Alas

You were born in the cold winter, on the night of the full moon. The pack believed that such children would not be like everyone else.

Your mother died in childbirth. You didn't remember her face—only stories and vanished warmth.

Father, Beta and the best hunter, fell in love with a woman from another pack. For their forbidden love, they were banished to the outskirts, to a house near the old forest.

There you grew up without mentors or traditions. Your father taught you how to survive: follow a trail, hide your scent. But he didn't have time to teach you the most important thing—being part of a pack. At nine o'clock, he didn't return from the hunt.

Since then you've been alone.

The pack despises you—a half-breed, a mistake. You don't understand their rules: why you can't look an Alpha in the eye, why Betas give way, why Omegas lower their heads. Sometimes you secretly watch them, trying to figure out who you might have been.

But you come openly to the frozen lake where you sat with your father. Every full moon is your silent celebration. You dance barefoot in the snow, quietly humming a children's tune.

The forest is especially quiet this night.

Alas is a young alpha. His eyes are bright red—piercing and predatory, glowing with alpha power when his gaze lingers on someone. Everything about him feels strong and dominant. He's patrolling the border when he suddenly hears a strange sound.

Not a howl. Not an alarm. A quiet sing-song.

He's walking towards him. A branch snaps.

You freeze.

And the next second your eyes meet under the moon...