The 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 hospital room was quiet, its sterile calm a fragile barrier between Ryleigh and the unknown life waiting outside. For two days, she'd been here—under observation, under care—but more importantly, out of Margaret’s reach.Dr. Derek hadn’t been overly warm, but there was a steady calm to him that made her feel less like a prisoner and more like… a person. He didn’t press her with questions. He treated her physical injuries with a cool professionalism, and though their conversations were short, his voice never held judgment or superiority.In this place, she hadn’t had to fight. She hadn’t had to flinch every time a door opened.But nothing safe lasted long.That morning, she sensed the change before it happened. The nurse’s voice was tighter. The air around her stilled. Then the knock came. Sharp. Measured.Dr. Derek entered first, clipboard in hand, but his jaw was tight. “You’re being discharged.”Behind him stood a tall man in black. Rigid, silent, and unmistakably part of Margar
The 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 fu
The dream started in her old house—but this time, it wasn’t just a false memory. It was actually hers. A day she had lived.The sun had been bright outside, pouring warm light into the quiet home she hadn’t stepped foot in for years. After her parents’ funeral, Ryleigh returned to her parents home. Grief had a way of pulling you toward familiar things, even if they hurt to touch.The apartment in the city had become unbearable. Too loud. Too empty. Too full of reminders that life had kept moving while hers had stopped.She was folding her clothes into neat piles, transferring her life piece by piece into her parents’ bedroom. The master closet was larger than the one in her childhood room, and though it felt invasive at first, something in her needed to be close to them. Needed to belong again.She slid hangers along the rod, clearing space beside her father’s old winter coat and her mother’s silk blouses, still smelling faintly of lilac.Then, tucked behind a stack of shoeboxes, some
There was no telling how much time had passed.Ryleigh woke again to the same dim, flickering bulb above her. Her body still ached, but the sharp edge of soreness had dulled into something deeper—bruises settling into her muscles like old ghosts.She sat up slowly, rubbing her face, her mind still thick with the fading traces of the dream. The grief clung to her like a film—too vivid, too close.Then she saw it.The metal table across the room was no longer empty.A tray of food sat neatly on top: a bottle of water, a sandwich, an apple, and a folded note beneath a pair of gray clothes—soft cotton, a plain shirt and pants.Ryleigh stared, confused.She hadn’t heard anything. Not footsteps, not the door, not even a click of movement.The door still looked bolted shut.She stood and crossed the room, cautious. Her stomach growled before she even got close. The hunger was sharp now, the kind that made her hand tremble as she reached for the tray.She unfolded the new note with one hand,
Ryleigh woke with a sharp inhale, her lungs dragging in air like she’d just surfaced from underwater. Her head throbbed, a dull, pulsing ache that spread behind her eyes. She tried to move, but her limbs felt like they were filled with lead. Aching. Sore. Weak.She lay on her side on something hard and cold. Cement. The chill of it seeped into her skin, numbing her spine, pressing into her bones. She groaned and rolled slowly onto her back, every muscle protesting.When her eyes finally opened, she saw nothing familiar.Dim light buzzed above her, flickering faintly from a single bulb embedded in the ceiling. The walls were solid gray concrete, bare and cold. There were no windows. No clock. No door she could see from where she lay. The air was stale and smelled faintly of stone and metal.She pushed herself upright, wincing. Her back ached like she’d been thrown down a flight of stairs, and her shoulder burned with every movement. Her skin was littered with faint bruises and small cu