The White Wolf's Return

Chapter 1

The crystal flute in my hand is shaking.

I stare at the pale golden liquid inside the glass. I try to will my fingers to be still. It is impossible. My heart is hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. It is a frantic rhythm that drowns out the heavy bass of the music thumping through the Silverclaw Pack house.

Five minutes.

That is all that remains of my childhood.

"Breathe, El," a deep voice rumbles beside me. "You look like you are going to pass out. Mom spent a fortune on that silk. Do not throw up on it."

I turn to see Jax. My older brother. He is grinning, but the expression does not reach his eyes. His jaw is tight. He is worried. Just like everyone else in this room.

"I am not going to throw up," I lie. My voice sounds thin to my own ears. "I am just... anticipating."

"Anticipating," Jax repeats. He takes a sip of his own drink. He scans the crowded ballroom. "That is a fancy word for terrified."

He is right.

Tonight is my eighteenth birthday. In the werewolf world, eighteen is the deadline. Most wolves shift for the first time around sixteen. The late bloomers manage it by seventeen. But eighteen? Eighteen is the cutoff.

If my bones do not break and reshape themselves when the clock strikes midnight, I am done. I will be declared Wolfless. A human defect born into a family of high-ranking predators.

"It will happen, Elara," Jax says softly. He squeezes my shoulder. His grip is warm and solid. "I can feel it. You have the spirit of a warrior. The biology just needs to catch up."

I want to believe him. I really do.

"And if it doesn't?" I ask. I keep my voice low. I do not want the pack elders nearby to hear my doubt. "What if I am just empty inside, Jax?"

"Then you are still my sister," he says firmly. "And anyone who has a problem with that answers to me."

I smile, but it feels fragile.

A hush ripples through the room near the grand entrance. The music seems to dip in volume. The crowd parts like the Red Sea.

Kael has arrived.

My breath hitches in my throat. I cannot help it. Even with the anxiety eating me alive, seeing him feels like a lightning strike.

Kael Silverclaw. The Alpha's son. My brother's best friend. The boy I have loved since I was six years old and scraped my knee chasing him through the woods.

He looks devastating tonight. He wears a dark, tailored suit that barely contains the raw power radiating off him. His shoulders are broad. His dark hair is perfectly messy. His jawline looks like it was carved from granite.

He walks with that arrogant, predatory grace that screams authority. He knows everyone is looking at him. He loves it.

He spots us. A smirk touches his lips.

He saunters over. The crowd gives him space, bowing their heads slightly as he passes. He is royalty here. Future Alpha.

"Jax," Kael says. He clasps my brother's hand. Then his amber eyes slide to me. "And the birthday girl."

My face heats up. "Hi, Kael."

He looks me up and down. It is not a lewd look. It is an appraisal. Like he is judging a horse at an auction. His gaze lingers on my bare arms. He is looking for the goosebumps that signal a pre-shift fever.

There are none.

"Still human, Elara?" he asks. His tone is light, but there is an edge to it. A hint of boredom.

"For four more minutes," I say. I lift my chin. I refuse to cower. "The night is young."

Kael chuckles. It is a dry sound. "Let's hope so. My father is already taking bets. It would be a shame if Jax's little sister turned out to be a dud. It reflects poorly on the bloodline."

Jax stiffens beside me. "Watch it, Kael."

Kael holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Just stating facts, brother. The pack needs strength. Weakness is... messy."

He winks at me. It is cruel. He knows how desperate I am.

"Enjoy the party, Elara," Kael says. "While you still have a place at it."

He turns and walks toward the stage where his father, Alpha Marcus, is waiting. I feel a sting of tears in my eyes, but I blink them away. I will not cry. Not tonight.

"He is just stressed," Jax mutters. He sounds like he is trying to convince himself. "The Games are coming up. The pressure is on him to lead."

"He is a jerk," I correct him. "But he is right. If I don't shift..."

"One minute!" someone shouts from the DJ booth.

The room erupts into cheers. The countdown has begun.

My stomach drops to the floor. This is it. The moment of truth.

I close my eyes. I reach deep inside myself. I search for the spark, the beast, the primal anger. Anything.

*Please,* I pray. *Please be there.*

Ten seconds.

Nine.

The crowd is chanting now.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The clock tower outside tolls the hour. Midnight.

I wait for the pain. I wait for the cracking of bones. I wait for the scream to rip from my throat.

Nothing happens.

My body remains entirely, stubbornly human. My skin is cool. My heart is just a human heart.

A wave of nausea crashes over me. It is over. I am Wolfless.

But then, something else hits me.

It is not a shift. It is a scent.

It slams into me like a physical blow. It smells of cedar, rain, and dark chocolate. It is the most intoxicating thing I have ever smelled. It wraps around my senses, drowning out the perfume and the sweat of the crowded room.

My inner world tilts on its axis.

*Mate.*

The word echoes in my mind. Ancient. Undeniable.

My eyes snap open. I gasp, clutching my chest. The pull is magnetic. It drags my gaze across the room, straight to the stage.

To Kael.

He has frozen mid-step. His back is to me, but I see his shoulders tense. He drops his glass. It shatters on the wooden floor, the sound sharp and violent.

The room goes quiet.

Kael turns around slowly. His amber eyes find mine across the sea of people. The connection is instant. It is a golden thread snapping tight between our souls.

Joy explodes in my chest. It is brighter than the sun. I did not shift, but I am not nothing. I am the mate of the future Alpha.

"Kael!" I breathe his name. I can't help myself. I take a step forward.

He does not move. He does not run to me.

He stares at me. And then, his face twists.

It is not a look of love. It is not a look of wonder.

It is a look of absolute, unadulterated disgust.

My smile falters. The coldness in his eyes stops me dead in my tracks.

The crowd senses the shift in the air. They look between us, confused. They can smell the bond too. It is powerful. It is leaking out of us, filling the room with the scent of ozone and destiny.

Kael steps off the stage. He stalks toward me. He does not look like a lover coming to claim his bride. He looks like an executioner.

"No," he says. His voice is a low growl that vibrates through the silent room.

"Kael?" I whisper. My hands tremble.

He stops three feet away from me. He towers over me. The bond is screaming at me to touch him, to soothe him, but his aura is jagged and hostile.

"Is this a joke?" Kael spits the words. He looks around the room, as if looking for someone to blame. "The Moon Goddess has a sick sense of humor."

Jax steps between us. "Kael. Calm down. The bond just snapped. You're in shock."

"Shock?" Kael laughs. It is a harsh, barking sound. He shoves Jax aside with effortless strength. "I am not in shock, Jax. I am insulted."

He turns his glare back to me. "Look at her."

He gestures to me with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It is five minutes past midnight. Where is your wolf, Elara?"

The silence in the room is suffocating. Everyone is watching. My parents are pale in the corner.

"I... I don't know," I stammer. "It didn't come. But the bond... we are mates, Kael. The Goddess chose us."

"The Goddess made a mistake," Kael sneers. "Or maybe she is testing me. Testing my resolve to put the pack first."

He steps closer. He leans down, his face inches from mine. I can smell his rage. It burns my nose.

"The Werewolf Games are in six months," Kael says softly, so only I and the nearest hundred people can hear. "I need a warrior beside me. I need a Luna who can defend this territory. Who can bear strong heirs."

He looks at my stomach, then back at my eyes. His lip curls.

"You are a genetic dead end, Elara. You are a defect. If I mate with you, I weaken my entire bloodline. I will be the laughingstock of the region."

Tears spill over my lashes. I cannot stop them. "Kael, please. I love you. We can make it work. I am strong in other ways."

"Love?" He scoffs. "This isn't a fairy tale. This is survival. And you? You are a liability."

He straightens up. He turns to the crowd. He raises his voice, projecting it to the back of the hall.

"I, Kael Silverclaw, future Alpha of this pack, make my choice!"

My heart stops. "Kael, don't."

He ignores me. He does not even look at me as he delivers the killing blow.

"I reject Elara Vance as my mate."

The words possess power. Real, magical power. They slam into my chest like a sledgehammer.

I gasp, doubling over. A sharp, tearing pain rips through my soul. It feels like a limb is being hacked off without anesthesia. The golden thread snaps, leaving a bleeding, raw end flapping in the wind.

I fall to my knees. My silk dress pools around me on the floor.

"You are unworthy," Kael says to the top of my head. His voice is devoid of emotion now. He is just... done. "Do not expect special treatment because of what almost happened. As of tonight, you are just another mouth to feed."

He steps around me as if I am a piece of furniture.

"Music!" he barks at the DJ. "The party isn't over just because of a little disappointment."

The music starts again, hesitant at first, then louder.

I stay on the floor. I am shaking. I can't breathe.

I look up through my blurry vision. I see the backs of my packmates. They are turning away. They are following their future Alpha. They are awkward, embarrassed to look at the girl who was just destroyed in front of everyone.

I see Jax trying to get to me, fighting through the crowd, shouting Kael's name in fury.

But it doesn't matter.

The bond is broken.

And so am I.

Chapter 2

The morning sun feels like an insult.

I wake up on the floor of my bedroom, curled into a ball. The silk dress I wore last night—the dress that was supposed to mark my ascension—is crumpled in the corner like a dead thing. My chest aches. It is a physical, throbbing pain, right behind my sternum. It feels as if someone reached inside, wrapped their fingers around my heart, and squeezed until it bruised.

The bond. Or rather, the absence of it.

I close my eyes and try to breathe, but the air in the Silverclaw pack house feels heavy. Stale. It smells of him. Cedar and rain. The scent that should have been my sanctuary is now choking me.

A crash from downstairs shatters the silence.

"I will kill him! I swear to the Goddess, I will rip his throat out!"

Jax.

Panic spikes in my veins. I scramble up, stumbling as my legs tangle in the sheets. I ignore the dizziness. I ignore the way my human body feels fragile and slow. I rip the door open and sprint down the hallway.

My mother is standing at the top of the stairs. She is clutching the railing, her knuckles white. She is weeping, silent, shaking sobs that wrack her small frame.

"Mom!" I gasp. "What is it?"

"Don't go down there, Elara," she whispers. Her voice is thick with fear. "Please. The Alpha... he is letting them settle it."

"Settle what?"

Another crash. The sound of wood splintering. A sickening thud of meat hitting meat.

I don't wait for an answer. I fly down the stairs, nearly tripping over my own feet.

The living room is destroyed. The heavy oak coffee table is split in two. The expensive leather sofas are overturned. And in the center of the debris, my brother is dying.

Jax is a strong wolf. He is the Beta heir. He is fast, brutal, and skilled. But Kael... Kael is a monster.

Kael stands over Jax, who is on his hands and knees, spitting blood onto the hardwood floor. Kael doesn't even look winded. His shirt is unwrinkled. His hair is perfect. He looks at my brother with the detached curiosity of a scientist observing a lab rat.

"Stay down, Jax," Kael says. His voice is calm. It is terrifying. "You are embarrassing yourself. And you are bleeding on the rug."

"You... you bastard," Jax wheezes. He tries to push himself up. His left eye is swollen shut. His lip is split. "She is my sister. She is your mate."

"She is a defect," Kael corrects him. He kicks Jax in the ribs. It isn't a hard kick, just a nudge, but it sends Jax sprawling back into the debris. "And I corrected the mistake. You should be thanking me. I saved our bloodline from pollution."

"Stop it!"

The scream tears from my throat before I can stop it. I hurl myself into the room. I slide on the polished floor and drop to my knees beside Jax. I grab his arm, trying to pull him up, but he is dead weight.

"Elara," Jax groans. "Get out of here."

"No," I say. I look up at Kael. Tears blur my vision, but I blink them away. I will not cry in front of him. "Leave him alone, Kael. You made your point. You broke me. Isn't that enough?"

Kael looks down at me. His amber eyes roam over my face. For a second, I see a flicker of something—recognition? Regret? But it is gone instantly, replaced by a wall of ice.

"It is not about breaking you, Elara," Kael says smoothly. "It is about order. Your brother challenged my decision. He challenged my authority. That cannot stand."

"He is defending his family!" I shout.

"He is defending a liability," Kael snaps. The air pressure in the room drops. The Alpha aura flares around him, heavy and suffocating. "The Games are coming. Silverclaw must be perfect. We cannot have weak links. And we certainly cannot have the Beta heir throwing tantrums over a rejected Omega."

"Omega?"

The word hangs in the air.

My father walks in then, followed by Alpha Marcus. My father looks aged, ten years older than he was yesterday. He won't meet my eyes.

"You heard me," Kael says. He looks at his father, then back to me. "I have discussed it with Alpha Marcus. You are Wolfless. You cannot hunt. You cannot fight. You cannot breed warriors. You serve no purpose in the hierarchy."

"Kael," Alpha Marcus warns, his voice a low rumble. "Gently."

"No," Kael says. "She needs to understand. There is no place for her at the table anymore. If she stays, she stays as an Omega. She earns her keep. She cooks. She cleans. She stays out of sight when important guests arrive."

I feel the blood drain from my face. "You want to make me a servant? In my own house?"

"It is the only way you can stay," Kael says. He shrugs. "Unless you want to run into the woods and let the rogues have their way with you. Without a wolf, you wouldn't last a night."

"I would rather die than serve you," Jax spits. He tries to stand again, shaking with rage.

"Then you will die," Kael says simply. "And your sister will still be scrubbing my floors."

"That is enough," Alpha Marcus steps forward. His voice carries the weight of absolute command. "The decision is made. Elara Vance is demoted to Omega status effective immediately. Jax, if you raise a hand against my son again, I will strip you of your rank and exile you. Do you understand?"

Jax trembles. He fights the command, his muscles locking up, but the Alpha power is too strong. He slumps, defeated.

"I understand," Jax whispers. The shame in his voice breaks my heart.

"Good," Kael says. "Now, clean this up, Elara. I have training in an hour."

He turns and walks away. He doesn't look back.

The next twelve hours are a blur of humiliation.

I spend the day doing things I have never done before. I scrub the blood—my brother's blood—out of the rug. I wash the dishes that pile up in the sink. I sweep the hallways.

The pack members I grew up with watch me. Some with pity. Most with relief that it isn't them.

In the afternoon, I am in the library, dusting the shelves. The door opens.

Kael walks in.

I freeze. I grip the duster like a weapon.

"You missed the top shelf," he says. He leans against the doorframe, watching me.

"I can't reach it," I say. "I don't have enhanced height."

"Pity," he says. He walks over. He reaches up and swipes a finger across the dusty wood. He looks at the grey smudge on his skin. "You aren't very good at this either."

"Why are you doing this?" I ask. My voice shakes. "You rejected me, Kael. The bond is gone. Why do you have to be cruel?"

He steps closer. He crowds my space. I can smell him again—that addictive, wonderful scent. My body betrays me; my heart speeds up.

"Because you are a temptation, Elara," he murmurs. His voice is low, dangerous. "Even now. I look at you and my wolf whines. He wants you. It is pathetic."

He looks disgusted with himself. "I have to remind myself what you are. Weak. Human. Useless. If I am cruel, it is to keep myself from making a mistake. I cannot have a Wolfless mate. I need a queen."

"I could have been a queen," I whisper. "I have a brain, Kael. I have a heart."

"Hearts don't win wars," he says. "Claws do."

He leans in, his lips inches from my ear. "Do not think you can win me back. Stay in the shadows, Omega. It is where you belong."

He pulls away and leaves me trembling in the silence.

That night, I sit on my bed. My hands are raw from the cleaning chemicals. My back aches.

The door creaks open. Jax slips inside.

He looks terrible. His face is purple and blue. His ribs are taped up. But his eyes are clear.

"Pack a bag," he says.

"What?"

"We are leaving," Jax whispers. He comes over and sits on the edge of my bed. "I talked to Sarah. She understands. She is coming with us."

"Jax, stop," I say. I grab his hands. "You can't ask Sarah to do that. She is a Delta. Her family is here. This is her home."

"She is my mate," Jax says stubbornly. "She goes where I go. And I am not staying here. I won't watch you be a slave, El. I won't do it."

"Where will we go?" I ask.

"North," he says. "We will be rogues for a while. It will be hard. We will have to hunt for food. We will have to sleep in shifts. But we will be free."

I look at him. My big brother. My hero.

He is willing to throw away his birthright, his comfort, his safety, and his mate's happiness. Just for me.

And I know, with absolute certainty, that it will destroy him.

Kael will hunt him down. Or the cold will get us. Or a rival pack. Jax is strong, but he isn't invincible. He will spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, miserable and poor, all because I was born wrong.

"Okay," I say. I force a smile. "Okay, Jax. Let's do it."

He sighs, the tension leaving his shoulders. "Good. I knew you were brave. I need to go get Sarah. I will meet you at the back gate in an hour. Pack light."

"I will," I say. "I love you, Jax."

He kisses my forehead. "I love you too, kid. We are going to be okay."

He leaves.

I wait until his footsteps fade down the hall.

Then I move.

I grab my backpack. I shove in a change of clothes, a flashlight, and a hunting knife I stole from the kitchen. I put on my sturdy boots.

I go to my desk. I take a piece of paper.

My hands are shaking so hard I can barely write.

*Jax,*

*If you leave, Kael wins. He proves that I am the weakness that destroyed the Silverclaw Beta line.*

*I cannot let you ruin your life for me. Sarah deserves a home. You deserve your rank.*

*Don't come looking for me. The bond between us is strong, but if you follow me, I will just run further. Let me go. Let me find my own way.*

*Maybe one day, when I am not a burden, I will come back. But not today.*

*Be a good Beta. Be a good mate.*

*Goodbye.*

I leave the note on my pillow. It looks white and stark against the dark sheets.

I open the window.

The drop is fifteen feet. Easy for a wolf. Dangerous for a human.

I climb out onto the trellis. The vines scratch my hands. I slide down, my boots scuffing against the stone. I hit the ground hard and roll, stifling a grunt of pain.

I stand up and look at the house.

It is a fortress. It is magnificent. It is filled with people who supposedly loved me, sleeping soundly while my life falls apart.

I see the light in Jax's room. He is probably packing right now. Smiling. Thinking he is saving me.

"I am saving you, Jax," I whisper.

I turn toward the forest. The trees loom like giant skeletons against the moonlit sky.

It is suicide. I know it. A human girl, alone in werewolf territory? I am prey.

But I would rather be prey than a pet.

I pull my hood up. I tighten the straps of my backpack.

"You called me a defect, Kael," I murmur to the wind. "You called me nothing."

I take the first step into the darkness.

"Watch me become something else."

I start to run. I run away from the safety. I run away from the love. I run into the cold, unforgiving night, and I don't look back.

Chapter 3

"Get up."

The command barks out above me. It is gritty and smells of stale tobacco.

I spit blood onto the mat. It is bright red against the grey rubber. I push myself up on shaking arms. My ribs scream in protest. The bruise forming on my side feels like a hot poker, but I welcome the pain. Pain is real. Pain keeps me focused.

"Again," Coach Miller grunts. He stands over me, a behemoth of a man with scars mapping his bald head. He holds the focus pads up. "And this time, Vance, try not to telegraph your hook. You are signaling like a lighthouse."

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I wrap my fingers tighter into fists inside the gloves.

"I am tired, Miller," I wheeze.

"Oh, you are tired?" He lowers the pads. He steps into my personal space. He is human, but he has the presence of an Alpha. "The world does not care if you are tired. The guy in the alley with a knife does not care. Do you think your rent cares?"

"No," I say. I plant my feet.

"Three years, Elara," he says. His voice drops, losing some of the performative aggression. "You have been coming here for three years. Every day. You hit the bag until your knuckles bleed. You spar with guys twice your size. You fight like you are trying to outrun something."

He narrows his eyes.

"But you never tell me what it is."

I stare at him. I cannot tell him. How do I explain that I am running from a biology that rejected me? That I am training to fight monsters that can crush cars with their bare hands?

"I just want to be strong," I lie. It is the same lie I have told since I arrived in this soot-stained city.

"Bull," Miller says. He raises the pads again. "One-two combo. Left kick. Go."

I snap into motion. Jab. Cross. My shin connects with the heavy pad on his thigh with a sickening thud. The impact rattles my teeth. It feels good. It drowns out the other ache. The one deep in my chest that never goes away.

Three years.

One thousand and ninety-five days since I slid down that trellis.

I throw a hook. Miller catches it easily, but I put my weight behind it. He grunts.

"Better," he says. "Keep your guard up. Protect the chin."

We go for another ten minutes. By the time he calls time, I am dripping with sweat. My lungs burn. I strip off my gloves and lean against the ropes, gasping.

Miller tosses me a towel.

"You are getting faster," he admits. He walks over to his desk and picks up a clipboard. "But you are still fighting angry. Anger makes you sloppy. You need ice."

"I need money," I correct him. I check the clock on the wall. "I have a shift in an hour."

"At the diner?" He scoffs. "You are wasting your life slinging hash, kid. You could go pro. I could get you fights. Real ones. With purses."

I freeze.

Professional fighting means medical exams. It means blood tests. It means exposure.

If anyone tests my blood, they will see the anomalies. They will see the markers of a species that is not supposed to exist to the human public. Or worse, a stray wolf might catch my scent on TV or in a ring.

"No," I say sharply. "Just self-defense, Miller. That is the deal."

He shakes his head. "Suit yourself. But you are a natural. It is a waste."

"See you tomorrow," I say. I grab my bag and duck out the back door before he can press me further.

The city air hits me like a wet towel. It smells of exhaust, garbage, and wet pavement. It is disgusting. It is perfect.

The stench of the city covers everything. It is my shield.

I pull my hood up. I keep my head down as I walk to the subway. I am invisible here. Just another girl in a grey hoodie trying to survive the urban grind.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out. A text from my landlord.

*Rent is due. Do not make me come up there, Elara.*

I delete the message. I know rent is due. I have the cash in my sock drawer, minus fifty bucks I had to spend on scent blockers.

The blockers are expensive. They are illegal, sold out of the back of a shady herbalist shop in Chinatown. They burn my throat when I swallow them, and they make me dizzy, but they work. They dull my natural scent down to nothing. To any passing werewolf, I smell like cheap detergent and nothingness.

I descend into the subway. The station is crowded. I squeeze into a corner of the train car.

Suddenly, a sharp pain lances through my chest.

I gasp, clutching my sternum. It is not a heart attack. It is the bond.

It happens randomly. A phantom tug. A reminder that somewhere, hundreds of miles away, Kael is breathing.

Because I never accepted his rejection.

He said the words. He cut me off. But the ritual requires both parties to acknowledge the break for the magical tether to fully dissolve. I ran before I could say it. I ran before I could let him go.

So the bond remains. It is a jagged, broken thing. A live wire hanging in the empty space of my soul.

Usually, it is just a dull ache. But sometimes, like right now, it flares hot. It means he is feeling something intense. Anger? Lust? Pain?

"Get out of my head," I whisper. I squeeze my eyes shut.

A man standing next to me looks at me warily. He shifts away.

"Rough day, sweetheart?" he asks. He has a leering grin.

I open my eyes. I look at him. I channel three years of rage, three years of sleeping with a knife under my pillow, three years of Miller screaming in my face.

"Do not talk to me," I say. My voice is flat. Dead.

The man blinks. The smile drops off his face. He senses the violence coiling under my skin. He turns around and pretends to look at the subway map.

I get off at 4th Street.

My apartment is a shoebox above a laundromat. The walls are paper thin. The radiator clanks like a dying engine. It is a far cry from the Silverclaw estate with its silk sheets and mahogany furniture.

But this shoebox is mine. I pay for it. I bleed for it.

I rush up the stairs, skipping the broken step. I unlock the door and throw my gym bag on the futon. I strip off my sweaty clothes and jump in the shower. I scrub my skin until it is raw.

Lemon and bleach. That is the soap I use. It is harsh, but it kills the lingering pheromones.

I dress quickly. Black pants. Black shirt. The uniform of the invisible.

I grab my apron and head back out. The walk to the diner is short. The neon sign of "Joe’s All-Night Diner" flickers in the twilight. The 'O' is burnt out, so it just says "J e’s".

I push through the glass door. The bell chimes.

"You are late," a voice rasps.

Marge is behind the counter. She is sixty, chain-smokes on her breaks, and has a heart of gold buried under layers of cynicism.

"Two minutes, Marge," I say. I tie my apron around my waist. "The subway was slow."

"The subway is always slow," she says. She slides a pot of coffee toward me. "Table four needs a refill. And the guy in the corner wants to know if the pie is fresh."

"Is it?"

"It was fresh on Tuesday," she says with a wink.

I take the coffee pot. I move through the diner on autopilot.

"Refill?" I ask table four. A couple nods, not looking up from their phones. I pour. I move on.

This is my life now. Pouring coffee. Scrubbing tables. Dodge the hands of drunk patrons.

I am not Elara Vance, daughter of the Beta line. I am just Elara, the waitress. I have no wolf. I have no pack. I have no future.

"Hey, Elara," Marge calls out from the pass-through window. "You okay? You look pale."

I pause. I touch my chest. The ache from the subway has settled into a low thrumming vibration.

"Just a headache," I say.

"You work too hard," Marge scolds. She slams a plate of burgers onto the counter. "You train all day, you work all night. You never date. You never go out. You are going to burn out, girl."

"I am fine," I repeat.

"You are lonely," she says bluntly. "I have eyes. You walk around with a wall up so high I am surprised you don't get a nosebleed."

I force a smile. "I like the wall, Marge. It keeps the draft out."

She snorts. "Yeah, well. One day someone is going to knock it down. And I hope I am here to see it."

The bell above the door chimes again.

A draft of cold air sweeps into the diner.

I shiver. It is not just the cold. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. A primal instinct, the one I thought was dead and buried, prickles down my spine.

Danger.

I turn slowly toward the door.

It is not a customer. Not a normal one.

I grip the coffee pot handle until my knuckles turn white.

I survive because I pay attention. I survive because I know what predators look like.

And I know, with a sinking dread in my gut, that my quiet, lonely life is about to get very loud.