Alpha’s Possession

For what felt like an eternity, all I could do was run.

One foot in front of the other, every step a war against the ache building in my bones. My lungs were on fire, and my vision blurred at the edges. But I couldn’t stop. I knew the moment I did, everything would fall apart. My body was close to giving out, but if I stopped, it wouldn’t just be exhaustion that caught up to me. It would be death. Not the kind that sneaks in quietly, but the brutal, tearing kind that ends with your blood soaking the ground.

Strangely, I couldn’t tell if that thought terrified me or thrilled me.

The pain in my leg had been a dull memory for a while now. It had gone numb, and only now, with my back pressed to the rough bark of a tree, did I start to feel the weight of the blood loss. Fatigue slammed into me like a truck. I sank to the forest floor, pulled my knees to my chest, and tried to breathe. My mind wandered back to everything that led me here.

There is no age when trauma decides to introduce itself. It doesn’t knock. It just walks into your life and rips everything apart. I was only eight when they took me. It was a night like any other. Calm. Quiet. Our pack was at peace with our allies. No one saw it coming. The attack was sudden, violent, and complete. And just like that, my childhood ended.

In the werewolf community, alliances matter. A pack can be huge, strong, even feared. But no one is safe from everything. Not even us.

I was too young to shift then. I didn’t even know what it felt like. I couldn’t fight back. I couldn’t protect myself. My captors knew that. They made sure I stayed weak. They injected me with wolfsbane so my body wouldn’t change. So I would stay helpless. So I would stay theirs.

For ten years, I lived like that. A prisoner. A slave. A thing.

They used me, tortured me, broke me down until I forgot who I was. I cooked for them. Served them. Entertained them whenever they wanted. I was a plaything, nothing more.

But now, ten years later, I was free. Or trying to be.

Most of them were dead. All but one. The leader. The one whose voice still haunted my nightmares. The one who would kill me if he ever caught up.

I had no strength left, no energy to keep going. My healing was too slow. My body had suffered too much. I closed my eyes and let my wolf form curl into a tight ball beneath the tree. For the first time in years, I felt peace. If this was where it ended, then so be it. I was ready to die.

But fate had other plans.

Half an hour passed. Then I heard footsteps. Slow, careful, heavy.

Something was walking through the woods.

I pushed myself up on all fours, scanning the trees, my ears twitching at every sound. Then I saw him. A massive brown wolf stepped into view. He was towering, muscular, with a blond-tipped tail. His eyes locked onto mine, and I felt it in my bones. He was ready to kill me.

Instinct took over. I growled, crouching low in a defensive stance. He paced, watching me with sharp eyes. Then, slowly, he shifted. Bones snapped. Muscles moved. And suddenly, a man stood in his place.

“Shift,” he said.

His voice was strong, commanding, and it shook something loose inside me. I lowered to the ground, trembling. I didn’t know how to shift back. I never had. When I changed into a wolf earlier, it wasn’t on purpose. It just happened.

“Shift!” he barked louder. I whimpered and dropped my head.

He squinted at me, then crouched down. His tone softened just slightly.

“Have you ever shifted before?”

I shook my large head no.

He sighed and leaned closer. “Just picture yourself as human. Close your eyes and see it. Picture your hair, your face, your body. See yourself and hold that image.”

I closed my eyes and did what he said. I imagined the girl I used to be. Long brown hair to my waist. Petite frame. Bright green eyes. Five feet of barely held together strength. I focused hard, and then it hit. My body contorted, bones cracking, skin stretching. I screamed through the change. And then it was over.

I was back.

Naked, trembling, lying in a ball on the cold earth. Human again.

I looked down and saw the damage. A deep, ragged gash ran from the top of my left thigh to my ankle. Blood smeared my skin, caked with dirt and leaves.

I barely had time to process before I felt his eyes on me again. Watching. Waiting.

And then, finally, he spoke.