If someone asked me to describe the BloodFang Pack, I'd say it's a place that pretends it's peaceful until someone sneezes too loudly. Then suddenly everyone is suspicious, tense, and ready to blame a neighboring pack for starting a war.
Wolves are dramatic like that.
Our Alpha, Alpha Rowan Hale, is no exception.
Rowan is tall, dark-eyed, and built like someone carved him from irritation itself. He's a fair leader but not a gentle one—every decision sharp, calculated, and rooted in what's best for the pack. People respect him, fear him, and occasionally complain about him behind his back.
Not me, though. I like living.
Rowan has led the BloodFang Pack for twelve years—long enough to stabilize old conflicts, but not long enough to erase the tension underneath everything. The older wolves still test him. The younger wolves idolize him.
And me?
Well… I confuse him.
Not officially. He'd never admit it. But he's never sure what to do with a red-haired warrior who fights like a demon and refuses to bow her head unless she feels like it.
---
Pack morning always starts the same: noise everywhere.
Warriors clashing in the training rings. Children running around the central grounds. Beta wolves organizing patrols. Omegas shouting at warriors who forget to return training gear. And the occasional wolf shifting in the middle of the yard because they're late and desperate.
Normal chaos.
Comforting chaos.
When I stepped out of my family's house that morning, stretching my sore muscles, I saw something that promised a different kind of day.
Three wolves bowing in front of the Alpha's House.
Never a good sign.
I approached slowly, overhearing their nervous conversation:
"We didn't mean disrespect—"
"It was just a misunderstanding—"
"We swear we didn't touch the Alpha's daughter—"
Ah. That explained it.
The Alpha's daughter, Lyra Hale, is… something.
Pretty. Loud. Sweet when she wants to be. Sharp as a thorn when she doesn't. She's two years younger than me but acts like she's twenty years older when it comes to pack politics.
She grew up with status.
I grew up with warnings.
Naturally, we got along fine.
Most days.
I found her standing on the Alpha House steps, arms crossed, tapping her foot, clearly annoyed.
"What did they do this time?" I asked, stepping beside her.
Lyra flicked her hair back dramatically—she couldn't act normal even if she tried. "They insulted me."
One of the kneeling wolves groaned. "We didn't insult you! We only said your new hair ribbon was… colorful."
I bit back a smile.
Lyra narrowed her eyes at them. "Are you saying I don't look good with it?"
"Not at all!" they shouted in unison.
I leaned closer to her. "You're terrorizing them because of a ribbon?"
"I am teaching them respect," she replied primly.
"Same thing," I muttered.
She heard. She didn't deny it.
Before she could say more, Alpha Rowan stepped out of the house, Beta Kale at his side. Rowan's presence instantly silenced everyone—including me. He wasn't loud or aggressive; he just carried authority like a second skin.
"What is this?" he asked, voice calm but cold.
The three wolves immediately knelt deeper.
Lyra answered before they could. "They insulted me."
Rowan sighed. "About?"
"My ribbon."
He stared at her. Then at them. Then at her again.
"Lyra," he said slowly, "I have council meetings today. Handle this without summoning me."
She huffed. "Fine."
Rowan turned to me instead. "Ravena."
"Yes, Alpha?"
"Take over the morning training session. I want evaluations for the newest recruits."
"Yes, Alpha."
His eyes softened slightly—not with warmth, but with trust. That was something he rarely gave freely. I bowed respectfully before heading toward the training grounds.
Behind me, I heard Rowan murmur to Kale, the Beta, "She's growing stronger too fast."
And Kale answered quietly, "That may be exactly what we need."
I pretended not to hear.
---
Training the new recruits was… painful.
Not for me.
For them.
They were clumsy, noisy, impatient, and half-asleep. One boy almost shifted accidentally because he panicked after tripping on his own feet.
"Why are you all breathing like you're allergic to effort?" I snapped.
A girl raised her hand. "It's barely sunrise."
"Then train faster," I said.
They groaned.
I did not care.
My father always told me:
Wolves break when they're soft. You must teach them to be unbreakable.
So that's what I did.
Halfway through training, Lyra joined us, now dramatically calm—as if the morning ribbon crisis never happened.
She flopped onto a bench beside me. "Father says I must learn 'leadership.'" She used air quotes. "So here I am, observing."
"Observation doesn't mean lying down," I said.
"It does if I do it gracefully."
I rolled my eyes.
Lyra stretched her legs. "I heard rumors."
"About?"
"You."
I raised a brow. "Always about me. Be specific."
"They said you pushed a full-grown warrior into the river yesterday."
"He was in my way."
"And? Did he insult you?"
"No."
"Then why—"
"He was in my way, Lyra."
She blinked. "You need a hobby."
I shrugged. "Training is my hobby."
"No, that's your coping mechanism."
I didn't answer.
She wasn't wrong.
After training, I walked to the supply hall to return equipment—and nearly collided with Mira, the Luna.
Luna Mira was everything Lyra inherited: elegance, wit, a warm smile that hid terrifying intelligence. Wolves respected Rowan, but they adored Mira.
"Oh, Ravena dear," she greeted warmly, touching my shoulder. "You're up early as always."
"Training recruits."
"Of course you are." She laughed. "You work harder than the entire warrior unit combined."
"I don't have much else to do."
Her eyes softened. "You could have more if you allowed yourself to."
I froze.
Mira always said unsettlingly wise things like that.
Before I could reply, she added:
"I know you think you stand alone, Raven. But you don't." She squeezed my arm gently. "Remember that. You are pack. Our pack."
I swallowed.
For someone who grew up being treated like a walking prophecy, hearing that still hit harder than any punch.
"Thank you, Luna," I said quietly.
She smiled and continued on her way, elegant as always.
---
Afternoon brought council meetings, patrol assignments, and political tension so thick you could slice it open and serve it for dinner.
Rumors kept circling about outside packs.
Movement on borders.
Changes in alliances.
But no one talked about it openly.
Not yet.
I spent the evening sparring with my father. He fought silently, calculating my every move, correcting my stance with sharp taps to my elbow or shoulder.
"You're thinking too much," he said.
"I'm always thinking," I shot back.
"That's the problem."
We fought until my lungs burned and sweat dripped down my spine. When we finally stopped, Father handed me a water flask and said,
"You're restless."
"No, I'm fine."
"Ravena," he warned.
I sat down heavily. "I feel… change coming."
He didn't laugh. He didn't doubt me.
He simply nodded once.
"Then prepare."
---
Night fell quietly—too quietly. Even the forest seemed to hold its breath.
Later, standing alone under the moonlight, I let my wolf rise beneath my skin. Not shifting—just listening.
She paced, uneasy.
Something is coming, she whispered.
Someone.
I didn't know who.
I didn't know when.
I didn't know what it would mean for me, my pack, or the careful life I had built.
But for now…
For now, my world was still stable.
Still mine.
Still untouched by the storms waiting beyond our borders.
I just didn't know those storms had already started moving toward me.
One step at a time.
Slow.
Silent.
Just like fate.