LOGINThe building looked more like a manor from another century than a home—its stone walls cloaked in ivy, tall windows casting fractured light across the entrance. As Ryleigh climbed the steps behind the towering guard, her heart thudded so loud she could barely hear her own thoughts.
Inside, the cool air hit her first—clean, but heavy, with something wild and ancient beneath the surface. The walls were lined with portraits, most in sepia tones or black and white. She caught glimpses of piercing eyes in almost every frame. Watchful. Familiar. Then came the woman. She emerged from deeper in the hall like she’d been waiting all along—gray hair in a long braid, steel-colored eyes that seemed to judge everything at once. “You look like her,” the woman said, her voice strong and cold. “Excuse me?” Ryleigh blinked. “I’m Margaret,” the woman continued without pause. “You’ve been brought to the Black Hollow pack. This is your new home. You’ll serve in the pack house—under Alpha Damien and his future Luna.” Ryleigh blinked again, confusion prickling under her skin. “What are you even talking about? Alpha? Luna? Pack?” Margaret’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t play dumb. You’re here now. And you will work. Obedience will make things easier.” “No. No, I think there’s a mistake,” Ryleigh said quickly. “You’ve got the wrong person. I’m not part of a… pack.” Margaret’s mouth twisted. “You don’t know.” “Know what?” Ryleigh’s voice cracked. “That I’ve been kidnapped by lunatics pretending to be wolves?” The room dropped a few degrees. “Shift,” Margaret snapped at the guard beside her. Before Ryleigh could ask what that meant, the man began to change. Bones snapped and cracked as his skin rippled, fur bursting through flesh. His face stretched into a snout, hands becoming claws, clothes tearing. In seconds, a massive gray wolf stood where a man had been. Ryleigh screamed. The walls tilted. Then—nothing. ---- She woke to a quiet room with white walls and the sharp scent of antiseptic. A soft monitor beeped beside her. She blinked, trying to make sense of the stillness. Her last memory hit her like a brick—bones shifting, fur, teeth, a wolf. A door creaked open. A man walked in. Not the old woman. Not the guard. Someone else entirely. Tall, clean-cut, with messy black hair and warm brown eyes. He wore a black shirt and jeans under a white coat. “Hey,” he said with a smile. “You’re awake.” Ryleigh swallowed. “Where am I?” “In the clinic,” he replied. “You fainted during a… well, kind of an intense introduction.” “Kind of?” she echoed, sitting up. “That man turned into a wolf. That’s not normal!” “I’m Derek,” he said gently. “And I’m sorry this was all dropped on you so fast. I’m sure it feels like a bad dream.” She stared. “Feels like I landed in a horror movie. Wolves aren’t real.” Derek hesitated. “They are. So are a lot of things.” “What does that mean?” He took a slow breath and moved to sit in the chair beside her bed. “You’ve heard of werewolves your whole life, right? Fairies. Vampires. Mermaids. Dragons.” Her eyes widened. “Yeah… as fairy tales.” “They’re not,” he said simply. “None of them. They’ve always been real. Just hidden.” Ryleigh stared at him like he’d grown a second head. Derek leaned forward slightly. “Werewolves are organized in packs. Vampires have clans. The fae have courts. Dragons are solitary, mostly. But all of them? Real. Just like us.” “This is insane,” she whispered. “I get it,” Derek said gently. “No one ever believes it at first.” Ryleigh’s voice was barely audible. “You really believe this?” “I don’t just believe it,” he said, eyes locking with hers. “I live it.” Ryleigh leaned back, her entire body trembling. Her thoughts were spiraling—wolves, packs, fairies and dragons, ancient bloodlines. It didn’t make sense. None of it. “You should rest,” Derek said, rising. “You’re safe here, even if you don’t understand it yet. Things are going to start moving quickly.” Before she could respond, he was gone. Leaving her alone—with only the truth she couldn’t accept and the terror blooming slowly in her chest. ----- Ryleigh stayed perfectly still on the stiff clinic bed, the thin sheet pulled up to her chest. Her eyes remained closed, though she was fully awake. Voices echoed from just outside the room. “I don’t care if she’s resting. She’s been idle long enough,” Margaret’s sharp voice rang out, each word laced with ice. “She belongs to the pack now, and she will begin her duties today.” A long sigh followed. “She might have a concussion,” Dr. Derek replied, calm but firm. “She lost consciousness after a traumatic shock. I need more time to monitor her—basic care protocol.” “She’s not made of glass,” Margaret snapped. “If she can walk, she can serve.” Ryleigh’s hands clenched beneath the covers. The cold authority in the woman’s voice sent chills down her spine. She kept her breathing even, determined not to give away that she was listening. “I said no,” Derek said, more forcefully now. “I’m responsible for her health. You can file a complaint with the Alpha if you disagree, but she’s not going anywhere today.” Silence followed—thick and weighted. “Fine,” Margaret hissed. “But don’t expect me to wait forever.” Ryleigh heard the click of her heels echo down the hallway, growing fainter until the sound vanished completely. A beat of quiet passed. “You can open your eyes now,” Derek said softly from the side of the bed. Ryleigh’s lids fluttered open. She blinked at the bright light, then looked up at Derek, who was already standing beside her with a small flashlight in hand. “You heard all of that, didn’t you?” he asked with a tired smile. She nodded. “All of it.” “Sorry,” he muttered. “She’s... intense.” “She’s terrifying,” Ryleigh corrected. “Who is she?” Derek leaned in to check her pupils, the flashlight flickering back and forth between her eyes. “Margaret was the Luna of this pack. She's my mother.” Ryleigh’s jaw dropped. “Wait. What?” “She ruled as the Luna beside my father, the previous Alpha. Until his death a few years ago,” Derek explained. “Now my brother—Damien—is the Alpha.” “You’re…” Ryleigh’s thoughts swirled like a storm. “You’re her son? But you’re nothing like her.” Derek gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” She stared at him. “So… that makes you the Alpha’s brother?” “Little brother, yeah,” he confirmed, tucking the flashlight back into his coat pocket. “But I have no interest in ruling. I took a different path—medicine.” Ryleigh lay back slowly, the pieces of her twisted reality rearranging once more. “Why does she hate me so much?” she whispered. “She looks at me like I’m some kind of disease.” “She doesn’t hate you,” Derek said quietly. “She just hates what she doesn’t control.” Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them—a sliver of shared understanding, quiet but undeniable. Ryleigh exhaled. The safety of this room was fragile and temporary. But it was something. And for now, that would have to be enough.The water poured over them like a veil, steam curling around their bodies. Damien didn’t rush. His hands explored her with deliberate care, relearning every curve as if he wanted to map her from the beginning. His mouth followed, kissing the hollow of her throat, the slope of her shoulder, until he reached the soft swell of her breast.He took his time there, lips teasing until her breath broke in a trembling gasp. His tongue circled her peak, coaxing it to a stiff ache before he drew it into his mouth with a low, steady pull. She arched into him instinctively, fingers threading through his wet hair, holding him closer. Every brush of his tongue made her body soften further, uncoiling the last threads of her tension.Her hands moved over him too, timid at first, then bolder as her palms slid down his slick chest, tracing the ridges of muscle, the warmth of his skin. She felt the hard weight of him against her thigh, and her pulse fluttered at the shiver of power in knowing she could a
Ryleigh woke to the weight of a stare.Not the kind that made a person want to shrink into the pillows, but the gentler kind—steady, warm, like sunlight slipping across a windowsill. She blinked and found Damien propped on an elbow beside her. The golden spill of early light curved over his bare chest and the edge of his shoulder, catching in the damp strands of hair that clung to his temples. His eyes—dark, intent, unreadable to anyone else—rested wholly on her, as if he had been memorizing the shape of her breathing.For a moment, everything was quiet. The marble floors, the hushed sweep of drapes, the low thrum of the vent. His scent threaded the room—smoke and cedar, and beneath it, the clean warmth of skin and soap. Last night rose in her body before it rose in her mind; the tender ache between her hips made memory inescapable. Something final had happened. A door had shut.“How do you feel?” he asked at last, voice rough with sleep, stripped of command.She searched for a word t
The door clicked shut behind her, final and absolute.For a moment, Ryleigh simply stood there, every nerve taut, her breath shallow. She felt as though she had crossed some invisible threshold, one she could never step back over again. The air inside Damien’s suite seemed heavier than the halls outside, filled with the scent of leather, smoke, and something darker—him.Damien didn’t move at first. He stood by the edge of the bed, broad shoulders glistening faintly in the lamplight, damp hair clinging to his temples as if he had only just stepped from the shower. His gaze locked on her, dark and searing, and in that silence her robe suddenly felt impossibly thin.When his voice came, it was low and rough, carrying the weight of command.“Do you know what you’re doing, Ryleigh?”Her fingers tightened at her sides. She forced her chin up, though her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.“I came because… I need clarity. Because I need you.”A muscle ticked along his jaw,
The mansion felt different that morning.Not louder exactly—just sharper.Every footstep carried more urgency. Every movement seemed more deliberate. The air held the taut hum of expectation.Damien was coming home.From the moment Ryleigh stepped out of her room, she could feel it. The other servants were already in motion—polishing banisters until they gleamed, shaking out rugs, straightening curtains. The smell of lemon polish and fresh flowers filled the corridors.Margaret’s voice carried through the halls like a whip crack, issuing orders in that clipped, commanding tone only she could pull off.“Make sure the dining table is set for dinner the way the Alpha likes it. Fresh linens—no wrinkles. And tell the kitchen I want the roast ready exactly at seven, not a minute before.”She was in her element—directing, inspecting, perfecting.It wasn’t for Damien’s sake, Ryleigh suspected. It was for hers. Margaret’s name, her image, her pride… it all had to remain untarnished.Ryleigh ke
Ryleigh woke to the pale gray of morning seeping through the narrow servant’s window.For a long moment, she didn’t move.Her body still ached from the days in the cell, but the sharp, bone-deep fatigue had dulled to a stubborn heaviness. She could work through heaviness.She had to.Pulling herself upright, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and pressed her feet against the worn rug. Her hands smoothed over her knees, an old, unconscious habit that made her feel grounded. She needed grounding now.Margaret’s threats still echoed in her mind, but Ryleigh pushed them aside. She’d made her decision last night. She knew what she had to do, and there was no going back.She stood, moved to the dresser, and dressed quickly in her plain work uniform—a simple black dress, apron, and soft-soled shoes. Her fingers lingered over the brush, and she pulled it through her hair slowly, untangling the limp strands until they fell smooth around her shoulders.Not good enough, she thought, set
Ryleigh didn’t know what day it was.She didn’t know how long she’d been in the cell.And for the first time in her life… she didn’t care.The stone walls could have crumbled to dust around her and she wouldn’t have flinched. The ceiling could have caved in and buried her in cold cement and she would have welcomed it. There was nothing left inside to cling to.So when the sound of heavy boots echoed down the hall, slow and deliberate, she didn’t even lift her head. The lock scraped, the hinges groaned, and the cell door swung open.The guard filled the doorway, broad shoulders nearly brushing the frame. His face was blank—neither cruel nor kind—just… detached. He stepped inside, his shadow stretching across the floor until it touched her bare toes.Without a word, he bent down and scooped her up as though she weighed nothing.Her body dangled against him, arms limp, head resting loosely against the hard plate of his chest. She didn’t resist. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even blink when the sm







