A Packless Luna

CHAPTER 1

Nyra’s POV

I learned how to run before I learned how to trust anyone in this world, and that feels like a sad thing to know about yourself when you’re only a kid. 

The night they killed my family, the whole sky burned red, like someone had set the clouds on fire, and even now, years later, I still hear their screams in my head when it gets quiet. I still smell the blood, that thick, metal smell that gets stuck in your nose and won’t leave, and no matter how far I run across dry lands or through dark forests, that memory follows me like a second shadow.

“Run, Nyra!” Those were the last words my mother ever said to me, and her voice was desperate, sharp and breaking all at once, like a stick snapping under someone’s foot. I didn’t understand what was happening back then because I was only a girl, too young to know that monsters didn’t always look like monsters with fangs and claws. 

Some of them wore the faces of wolves, our own kind, and that was the scariest part. I remember turning back to look at my family, and that was my mistake, which I’ve thought about a million times since.

I saw my father fall first, and it happened so fast. A shiny, silver blade, went straight through his chest, and his eyes found mine right before he hit the ground. 

There was no anger in his eyes, only fear. But that fear was not for himself, it was for me.

 Everything happened too fast after that: fire jumping from house to house, screams coming from every direction, and blood everywhere, soaking into the dirt like rain. There were shadows too, so many shadows moving in the dark, and I wanted to run to my parents. I wanted to help them, or scream until my throat gave out. But my legs moved on their own, like they had a mind of their own, and I ran. I didn’t stop running, not even when my chest felt like it was going to explode.

Years later, I still haven’t stopped, and sometimes I wonder if I ever will. The wind cuts against my skin like tiny little knives as I sprint through the Ash Barrens, which is a place so cold, dry and empty that it makes you feel small inside. But I’m not like this place, I tell myself. I’m not empty.

My lungs burn like I’ve been holding my breath underwater, but I don’t slow down because I know something important: you don’t survive as a rogue wolf by being slow, neither do you survive by being weak. I am not weak anymore, because I made sure of that.

A branch snaps somewhere behind me, loud and sudden, and I freeze right where I stand.

My body goes completely still, like a rabbit playing dead, but my senses sharpen until I can hear every little thing, from the wind, to the dirt shifting, and to my own heartbeat.

Someone is here, watching, and hunting me, and the thought makes my stomach clench. I slowly reach for the dagger hidden under my torn old cloak, with my fingers wrapping around the cold handle.

“Come out,” I say, keeping my voice low but steady even though my heart is hammering. “I can smell you.”

At first there was silence. Then a blur of fur and teeth comes flying at me from the shadows, and I move just in time as a wolf lunges right where my throat had been only a second ago. His claws slash through the air, missing me by a hair, and I roll across the ground, coming up fast with my dagger in my hand. “Bad choice,” I mutter under my breath, because attacking me is always a bad choice. 

The rogue growls and starts circling me. His eyes are wild, starving and crazy, like most of the rogues out here. It's like me once, I think, but I push that thought away. He attacks again, and this time I don’t dodge. I strike. 

My blade sinks into his side, and he howls in pain, snapping his jaws at me, but I twist the dagger and drive it deeper until his body goes limp. “Go back to the dirt,” I whisper, watching as his body collapses, goes still, and dies.

I stand there for a moment, breathing hard and feeling the sweat drip down my back. This is another kill, and another day survived. But survival isn’t the same thing as living, I realize. It’s just… not dying. I wipe the blood from my blade onto my pants and turn away, ready to keep moving. 

That’s when I feel a presence behind me, that is much stronger, colder and different from anything I’ve ever felt before. A shiver runs down my spine. 

I look up, and my whole world changes.

I see a man standing at the edge of the clearing like he owns it. He's tall, stands still and looks dangerous, like a storm cloud that hasn’t decided where to strike yet. His eyes lock onto mine, and something inside my chest tightens, not exactly fear but something else, something deeper that I don’t have a name for. 

“Rogue,” he says, and his voice is calm but heavy, like a storm waiting to break. I straighten my back and grip my dagger tighter, even though I’m not sure it would help. “Alpha,” I reply, because I know what he is. 

You don’t survive this long out here without learning how to recognize power when it’s standing right in front of you. And this man… he is filled with pure simple power, and that ter

rifies me more than any monster ever has.