Chapter 5: Chapter 5

SELENE

The trunk at the foot of my bed was small. Too small to hold six years of a life.

But there wasn’t much to pack.

A few folded tunics, the extra pair of boots I’d repaired so many times they barely held together, the single book I read so often I knew the words by heart. Tucked beneath it, wrapped in cloth, was a small wooden carving—a wolf, its edges worn smooth from years of being held.

Everything I owned fit into this one box.

I should have felt something about that. But I didn’t.

I placed the book carefully on top, pressed the lid shut, and exhaled.

This was happening.

I was moving into the alpha’s wing.

The thought sent a shudder through me—not of fear, not quite, but something close to it.

There would be no hiding there. No blending in, no shrinking into the background. I would be in the alpha’s home, in his space, under his awareness.

I wasn’t foolish. I knew what the others thought. That I wasn’t good enough, strong enough, worthy enough.

Maybe he pitied me.

That made the most sense, didn’t it?

Alpha Theron was nothing if not calculated. If he had any interest in me at all, it was strategic. Perhaps he wanted to put an end to the whispers, the lingering questions about why I was still here.

That had to be it.

Didn’t it?

The weight of the realization settled in my bones as I lifted the trunk, balancing it against my hip as I turned toward the door.

A voice stopped me before I could step through.

“Where are you going with all that?”

I glanced back.

Maeve stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

Maeve—who had shifted before she turned eighteen. Who carried herself with the ease of someone who had never known what it was like to wait for something that would never come.

I should have said nothing. Should have brushed past her and left.

But I didn’t.

“Alpha Theron’s wing,” I said simply.

The words barely left my mouth before her eyes went wide.

She stared. Blinked once. And then—she laughed.

Loud. Unrestrained.

It wasn’t just amusement—it was cruel.

“You’re joking,” she said, shaking her head. “Tell me you’re joking.”

I didn’t answer.

Maeve’s laughter faltered, something sharp and ugly replacing it. “You can’t be serious,” she said, stepping closer. “Why in hell would he want you there?”

The weight of the trunk in my arms grew heavier.

I should have ignored her. Should have walked past and left her standing there, letting her words fall useless to the ground.

But I made another mistake.

I answered.

“He’s going to train me.”

Silence.

Then—Maeve’s laugh returned, but this time, it wasn’t just hers.

I glanced up to find more faces turned in my direction. Others had heard. And even those who hadn’t—well, they would soon enough.

The news spread like wildfire.

By the time I stepped outside, it had already begun.

Cold air met my skin as I adjusted my grip on the trunk and started forward, boots crunching over packed dirt. The mortal quarters were at the farthest end of the pack house, an afterthought of a building tacked onto the main structure. From here, the alpha’s wing might as well have been on the other side of the world.

The fastest way there wasn’t through the house—it was through the yard.

Beyond the mortal quarters, the land stretched wide and open, the sparse grass worn down to hardened earth by years of heavy foot traffic. The outer boundaries of the pack’s territory lay further out, beyond the training grounds and watchtowers. There, massive wooden posts stood like sentinels, each carved with jagged sigils that burned black against the grain, a silent warning to all who approached. Those markings weren’t for us—they were for outsiders, for the foolish and the reckless who might think to cross into pack land uninvited.

Ahead, the pack house loomed, its stone walls rising from the earth like an immovable force. It wasn’t decorative—there were no flourishes, no unnecessary beauty. It was built for endurance, for strength. A fortress, more than a home.

Scattered throughout the grounds were the other buildings—some newer, some ancient. The barracks, where the enforcers lived, where warriors trained. The armory, stocked with weapons most hoped never to use. The infirmary, a modest structure with thick wooden doors, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

And beyond them all, the alpha’s wing.

Unlike the rest of the pack house, it was set apart—not separate, but distinct. The halls that led to it were guarded, its entrance carved with the oldest of the pack’s sigils. It was not a place anyone entered without permission.

And soon, it would be my home.

The sound of laughter still echoed behind me, carrying on the wind as I crossed the grounds. Eyes followed me, some subtle, some not. The weight of it pressed against my back, but I didn’t stop.

Didn’t hesitate.

Because whether I belonged there or not, I was going.

And there was no turning back now.

I heard the whispers first.

Then the muttering.

Then the outright jeers.

They were waiting for me.

A group loitered just beyond the clearing, eyes gleaming like predators scenting fresh blood. Wolves, every single one of them—strong, fast, sharpened by nature’s hand. And then there was me. Mortal. An outsider even among those who had known me for years.

I kept walking.

“Did you hear?” someone sneered, voice dripping with amusement. “The alpha’s taking in a pet.”

Laughter.

I gritted my teeth, my grip tightening on the trunk.

“Not a pet,” another corrected, mockingly thoughtful. “A servant, maybe or someone to clean his boots—since she’s not good for anything else.”

“Clean?” a female voice cut in, saccharine sweet. “I’d say to keep him warm, but I doubt a mortal would last long in an alpha’s bed. Too fragile. Too weak.”

My stomach twisted, but my steps didn’t falter.

“Careful,” someone taunted. “She might be listening.”

Another voice barked out a laugh. “Doubt it. With her mortal hearing, she’s lucky to hear us coming.”

More laughter, sharp and biting, fangs hidden behind grinning lips.

I pressed forward, my nails digging into the wood of the trunk.

“She doesn’t belong here.”

“She never did.”

“A parasite. A leech sucking from a pack that pities her.”

“She’ll never be one of us.”

“She’s a disgrace.”

My jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

And then—

Something struck my shoulder, hard and fast.

A rock.

I stumbled, the trunk slipping from my grip and hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

Laughter erupted around me.

My chest tightened, something hot curling beneath my ribs.

I bent to grab the trunk, ignoring the sting where the rock struck.

Another voice rang out, loud and cruel.

“Hey, Selene—why don’t you do us all a favor and leave?”

I opened my mouth, but a second rock flew through the air.

This one struck my wrist, sending a sharp jolt of pain up my arm.

I gasped but refused to cry out.

The group moved in closer, their presence pressing in like a wall. I could see their faces now—boys and girls I’d grown up with, ones who had never spared me a second glance until now.

Now that I was something to laugh at.

Something to torment.

I reached for my trunk again.

“Maybe she thinks she’s one of us,” someone sneered.

“She’s nothing,” another spat.

I tightened my fingers around the wooden handle.

Then—a third rock.

It was the last.

Because the world split open.

A sound split the night, deep and raw, shaking the very ground beneath my feet.

A roar.

It wasn’t human.

It wasn’t entirely wolf, either.

It was something older. Something ancient. It rolled through the clearing like a storm given voice, not just sound but force—something that struck low in my gut and wrapped around my ribs like a vice.

Everything stopped.

Laughter died in strangled throats. The jeers turned to silence, sharp and immediate. The weight of it pressed down on the pack, sinking into their bones, reminding them—reminding me—who stood above them all.

My breath caught as I turned toward the pack house steps.

He stood at the top, the alpha, his figure framed by the flickering torchlight, his presence stretching out like an eclipse blotting out the stars. His stance was still, too still, the kind of measured calm that made my stomach tighten with something sharp and instinctive.

The torches cast uneven shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the broad set of his shoulders, the sheer weight of him. Even sightless, even with those clouded eyes that saw nothing—he knew.

He didn’t need to see them to mark them. Didn’t need to look to know who had spoken, who had thrown the rock.

He knew.

And the pack knew that he knew.

No one moved. No one dared to.

His roar still echoed inside me, lingering, pulsing like a second heartbeat beneath my skin. My breath stuttered, something foreign curling in my stomach, low and wrong.

Heat.

Not from the torches. Not from the press of bodies still frozen in place.

From him.

It coiled inside me like a slow, dangerous ember, creeping up my spine and settling at the base of my throat. My mind rebelled against it, shoved it down, locked it away, but it was too late. I felt it.

I shouldn’t feel it.

My grip on the trunk tightened, my nails digging into the wood as if I could ground myself back into reality.

It’s fear, I told myself. Adrenaline. Nothing else.

Nothing else.

I forced my gaze lower. I knew he had given me permission, knew I was one of the only ones allowed to look—but I couldn’t. Not now. Not when the weight of his presence made my knees feel weak, made my lungs feel too small to hold a full breath.

And then—

He moved.

A single step forward. No flourish, no spectacle, just a shift in his weight. But it didn’t matter. The earth itself seemed to bow beneath him, the space around him warping, heavy and thick with expectation.

No one spoke. No one dared to breathe.

The air held still, waiting for the first break.

Waiting for the first wolf to crack.

Waiting for the first consequence to fall.

And when it did—

I knew it would be merciless.