Claimed by The Alphas

The hot water hit Aria’s skin like relief.For a moment, she let her eyes close and breathed in the steam and scent of coconut shampoo. The familiar fragrance pulled up a memory—long summer runs through the woods, sun warming her skin, sweat drying against her curls. Safer times. Before everything went wrong.She lathered conditioner into her hair, detangling gently, then reached for the lavender body wash. The floral notes clung to her skin, soft and calming, masking the tension still humming in her chest.When she stepped out, her skin steamed in the cool air. She toweled off quickly, brushed her teeth, and smoothed moisturizer into her face with steady hands. She didn’t rush—routine was its own form of grounding.In the mirror, her curls sprang back to life. Dark, soft ringlets framed her face and bounced down her back. She adjusted a few coils with her fingers, then pulled on a clean hoodie and jeans.The house was quiet downstairs. She could hear her mother in the kitchen, moving

The packhouse office was quiet, except for the scratching of Wyatt’s pen as he moved through stacks of paperwork. Patrol schedules, monthly spending logs, requests for training sessions, and border incident reports all demanded attention. He hated paperwork, but it was necessary. Nothing slipped past him—not when his pack relied on his eyes, his judgment.Roy had dropped off the latest field updates early that morning. No rogue sightings, no intrusions.Still, Wyatt’s wolf paced behind his ribs.Something didn’t add up.He leaned back in his chair, black leather creaking as he rubbed his forehead. The office was all dark wood and cool shadows, high windows letting in soft morning light. Strategically placed maps marked sectors of pack territory. Red pins for problems. Green for stability.Nothing red today.But the instinct that gnawed at his gut hadn’t eased. Not since yesterday morning. Gammas Caden had mentioned picking up a strange scent—familiar but faded—on the west side of the

Kelly’s Grill sat on the corner of Main and Brook, its aged brick exterior and wooden sign unchanged by time. The scent of charbroiled meat and rosemary filled the air. Aria stepped inside, drawn to the familiarity and comfort it offered.Samantha waved from a back booth. She looked the same—wavy chestnut hair, warm brown eyes—but more grounded. When they hugged, Aria nearly broke down.“You look amazing,” Samantha said as they sat.“You too,” Aria replied softly. “Like you belong here.”Samantha smiled. “I stayed. You left. You’ve always been brave.”“Not brave. Desperate,” Aria murmured.Samantha hesitated, then asked the question that hung between them. “Why didn’t you say goodbye?”“I thought I was protecting you.”“From what?”“My ex. He told me we were in danger. That the Elders had ordered my dad to kill him. That you’d be used as bait.”Samantha looked horrified. “And you believed him?”“I was sixteen and in love. He had staged conversations, fake messages. It all looked real.

The motel room stank of old liquor, mildew, and something rotting beneath the floorboards—just enough to remind James of every place he’d crawled through to survive. A single bare bulb buzzed overhead, flickering like it was tired of existing. The television muttered static into the heavy silence, ignored.James paced in slow, deliberate circles, the cracked floor creaking beneath his boots. His fingers twitched at his sides, and his wolf stirred beneath his skin—restless, eager. The beast was always quiet until something worth hunting came close.The burner phone on the nightstand vibrated once.He snatched it up like a lifeline. “Talk.”“She’s back,” came Damien’s voice—low, calm, and cold as ice.James stopped mid-step. “Say that again.”“Aria. I saw her yesterday. Grocery store in Black Hollow. She was with her mother.”He squeezed the phone tighter, plastic creaking under his grip. “Are you sure?”“Positive. I know her scent anywhere. She looked... good. Better than I expected.”

Monday morning arrived in a haze of lavender steam and coconut-scented curls. Aria stood in front of her bathroom mirror, tightening the laces of her combat boots. Her routine hadn’t changed—shower, lavender and coconut products, teeth brushed, moisturizer, curls fluffed and styled with care. The rhythm of it calmed her. Familiarity was a lifeline.Today would be different.Her first official patrol since returning to the pack.Her reflection didn’t show nerves, but her wolf shifted restlessly beneath her skin, brushing against the edges of her mind. Not panicked. Just alert. Always alert.She dressed in fitted tactical pants and a black long-sleeve with the Hollow Crest embroidered over her left breast. She strapped her Glock 19 to her thigh before slinging on her jacket. Ready.Lisa stood by the door when she descended the stairs, thermos in hand.“Black coffee,” her mom said, holding it out with a knowing look.Aria smirked. “You really do know me.”“More than you know.” Lisa squee