CARLA The midday sun poured through my bedroom window, casting golden streaks across the hardwood floor. The warm light did little to thaw the chill that lingered in my chest. Since the attack, the pack house had felt more like a gilded cage than a home. Dawson’s orders were clear: I wasn’t to leave until the rogue threat was neutralized.It was protective, I knew that, but it was suffocating too.There was a soft knock at my door before it creaked open. Dawson stepped inside, his tall frame filling the space effortlessly. His hair was slightly dishevelled, and the tension around his eyes told me he hadn’t been sleeping well.“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice steady but lacking the warmth I desperately craved.“I’m fine,” I replied, tucking my knees under my chin as I sat on the bed. “Better, really.”He nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Good. But you can’t leave the pack house, Carla. It’s not safe out there. Not yet.”I let out a soft sigh. “Dawson, I can’t stay
SMITHThe sun was at its peak, its rays warming the earth and casting long, golden shadows across the pack compound. Carla and I walked side by side, the sound of our boots crunching against gravel mixing with the sound of activity from the training yard. Ever since the news of a rogue attacking Carla got out, the training session had intensified, but this was beside the point. Today was about Carla. I had spent days planning this picnic, hoping to give her a moment of peace after everything she’d endured.She was walking steadily, her face glowing with the ease that had been absent for weeks. After the rogue attack, seeing her like this—strong, radiant, and herself—was all I needed to make this day worth it.The yard ahead buzzed with life. Wolves were sparring, their grunts and laughter blending with the sharp impact of fists meeting pads. Carla’s attention drifted toward the scene, her pace slowing slightly. I didn’t miss the way her eyes scanned the sparring pairs, lingering longe
DAWSONThe sun hung high in the midday sky, its heat pressing down heavily and casting sharp shadows on the ground, making the air feel thick . Its warmth beating down relentlessly on the pack compound as we drilled in the open training ground. Sweat poured from every wolf around me, the air thick with the mingled scents of exertion and dirt. The sound of grunts, heavy footsteps, and the clash of bodies echoed across the space, creating a rhythmic chaos that usually sharpened my focus. Today, though, it only added to the storm brewing inside me.I wiped my brow with the back of my hand, my muscles straining as I locked into another exchange with the guy in front of me. His movements were sharp and deliberate, designed to exploit the weak points he knew I had. My strikes were uncoordinated, lacking the precision they normally carried."Focus," Rick Taylor growled, sidestepping my jab and delivering a swift counter that grazed my ribs."I am focused," I snapped, though it was a lie.Ric
DAWSON The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room, but it did little to ease the cold, heavy knot of dread settling deep in my gut. I stared at my father, his face pale, eyes wide with disbelief and terror. The words he had just spoken to me rang in my ears like a hammer striking metal.“A rogue... a rogue is still out there?”His voice shook, even though he tried to keep it steady. My father, the Elder Alpha, a man who had always been strong, unshakable, was visibly rattled. And for the first time in my life, I felt a knot of fear myself.After Carla described the incident of her attack, concluding that it could have only be done by a rogue. I could feel the weight of the information settling heavily on my chest. It wasn’t just the news of a rogue wolf; it was the possibility that everything we had fought for, everything my father had worked so tirelessly to build and secure, could be undone and also the fact that the rogue decided to attack Carla.“We’ve been over thi
CARLAIt’s strange, being awake like this. For the past week or two, the world had been a blur of beeping machines, sterile white walls, and the faint smell of antiseptic that never quite left my nose. I couldn't place what had happened, not really. It was like the details of the night of the attack were buried under layers of fog, a haze I couldn’t cut through no matter how hard I tried.All I remembered clearly was pain. The sharp sting of claws slashing through my skin, the feeling of blood flowing in thick streams, and then nothing. The darkness had been kind of a relief, to be honest. Not knowing whether I’d survive or not was somehow better than having to live with the memory of it.But now, the haze was lifting. Slowly, very slowly.I blinked, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, hearing the quiet hum of the machines that monitored my vitals. The room was calm, but there was a tension in the air that I couldn’t shake. It lingered in the background like an invisible presence. I
SMITHThe heavy scent of pine and damp earth clung to me ashoved sted my tie yet again. My fathr’s insistence that w,e visit the pack felt less like a request and more like a command. He framed it as a gesture of goodwill, a chance to offer condolences to strengthen alliances. But for me, this visit wasn’t about politics or optics.The pack’s territory was quieter than I remembered, subdued in a way that set my teeth on edge. Loss hung thick in the air, pressing down on my chest as I stepped out ,of the car. Carla’s absence was a gaping wound, one I couldn’t ignore.My father, ever th composed diplomat, led the way to the Pack house. His strides were purposeful, his demeanor unshaken. I followed, my thoughts tangled and restless. This moment needed precision, the right balance of sincerity and strategy.When the Dawson’s father opened the door, the grief on his face was undeniable. His bloodshot eyes and slumped shoulders spoke volumes, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a