the chill, teeth gritted, muscles shaking.

My stomach was clenching from hunger pains, but I ignored them and continued on. The last five boards were the hardest. My arms barely held the planks of wood, and I had to continually readjust the wood when it slipped.

Finally, the last board thudded onto the pile. My legs gave out, and I collapsed, sprawled across the docks, staring up at the clouded sky. Five hours until dawn. Five hours to rest this aching, battered body. And then the work would start again.

I knew something similar to this task would await me in the morning, so I forced myself up, making the trek back to my house through the night.

I didn’t even make it to my bed, the stairs seeming like too much of an obstacle, so I collapsed on the couch. The moment my head hit the cushion, I fell into a deep sleep.

All too soon, I was being poked in the ribs. I forced my eyes open, blinking up at Makona standing over me with his arms crossed, the morning light catching the edges of his stern expression.

“I told you to find me when you’d finished, so why am I here waking you instead?”

I almost let the groan of displeasure escape my lips, but I caught it in time and disguised it with a yawn. My legs were stiff and tired from yesterday’s work, and anything the beta had planned for me was the last thing I wanted to do. However, I knew I couldn’t back down from this, so I forced myself to stretch and stand.

I bent down for my moccasins, but Makona’s boot swept them out of reach. “From now on, you won’t be wearing those,” he said flatly, pivoting on his heel and marching toward the door without a backward glance.

I stood there, jaw slack, before snapping it shut and scrambling after him. “What about breakfast?” I called, hoping for a hint of leniency.

“I already ate it.” Was his drawled reply.

Not even bothering to ask, ‘what about me?’ because I know his answer would only be ‘what about you? You had time to eat, and you slept in instead.’ I scrambled out of the house after him.

I jogged to keep up with his long strides, which were easily double my own. The air was crisp and biting, making my lungs ache, but I forced the pace.

We veered off the south side of the pack’s residential area, heading toward one of the two lakes on pack land. Bird Lake, the larger of the two, stretched before us with a scattering of islands where the geese liked to nest.

I surveyed the area as we approached, eyes scanning for any hint of what he had in store for me.

I squinted across the water, shading my eyes from the sun, and focused on the islands where I’d caught movement. What I had first thought were ducks were actually brown hens. My mouth dropped open.

Chickens? Out there? How…? They weren’t exactly known for their swimming skills.

“Somehow the chickens found their way out to the islands in the lake,” Makona said, as if reading my thoughts.

I furrowed my brows deeper. “Yes…I was just noticing the same thing. How in the name of the Moon did they manage—” Then it clicked. My eyes slid to the beta beside me, his blue-grey gaze sharp and taunting.

I looked back at the woven wicker chest I had spotted on my way in. “I suppose you want me to retrieve them,” I said.

Makona’s response was a harsh flick to my forehead. “Don’t make me come and get you again,” he warned before swiveling on his heel and strolling away.

A groan tore from my chest. I looked back at Bird Lake, ironically named in this moment, and my stomach twisted. Swimming across with more than one chicken at a time was impossible. I’d have to hold each bird above the water, leaving my legs to do all the work.

By the fifth chicken, I was drenched and gasping. I dropped the last one into the wicker crate, latching the lid and tying it shut. Sagging against it, I slid to the ground, staring down at my sopping deerskin garment. The fitted shaft came down to my knees, a strap securing it behind my neck. This particular one was dyed red, but it lacked any additional stitching made for decoration.

Sometimes beads or colorful belts would be added as accessories to other girls’ garments. I had made a few on my own, but I lacked real skill, and they always came out tacky, so I’d stopped trying to accessorize myself altogether.

Not that accessories would have come in handy for having to swim across a lake to retrieve some chickens anyway.

I peeled wet strands of black hair off my neck and flicked them over my shoulder. The thick, heavy strands hit my back with a wet slap. Exhaling a shaky breath, I set my head back against the wicker crate and closed my eyes. Giving myself a small break, I took a chance to just breathe.

At least I wasn’t trapped in the dark, empty house for once. At least I was actually doing something for the pack, even if Makona had put the chickens out there just to make me swim for them.

My eyes flashed open as a sudden idea came to me.

Makona most certainly hadn’t swum each chicken over to the islands himself. He must have taken a canoe, paddled out, and released them from the crate all at once.

While I would have to go all the way back through the pack and over to the docks where the canoes were kept, dragging the canoe all the way here would still save me a lot of time and energy.

Climbing to my feet, I headed off down the trail, wincing at every pebble and stick that stuck the bottom of my feet.

Eyes followed me like always, but I got more curious stares than scornful ones. I could only imagine I was a laughable sight.

No one stopped me or asked for an explanation as I reached the canoe sheds. I yanked one free, grabbed an end, and began the trek back to the lake, pulling one of the smallest canoes behind me.

Once I reached the water, I loaded the wicker crate inside, stepped in, and paddled from island to island, gathering the hens. Each splash of the paddle made my arms ache, but I kept going, driven by sheer stubbornness.

When the last chicken was safely aboard, I hauled the canoe from the water, set the oar next to the crate, and gripped the front with both hands. Painstakingly, I dragged the heavy boat back across the main district of our pack’s territory, chickens squawking and flapping inside the crate.

Again, eyes followed me as I dragged the canoe filled with a crate full of chickens across the main district of our pack back to the area where they usually roamed and roosted.

Makona was there waiting for me. Not surprisingly I had been tattled on, but I was beyond caring at this point. He was the one who’d assigned such a stupid and menial task for no other reason than to irk me.

I dropped the canoe to the ground in front of him. The vessel hit the earth with a thud, the chickens squawking and fluttering around in their wicker chest.

Makona raised a brow, prompting me to explain.

I made a flourishing gesture towards the canoe. “I got your chickens.”

He’d never specified how I had to get the birds, just that I had to bring them back.

The beta silently stared back at me.

When he didn’t say anything, I began to unload the chickens, one at a time, depositing them on the ground. Their feathers were damp and sticking out in odd directions, much like my own hair probably was. Once the crate was empty, I closed the lid and turned back to him. “Where do you want me to put the crate?”

At first, he said nothing. After a few seconds of awkward silence floating between us, I struggled to keep from squirming.

His cold eyes examined me closely, but there was something different in his eyes as he looked at me this time. It was still domineering, intimidating, and bone-chilling, but there was a note of something else there now, too.

Curiosity? Surprise? I didn’t know, but whatever it was, it lessened the usual severity that his stare pinned people with.

“You can just leave it.”

Knowing better than to think I was done for the day, I remained rooted in my spot.

Makona plucked a chicken feather from my hair and twisted the quill between his fingers, humming thoughtfully.

Once he settled on my next assignment, he let the feather flutter to the ground and crooked a finger at me, beckoning as he turned his back. “Follow me, Birdy, I heard that there was a need for someone to give all of the training equipment a good cleaning. Luckily, you’ve finished early, so you have plenty of time to do it.”

Without a word of complaint, I trailed after him. If I kept doing his stupid tasks, he was sure to get bored eventually, and maybe then he would be willing to finally teach me some fighting techniques.

That wouldn’t be for a while, though. I could see it in his stride and the cruel little spring in his step.

I was the beta’s new toy, and he still had many ideas of torture to subject me to.

SEVEN

Several weeks had passed since I had begun my ‘training’ under Makona. Every day was the same routine. Makona would devise a ridiculous chore for me to complete if he had the time to plan it, or he would simply give me a list of tasks so lengthy that it took me several days to complete them all.

Sometimes I would outsmart him, finding some solution to easily finish his assignments like I had with the chickens. Other times, Makona would be the one several steps ahead of me.

There was the time I had to pick up every stick in the residential area of the pack. Strangely enough, all the wheelbarrows were in use, every rake had mysteriously vanished, and I was left to haul the sticks by hand, cradling as many as I could and trudging to the firepits for kindling.

Another time, I had been tasked with removing all the burrs matted into several cloaks. Makona had warned me that the furs on the heavy fabrics were old, so I wasn’t allowed to use a brush to clean them. My fingers had stung for days after, and I was still pulling out the little thorns embedded in my fingers.

I could see how anyone would get tired of Makona’s antics after a few days never mind weeks. It was no mystery why all his apprentices had quit.

For me though, the chores were simply that. I didn’t expect anything more from Makona. I was a joke to everyone, including myself and he’d been burdened with my so-called ‘training’ on top of everything else. It came as no shock that he had no interest in taking me seriously. Why should the beta of all people waste his time trying to teach a weak human how to fight?

Honestly, it was almost impressive that he even bothered to plan these outrageous tasks. Maybe the old coot simply enjoyed making people miserable.

After a few days, the chores stopped bothering me. At first, it had been the crushing disappointment of knowing I wouldn’t actually train that had frustrated me.

Once I got past that, I began to appreciate the tasks. I had something to do besides counting the trees that built my house. Sometimes, I even felt useful, doing the work no one else wanted to touch.

Makona barely scared me anymore. Perhaps it was because I saw him almost every day, even if for just the minute it took for him to tell me what I was going to be doing for the rest of the day. Still, every now and then, it would spike when his gaze pierced me, sending shivers down my spine as he tried to intimidate me into fleeing.

The beta grew more and more confused with every passing day that I continued to show up. He was intrigued by my grit, curious as to why I hadn’t given up yet.

When winter came, I found myself free several days a week. Makona busied himself with hunting rotations, keeping the pack fed as prey grew scarce. Sometimes he left on multi-day trips with a group of werewolves to track deer or the occasional bear.

During those absences, I wandered pack lands aimlessly, careful to stay far from the borders.

Then the worst of winter passed and with it my thirteenth birthday. I was ashamed of myself for having the slightest glimmer of hope as I woke up that day and stared at myself in the mirror, watching and waiting for my beast to make an appearance.

I’d curled my lip only to find rounded teeth and stared into my own deep brown eyes, hoping they would change into black pits.

Then another year passed, and I was fourteen, but when I woke up that morning, I didn’t even glance at the mirror as I rolled out of bed, slipping on my moccasins and changing into a two-piece deer skin outfit composed of a heavy shirt and long pants for the winter season.

For more than a year, I kept up with Makona, sticking with it no matter how outlandish the job was. I was technically his longest surviving apprentice, but no one would dare refer to me with such a title.

Makona himself seemed to be in awe of that fact. It didn’t make any sense that a small human was able to persevere where three other promising werewolves had failed.

They had never been underappreciated. They’d carried more pride than I ever could, thinking themselves above menial labor, believing they were destined for more than a pack’s chores.

I couldn’t share that arrogance. For me, this was probably my lot in life. I had no choice but to accept it.

Still, some part of me couldn’t help smiling at the thought that the beta was personally inventing these tasks for me. He gave me more attention than my own father ever had.

My heart still ached with longing for my father. I desperately wanted him to look at me with pride. I wanted him to accept me as his blood, as his family. I wanted him to see how I was being as strong as I could be. I wanted him to see that I was a good pack member, pulling my weight in the ways I could. I wanted him to notice that I followed the rules, stayed out of trouble, and treated everyone with respect, even when they treated me like an insect.

Why couldn’t that be worth the same as excellent fighting skills? Why couldn’t my now superior sewing abilities measure up to the buck, Sylva, a girl my own age, had brought back from her hunting trip? Why wouldn’t my father give me credit when he received comments on the excellently lined cloak I had made for him with the coyote skins he had procured?

Why? Why? Why?

Why could nothing I do ever be good enough?

Why did no one want me?

Why did no one love me?

I used to crumble into tears at these thoughts, but now the pain had dulled into a steady, hollow throb in my chest that I ignored.

Pathetically enough, the only person I felt any closeness to was Makona. He was the only one who spoke to me, who acknowledged me. Birdy, he had called me ever since the chicken incident.

He was also the only one who ever looked at me with something other than annoyance or distaste. Makona still gave me that sharp, intimidating stare more often than not, but every so often, I caught something else. Perplexity, scrutiny, curiosity… and on the rarest of occasions, a flicker of amusement.

Yes, it was pathetic that I could almost consider the cold, grouchy male a friend. I would never admit it out loud, but each glimpse of that fleeting acknowledgment offered me a strange, fragile comfort.

Before I knew it, I was sixteen, facing the harshest winter I’d ever known. Not only because it was the year my peers completed their apprenticeships and climbed into the lower ranks of the pack, but because the blizzards seemed endless.

Food was scarce. Winter had come early, and our stores hadn’t been properly stocked. Each day became a battle just to keep the pack fed and warm.

After one brutal storm, Makona had sent me out to gather broken branches for firewood. I spent the morning dragging larger boughs back to where the others chopped them into manageable pieces.

I made the mistake of wandering too far into the woods. Strong winds had erased my tracks, and the forest seemed to twist and shift around me.

The air grew heavier, the wind howled louder, and the sky darkened with the telltale gray of another blizzard on the way. Panic prickled along my spine. The storm was coming fast.

And I was lost in the woods.

Panic set in within moments. The wind was unforgiving, whipping icy shards into my cheeks and eyes. My gloved hands gripped tightly onto my heavy hood, trying to use the fur as a buffer between the snow and my face.

I knew I had to try and take cover as best as I could and hope I survived. The snow was already deep, up past my knees. My leather boots were tied securely onto my feet, my pants tucked in tightly so the snow wouldn’t fall in and melt against my warmth.

The best shelter I could find in the short time I had was a fallen tree that had been rotting for years. It had collapsed against another still standing, wedged between the V of its boughs. The trunk rested at a diagonal, one end lifted just high enough to form a shallow overhang. Enough, I hoped, to keep me from being buried alive once the snow started to fall.

I crawled beneath it and curled in on myself. My hands, still warm inside my deer-skin gloves lined with otter fur, trembled as I pulled my cloak tighter. The dark leather straps at my wrists kept the sleeves tucked in, but the wind still sliced through every gap it could find. I clutched the edges of my cloak between my knees, pressing my hood down low over my face until my nose was buried against them.

The first sob escaped before I could stop it. Then another. I cried in soft, broken whimpers as the storm gathered strength around me, the wind howling through the trees like some wild beast calling for its prey.

I was terrified that I would be lost under the snow and my body not found until spring came and thawed the snow. I was scared that no one would even notice my disappearance, and worse, I worried no one would even care.

I didn’t want to die. Not yet. I was only sixteen years old, and I had accomplished nothing. I was still alone, and Moon, I was so sick of being alone. If Fate would only give me one friend, one opportunity to actually be accepted, I would be loyal to that person until the day I died. I would do whatever I had to in order to have a place here in this pack.

But I knew I wouldn’t find that in this lifetime. I was going to die in this storm.

Something in my bones told me so. I was going to die this day, and no one would miss me.

Maybe in the next life, I would be born with a beast. Or maybe I would be born into a different world where everybody was human.

That didn’t seem so horrible.

Suddenly, the coldness numbing my cheeks and lips didn’t seem so bad anymore. Death would offer me a new start.

I told myself to let go of my hood, that there was no point in trying to survive here. Surrendering was the kindest thing I could do for myself. There was no point in clawing for a life here anymore.

Life wasn’t worth living if I would just be alone.

“Zikara!” A gruff voice sounded distantly, nearly lost in the wind.

“Fate?” I whispered hoarsely, wondering if he had heard me and had come to grant my wish.

“Zikara!” the voice echoed again, closer this time.

I raised my head, trying to peer through the blizzard and see who was calling out to me.

The wind was nearly deafening, but whoever was shouting for me did not allow himself to be silenced. Then I heard hurried steps plowing through the snow towards me, and suddenly I was engulfed in a back cloak, the heavy fabric covering me as I was pulled against a massive and solid body.

I inhaled the smoky pine scent of the male shielding me from the blizzard, clutching me tight against his warm body.

I trembled in his hold, a dam of years’ worth of emotions finally breaking. How long had I wished to be held like this? How many prayers had I sent to Fate to grant me someone who cared about me?

I clutched onto the male that had ventured out into a deadly storm to find me, and I wept into his chest in relief, terror, and misery. I sobbed in his arms, holding onto him like my life depended on it, because it did depend on it.

“I’ve got you,” Makona’s voice, rough from shouting, murmured with heartbreaking gentleness. “I’ve got you, Birdy.”

EIGHT

Something changed between Makona and me after the storm.

Then again, how could it not?

I had sobbed for hours in his arms, through the worst of the blizzard, and he hadn’t said a word beyond soft reassurances that he was there, that I was safe. The beta had kept me alive that night, and we both knew it.

He’d seen what I meant to do. He’d seen me start to rise, to pull back my hood and let the cold take me. And when I looked into his eyes afterward, I could tell he hadn’t forgotten. There was a shadow of that moment in the way his gaze lingered on me now. Those gray-blue eyes, always cold and sharp, sometimes softened with something dangerously close to concern. He’d never admit it, and I never asked him to. But it was there.

We pretended things went back to normal, but they didn’t. They couldn’t.

We never spoke of what happened, but the silence between us was different now, less empty. There was a kind of understanding woven into it. I depended on him, and he knew it. The truth was, I’d been depending on Makona for a long time. He was the only reason I kept waking up every morning. Neither of us had realized that until the blizzard.

He’d seen how close I’d come to giving up, how close I’d been to simply…stopping. Since then, I could feel him watching me. Every day, those eyes searched mine for the expression he’d seen in the snow, the one that said I was ready to disappear.

Makona knew now that the few minutes of attention he gave me each day were the only things keeping me from falling apart completely. And instead of turning away from that, instead of shrugging off the burden, he accepted it.

He didn’t flinch from the way I clung to his scraps of attention. He didn’t look at me with disgust. I had feared he would, that he’d cut me off, leave me to fend for myself. Leave me with nothing.

But he didn’t.

And I never dared to ask for more. What he gave me was enough. More than enough.

Every time my father ignored me, every time he turned away as if I wasn’t standing right there, the ache in my chest eased just a little when I thought of Makona. I could always go to the beta, and he would find a task for me, something that gave some value to my otherwise meaningless existence.

For that, I was grateful beyond words.

I felt indebted to Makona, not only for saving my life in that winter storm, but also for all the days he had been doing that very same thing before and after it.

The beta was the closest thing I had to family, the only person who saw me, spoke to me, and gave my days any shape. I wanted to repay him for that, to show him that I cherished what he’d given me and that I was trying, always trying, to be worthy of it.

Naturally, the first thing that came to mind was a gift. I’d seen the other people in our community exchange gifts. Gifts conveyed affection in many ways. From a friend to a friend, from a mother to her son, from sister to sister, and of course from lover to lover.

So, I wanted to gift Makona with the best I had to offer.

I poured hours into it. Long, silent nights of careful stitching, each thread carrying the quiet hope that maybe, somehow, he’d understand what I couldn’t say. By the end of winter, it was finished.

I folded the gift neatly and tied it with twine, a small bow at the center. Then, before dawn, I slipped into Makona’s cabin and left it on the table in his kitchen. He’d know it was from me. My scent would be all over it, clinging to the fabric from the oils on my hands that had worked every seam.

I didn’t need to hand it to him personally or leave a note. That would only invite questions and the risk of humiliation. If he rejected it in front of others, I’d never recover from the shame. And I didn’t want to put him in a position to be mocked because a human girl thought her gift was worthy of the beta.

No, it was better this way. Quiet. Private. Ours.

If he wore it even once, that would be more than enough to make me happy. I didn’t need other people knowing I had made it for him; I just needed Makona to know it.

I looked down at the silver fur coat, a soft smile tugging at my lips as I remembered everything it took to bring it to this point. I hadn’t started from scratch, but it still demanded days of cutting the pelt into pieces, stitching it together again to shape it the way I wanted. I’d spent hours glazing the fur, dampening it, brushing it, and arranging every strand until it lay perfectly smooth.

Truthfully, I didn’t know if Makona would even like it. It wasn’t the usual style for our pack. I’d reversed the design, putting the fur on the outside, lined with smoke-colored deer hide on the inside. It was meant for spring or autumn, lighter than the others. The ground hairs had been stripped away, taking much of the warmth with them.

A sharp pang of doubt made me reach for it again. For a moment, I almost snatched the fur back off the table. The thought of him rejecting it—rejecting me—sent a tremor through my chest. I told myself it shouldn’t matter, that it was just a coat, just a gesture. But that was a lie.

If Makona refused it, it would crush me.

I exhaled shakily and drew my hand away.

No. This was something for him to decide. I wouldn’t take away his choice because I was afraid of the answer.

With a firm nod, I left the fur folded neatly on the kitchen table.

I didn’t sleep that night. I tossed and turned, worrying about what Makona would say tomorrow, if he even said anything.

When dawn broke, I was already up. I dressed in a rush and ran out the door, heart pounding.

Only Makona was not waiting for me.

I was instantly distraught, panic rising up within me as my brain, whirling with thoughts faster than I could process them, came up with a thousand and one negative things that could have happened.

Before I could drown myself in a nervous breakdown, a werewolf came up to me. “The beta wants you to meet him at Bird Lake.”

Relief flooded me so fast it almost made me dizzy. Then, just as quickly, it curdled into nerves.

I was jittery the entire trek to the lake, muttering under my breath that everything was fine. Everything would be fine. Things would stay normal, and I hadn’t made things weird by giving Makona a gift. Apprentices gave their masters gifts all the time…right?

“Except you’re not really his apprentice,” I snapped at myself.

When Bird Lake came into view, I spotted Makona immediately, standing with his back to me, staring out over the thawing water.

He wasn’t wearing the coat.

I couldn’t tell if that was a relief or a punch to the gut.

Carefully, I made my way toward him, stepping lightly over the uneven ground like a mouse trying not to wake a sleeping cat. I stopped a few paces behind him, fingers twisting together, nails digging into my palms.

The silence stretched, long and heavy, and with every second he didn’t speak, my heart sank a little lower in my chest.

Then he turned.

My eyes locked on the silver fur coat in his arms.

My stomach dropped. Damnit.

Of course, this was about the coat. I knew I shouldn’t have left it there.

The male’s salt-and-pepper hair blew lightly in the wind as he stared down at me with hard eyes. His voice wasn’t any gentler than the serious look he was pinning me with.

“Zikara, where did you get this?” He demanded. It wasn’t laced with the usual growl that he used when he was losing his patience or actually angry.

No, in fact, it sounded more like he was alarmed.

I shuffled my feet, chewing my lip raw, eyes glued to the dirt. “I…made it,” I mumbled.

“You made it?” he repeated.

I nodded jerkily.

“Where did you get the fur from, Zikara? Last I checked, you’ve never taken down a silverback wolf.”

My voice came out a croak, the words scraping up my throat. “I traded for it.”

“Traded?”

My fingers fidgeted restlessly, tugging at each other as I forced myself to keep talking. “I…snuck into the cart with the trading goods when they went to the eastern packs last month. I’m small enough to fit under the tarps. I brought the cloaks, clothes, and jewelry I’d made to trade for the fur.”

Makona’s eyes narrowed, the lines at the corners deepening. “Zikara, do you even know how much a fur like this costs?” His tone sharpened like a blade as he lifted the coat, silver gleaming in the morning light. “Silverback wolves are rare. The danger of hunting one alone fetches more than—”

“Everything!” I blurted out, my voice rising before I could stop it. Panic and shame burned my throat. “I traded everything I brought. Three cloaks, six beaded belts, two necklaces, three hats and glove sets, and two full winter outfits. That’s what I gave him for it.”

The words tumbled out fast, confessing before he could condemn me. I dropped my gaze to the dirt, voice softening. “Basically everything I’ve made this year…from the scraps no one else wanted.” I risked a look up at him, my eyes wide and desperate. “I swear to the Moon, I didn’t steal anything from the pack.”

“You­–” His jaw flexed, the word dying there. “You gave away everything for this fur and didn’t even get anything for yourself?”

I shrugged, the motion small and helpless. “I wasn’t planning to, but when I saw the silverback pelt, I had to have it. I didn’t mean to trade everything, but…” I swallowed hard. “You said it yourself, that pelt goes for a high price.”

Makona was silent, those unreadable eyes flicking back and forth across my face as he searched for an answer in my expression to his unspoken question.

Hesitantly, I lifted my gaze to meet his. The moment our eyes locked, I had to look away again. I never could hold his stare for long. Not just because it was disrespectful among the pack, but because it felt like standing bare in the snow.

“Do—do you not like it?” I stammered, my voice breaking.

Before he could answer, panic took over. I reached out for the coat. “I’m sorry if it offends you. That’s why I didn’t want to give it to you in front of the others. I don’t know why I thought you’d ever wear it anyway. The craftsmanship is terrible compared to what the others make for you. It was stupid—”

Makona moved before I could reach it, easily keeping the coat out of my grasp. He didn’t have to try, considering he was a wall of muscle and height.

“Why do you do that?” he snarled.

I blinked and took a step back.

“Why do you always put yourself down like that?” His voice was low but sharp enough to cut. “Aren’t there already plenty of people who do that for you? Why add yourself to the list?”

I stared up at him, lips parting soundlessly. I had no answer.

“Did I ever say I didn’t like it?” he continued, the growl fading but his words still edged with heat. “No. Did I say it was stupid? No. Or poorly made?” He leveled his gaze at me. “Don’t put words in my mouth, kid.”

I stood there, stunned into silence, as he gave the coat a rough shake and slipped it over his shoulders.

The silver fur shimmered in the pale morning light, streaked with white and black brindling like frost and shadow. It fit him—too perfectly. My chest tightened as I watched him adjust the collar, the pelt brushing against his jaw.

My eyes drifted up from the well-fitted coat that dropped to the back of his knees just like I had intended, to his handsome face.

I was once again startled to see a softened expression on the beta’s usually stoic face. Makona, the pack’s unshakable beta, was looking down at the coat like he actually admired it. His hands brushed over the sleeves, testing the length, the fit.

“Moon, Birdy,” he mused, looking up from the sleeves, “as if I didn’t already attract enough attention. Are you trying to get me molested or what?”

My mouth opened and then snapped shut. I had absolutely nothing to say in response to that.

Was he, Makona, the tight-lipped, grim-faced beta, actually making a joke?

“N-no.” Though, honestly, he wasn’t wrong. The beta had always been the whispered fantasy of half the females in the pack. Now, draped in silver fur that caught every glint of light, he looked like something carved straight from the Moon herself.

He reached out and flicked my forehead, a rare ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. I winced, rubbing the spot instinctively.

“Then don’t give me such pretty gifts,” he said, turning away as if the matter was settled.

Just like that, he slipped back into his usual commanding tone. “Don’t think that just because you tried to bribe me, I’ll let you off easy today,” he called over his shoulder as he started down the trail toward the pack hub.

For a heartbeat, I just stood there, stunned. Then a wide grin spread across my face before I could stop it. Warmth surged through my chest, bright, dizzying, and impossible to contain.

I took off after him, racing to match his long strides, a soft hum of happiness thrumming in my veins.

NINE

The full moon bathed the world in silver, its light spilling over the frosted grass until each blade shimmered like a rare white gem.

A soft breeze stirred, carrying the smoke from my small fire away from me. The scent of burning sap drifted in the air, sweet, sharp, and strangely comforting.

I sat cross-legged on the frozen ground. My clothes held out the chill, and the dampness from the thawing frost beneath me barely seeped through. The fire cracked, a sharp pop breaking the quiet as sparks leapt into the night, glowing red against the moonlight.

I looked down at the little bundle of black hair in my hand. It was a lock of my own hair, cut just moments ago.

Raising my fist over the fire, I opened my fingers. The strands drifted down, curling and shrinking as the fire devoured them. A faint burnt scent rose before the pine smoke swallowed it whole.

Closing my eyes, I tilted my face toward the sky. The moon stared back, pale and endless.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my breath puffing white into the cold air. “Thank you for Makona.”

“I will keep my promise,” I swore to Fate. “I will give my undying loyalty to the beta. I will stand by him.”

I spoke the vow I’d made years ago as a child, the one I’d murmured to the moon until my voice cracked. Give me a friend, and I will never betray them. Give me a friend, and I will spend my life deserving them.

Fate had listened. Fate had sent me Makona.

He had walked into a deadly storm to find me. He had accepted my gift without mockery. He had seen me when no one else ever did.

Fate had given me my friend, my beta, and now I was giving something back.

Hair carried a person’s essence; that was what our elders said. It was a representation of an oath sworn when cut and then dedicated to a promise. I had seen mates offer their other half a lock of hair while then vowing loyalty. Oathbreakers would often be punished by having their heads shorn. It was a way to publicly shame them and also warn others not to trust them.

Tonight, I burned my hair to seal my promise.

I watched until the fire sank to glowing embers. Then I buried them beneath a thin layer of snow, snuffing out the last trace of flame.

By the time I slipped into bed, exhaustion dragged me under fast. I slept without dreams, the kind of deep, heavy sleep that came only when my heart felt settled.

At dawn, sunlight spilled across my face and woke me. I pulled on a pair of deerskin pants and a matching long-sleeved shirt, the fringe at the seams brushing against my skin as I moved.

When I stepped out of my room, my father was already at the door. “Morning,” I murmured.

He closed the door behind him without a response.

My lips tightened as I stared at the closed door, willing the ache to fade. Then I exhaled, squared my shoulders, and opened it myself, stepping out into the cold morning light.

“Stop being stupid, Zikara,” I muttered to myself, “you know he’s never going to acknowledge you as anything other than a burden. Moon, it’s been sixteen years. How many more years do you need to just give it up?”

Shaking my head, I tramped through the snow, against the hard crust of ice where the spring thaw had melted and refrozen the surface.

When I reached the clearing, Makona stood in our usual meeting spot, speaking with one of the hunters. That place had become our ritual every dawn, before we went our separate ways. Sometimes, if I was lucky, he’d keep me close for the day. Those were always my favorite days.

I waited, rocking on my heels, trying to guess what he might have planned for me this time.

When the beta finally turned to me, the look in his eyes sent a bolt of fear through me. Something was wrong.

Makona’s face was closed, distant. The faint spark of warmth I’d come to cling to was gone. His lips curled into a sneer that made my stomach twist.

“Makona?” My voice cracked.

His snarl hit me like a slap. “You don’t need to come anymore.”

For a moment, my heart simply stopped. I blinked, certain I’d misheard. “What?”

He glared, and the scorn in his eyes gutted me. “Do your ears not work? I said, don’t come to me anymore. I have better things to be doing than indulging the false notions of a stupid little human girl.”

The words struck like shards of ice, sharp and merciless. I flinched under their weight, whispering, “I don’t understand…”

“Get out of here.”

I searched his face, desperate for something, anything, to tell me this wasn’t real. I looked for the faintest crack in that stone-cold expression, some hint of the man who had once held me through a storm.

But Makona’s eyes were empty.

“What did I do wrong?” I asked, teetering on the edge of tears. “Tell me, and I’ll fix it. Please… please don’t do this to me. Not you too.”

“Stop whining, human.” Makona hissed. “I hate whiners and even more than whiners, I hate self-pitiers. I never should have been wasting time thinking up inane tasks for a human to do. Even if it was on the alpha’s orders.”

I swallowed, pressing my trembling lips together as the tears threatened to spill. Fury bubbled inside me, hot and raw, and it pushed the fear aside. I shoved my hands into fists and shouted, voice cracking with rage, “That’s not fair! I’ve done your stupid little chores and assignments. I’ve put up with your crazy antics, and now you’re going to just throw me away like everyone else?”

Tears burned at the backs of my eyes, but they were angry tears, not tears of sorrow.

For a brief moment, I saw the cruel glint in his eyes dim, replaced by something that almost looked like guilt.

He knew I didn’t mean that he was throwing me away like he had his other apprentices. No. He was discarding me like the world always had: like my father, like the pack, like everyone who had ever passed me by without a second glance, not even bothering to pick me up just to throw me back down where they had found me.

Only Makona had done so. Only he had picked me up. More than that, he had held on to me. The bastard had given me hope, and that’s what made this betrayal sting all the more.

Seeming to think our discussion was over, the beta turned his back on me.

That sight, that simple, dismissive movement, ignited something feral inside me. I bent down, hands closing around a rock half-buried in snow. The ice bit at my fingers, the cold seeping through, but I didn’t care.

I hurled it with every ounce of strength I had, honed from years of hauling, dragging, and surviving under Makona’s brutal tasks.

The rock slammed into his shoulder blade with a muffled thud, cushioned by the furs draped over him.

Dead silence stretched around us as the beta halted in his steps.

All at once, dozens of eyes fixed on me. Mouths fell open. Whispers rose like a sudden wind, astonishment to have witnessed a young human girl have the guts to throw a rock at the beta.

Even Makona couldn’t hide his surprise. His head snapped toward me, eyes wide, a dumbfounded expression flashing across his face before narrowing into dangerous slits.

“Did you just throw a rock at me?”

I curled my lip at him, heat surging through my chest. “So what if I did? You’re not about to admit a human hurt you, are you?” My hands clenched and unclenched at my sides, the tremor in them betraying how close I was to shaking apart.

Makona cocked his head, his tone turning almost amused. “Where did all this sass suddenly come from, you cheeky brat? Are you angry I’m not giving you chores anymore?”

I ground my teeth together, the grating noise audible from the pressure I was putting on them. “That’s putting it mildly.”

I stepped forward and jabbed a finger at my chest. “I am the one who didn’t whine about it. Me, a human, persevered through your onslaught of outrageous tasks where apprentice hunters have failed.”

A bitter laugh broke from me as I poked him hard in the chest. “I even outlasted you, Makona. And now you’re the one quitting.”

“Quitting?” His voice dropped, low and dangerous, as he began to circle me. “I haven’t quit. I just find it pointless to keep giving you chores since it’s apparent that you won’t ever give up. I’m only checking to see if you’re worthy of what comes next.”

I went stiff as all of the anger filling me winked out like a flame.

He couldn’t possibly mean…

“You’ve always been so docile, Zikara.” Makona drawled, easily transitioning from a cold and heartless bastard into a sly and underhanded bastard.

All of this had simply been a ploy to test me.

A shiver raced down my spine as I realized how close I’d come to breaking under his words instead of rising to meet them.

“I can’t train a spineless wimp who rolls over at the first threat,” he went on, calm as ever. “But if you’ve got the guts to throw a rock at me of all people, maybe you won’t spend your life with your tail between your legs.”

I took a slow step toward him, watching his unreadable eyes. “You’re… you’re actually going to train me?” My voice came out small, cautious, as if I was afraid the words would vanish if I said them too loudly. “For real this time?”

Makona flicked me on the forehead, and I hissed, pulling back and rubbing at the wounded spot.

“Unless you’d rather just do chores for the rest of your life.”

“No!” The words burst out of me. I pulled my hair over my shoulder, stroking it nervously, biting my lower lip in embarrassment. “No, I mean, of course, I want to train with you.”

The beta hummed, his blue-grey eyes glinting in amusement as he watched my sudden shyness.

Then his head snapped to the side, eyes cutting like daggers. “What are you lot gawking at?” he barked. “Do you have nothing better to do? I’m down one of my most efficient workers, and I have plenty of jobs that actually need completing. If I catch you just standing around again, consider yourself busy until next year with the list of chores I’ll have in store for you.”

The onlookers scattered quickly, but the news had already begun to spread. By mid-day, the entire pack would know that Makona was finally going to teach an apprentice fighting skills, and it was a human of all people he would be mentoring.

TEN

My body collided harshly with the forest ground beneath me. I groaned as sharp pain shot up my back.

I struggled to sit up, gasping to try and get my breath back. It took a second for my eyes to focus, my spinning vision making me dizzy.

Six times. Makona had thrown me to the ground six times in the last few minutes. I’d asked for this. I knew what training with him meant, but Moon, it hurt like hell.

“On your feet,” Makona barked. His boot nudged my side when I didn’t move fast enough.

I blinked to clear the stars from my vision and pushed to my feet, facing him again.

He looked me over with obvious disdain. “What did I tell you about your stance?” he demanded, not waiting for an answer. “Fix it!”

I flinched, spreading my legs wider, adjusting my feet for balance. Once again, I tried to hook my leg around his ankle and pull it out from underneath him, but I was too slow. In a blink, Makona caught my leg and used my own momentum to haul me over his shoulder.

I hit the ground with a heavy thud that knocked the wind out of me again.

“That’s enough for today,” Makona said flatly. “Any more, and I’ll end up paralyzing you the next time you hit the ground.” He turned and walked away, boots crunching through puddles of half-melted snow, not bothering to step around them.

I lay there a moment longer, watching him go, the sky spinning above me. The sun glared down, bright enough to melt the last stubborn patches of snow. I raised an arm to block the light.

Spring had already thawed the lakes, and six weeks had passed since I’d started training with the beta. The first few weeks had been nothing but strength drills and endurance runs. My fitness had been decent for a human, but to Makona, that meant nothing.

He didn’t go easy on me. He didn’t hold back. He didn’t even flinch when my arm fractured early on. It had just healed a few days ago.

Makona still insisted it was my fault. “If you hadn’t squirmed so damn much,” he’d grunted, “you wouldn’t have twisted it.”

I knew better. The grouchy old man had felt guilty, though he’d never admit it. His guilt came out as barked orders and grumbled insults.

A wry smile tugged at my lips as I pushed myself upright. I dusted off my hands and walked past the other apprentices without a glance.

The young werewolves shot me scathing looks, their words following me.

“Why is she here? She’s not even a real apprentice.”

“So embarrassing, her father is so unlucky to have such a worthless child, and the beta even more so for having to waste his time with her.”

“She’s a human, not even an omega.”

“She should have been kicked out of the pack ages ago.”

Instead of confronting these childish statements, I let them roll off my back. They were three years younger than I, after all. Not that those who were the same age as me were mature enough to spare me from their berating gossip, either.

I would never be worthy in their eyes. I would never have any place in this pack.

Not unless I could beat them.

I couldn’t just be as strong, fast, or good at fighting. I had to be better. I had to beat them at every single thing to establish rank in this pack.

They thought I would never be able to compare to even the weakest of them, but I had faith that I would surpass some of them. I had faith in myself because Makona seemed to have faith in me. Still, faith alone wasn’t enough to get me there. I truly needed to hone the skills, and that would take time.

As the days progressed, my lessons with Makona always ended the same, with me on the ground, staring up into his disapproving face.

Still, my endless defeats didn’t crack my determination. It wasn’t like I had a prayer at beating the beta, no matter what type of training I had. However, it was hard to gauge how I would fare against the other apprentices, considering Makona never allowed me to spar against them.

Alongside my training, I did everything I could to earn a standing. The best way to do that was not to let people forget about me. When I was always present, they couldn’t ignore my existence. They could grumble and complain, or mutter under their breath that I didn’t belong, but they could no longer ignore me.

My fire was still as bright as the day that I had first been dropped on the beta as his apprentice. No matter what Makona put me through, I always came out stronger the next day, even more determined than I had been.

But it wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t enough that I was progressing. I wanted to be respected as any daughter of an alpha should be. So, I pushed myself.

I pushed myself relentlessly, filling every second with training, eating, or sleeping. My mind worked as hard as my body. Makona led me across every inch of our territory, testing my memory, forcing me to navigate to any point from anywhere.

As spring bloomed into summer, my training grew harsher. Makona stopped instructing me, choosing instead to slam me to the ground repeatedly without explanation.

I grew annoyed at this new method we had come to. My frustration only rose when I was stuck practicing the same thing for three straight weeks.

“Are you going to ever tell me what I’m doing wrong and how to fix it?” I snapped, struggling under his hand as he pinned my neck, canines bared for the thirty-fourth time that day.

The number of blows to my head had me seeing double, slowing my reactions, and making the lesson even harder.

Ever the helpful teacher, Makona snapped, “When you don’t end up on your back staring up at the sky, you’re doing it right. If not, you’re doing it wrong, so figure it out and fix it.”

Well, okay then. Evidently, he was just as frustrated as I was with my lack of progress.

“How am I supposed to know what to fix if you won’t tell me?” I growled, wrenching his hand from my neck and pushing myself upright.

Makona backed up, giving me room to rise. “Your opponent won’t tell you the best way to defeat them or the mistakes you are making. You have seconds to figure out if you’re doing something wrong on the battlefield and even less time to fix it.”

“Are you ever going to let me win?” I muttered.

“Will your enemy ever just let you win?” he snipped. “No. So, close your trap and stop yapping. If you want to stop getting tossed on your ass, then you’ll have to defeat me. Win fair and square, or there’s no point to it at all.” His foot prodded me in the ribs. “Now get up, you’ve already wasted two minutes just lying there.”

I knew better than to say anything back to him. I got to my feet and we resumed again.

I walked out of practice that day with a bruised rib and a broken finger.

The healers at the medic huts had naturally become my acquaintances after my many trips to their huts. I wouldn’t call them my friends, but they were the most decent members of the pack towards me. Or maybe they just pitied me because of all of the injuries I received from Makona. Either way, I knew they wouldn’t poison me instead of healing me, so I suppose that was something.

I escorted myself out of the hut once they had finished with me and made my way over to the fire ring, where many of the juvenile werewolves gathered. I dropped onto a bench and stared up at the clouds, pretending I couldn’t hear them.

“Looks like the human has been let off her leash.” Sylva mocked.

I blocked her out. She’d always hated me the most, though I didn’t know why. I’d never even spoken to her before.

The bench tipped forward abruptly, and I rolled off of it and onto the ground in a heap.

Instead of picking a fight, I stood and dusted myself off and walked away without a word.

Makona knew they bullied me every chance they got. He would only give me a look when he saw bruises he hadn’t inflicted, but he didn’t push it, seeing I didn’t want to talk about it.

The last thing I was going to do was whine and tattle to the beta. Not only because I knew he’d tell me it was my problem, but because I was more than capable of taking care of a few immature werewolves.

I’d only fought back once before, about a month ago. I’d punched Beiler in the gut and elbowed Fisher in the throat. It had felt good until they jumped me, shoving me to the bottom of the pile where they had all gotten their hits in until I’d blacked out.

I swore then I’d never let that happen again. Next time, I promised myself, I’d leave them all immobile on the ground.

So I kept walking, looking for something to occupy my hands and my head other than plans for revenge.

“Did we give you permission to leave, little human?” One of the other adolescents sneered, using his speed to get in front of me and shove me back. I had expected it, though, and he didn’t move me very far due to my firm stance.

My nose wrinkled as I brushed off my chest where he had touched me. “I don’t need your permission,” I replied blandly, bored even. I was so tired of this.

“Oh, so it speaks.” One of the other females said.

Fisher, the male who had gotten a good jab to the throat from me, seemed to have not lost any of his confidence from his previous embarrassment since he had gotten me back for it.

“What makes you think you can speak back to us? “

The female who hated me most chimed in. “You’re nothing but a human, even an omega would be above you.”

Rolling my eyes so far back they were in danger of being stuck backwards, I drawled, “Thanks for the reminder, Sylva. I was woefully unaware I’m human until your public service announcement.”

Slap!

My cheek stung from the strike. Thankfully no blood was drawn because her claws hadn’t been out, but I knew that four red welts now adorned my face.

I smirked, not even fazed by her attack. “If you want to do that, Sylva, do it right.”

I let my own hand fly, except my nails dug into her cheek, drawing blood.

Before they had a chance to dog-pile me, I slammed my elbow back into Fisher, who was too close behind me for comfort, and launched myself on top of him. I seized his head and slammed it on the ground until he went limp.

It was one of Makona’s many beginning lessons. If I didn’t kill my enemy, I had better make sure they were unable to get back up to stab me in the back.

Beiler was next, earning a knee to his groin. It was a cheap shot but effective. Though not enough to incapacitate him, it gave me an opening to send a hard jab to his windpipe. He collapsed backward, gaping like a fish out of water as he tried to breathe.

The girl on my right swung.

I braced myself for their attacks, knowing I wouldn’t be fast enough to dodge them.

A hard punch landed against my cheekbone while another fist drilled into my stomach, driving the wind out of me. I gasped, trying to quickly regain my breath before bringing my hand up to catch the next fist aimed for my ribs.

I crushed the female’s hand, the bones crunching beneath my fingers. She howled and jumped away from me, nursing her injured hand.

The back of my knee was violently kicked forward. Pain shot up my shin, and I went down to a knee. I backhanded the would‑be biter, then slammed my fist into his temple. He slumped, out cold.

I stood up straight then, my legs quivering but holding me upright as I faced Sylva.

“Remember who you speak to next time.” I spat out a mouthful of blood. “I have the alpha’s blood running through me, and the beta’s training conditioned into my bones. Don’t you ever forget that.”

With that, I limped back to my house, bursting with adrenaline and pride for my accomplishment. The element of surprise may have been on my side, but I had still won. And one victory was all it took to get them to leave me alone.