Claimed by The Alphas

The tires crunched over gravel, a familiar rhythm that made Aria’s chest tighten.

She hadn’t seen this road in five years, but it haunted her dreams just the same—narrow, tree-lined, dripping with fog and pine needles. Black Hollow hadn’t changed much. Small towns rarely did. The woods still pressed too close to the road, shadows clinging to the underbrush like they were alive.

Her wolf was restless. It had been since they crossed the old highway bridge that marked the edge of pack territory. She could feel it pacing just beneath her skin, low and tense, letting out a soft growl that only she could hear.

It wasn’t words. It never was.

Just instinct. A hum of awareness. Unease.

Aria shifted in the passenger seat, her eyes flicking to the side mirror. No one followed them, but the feeling hadn’t eased. That edge. That low thrum of danger.

Her father glanced over at her. “You okay, kid?”

Aria nodded, lying without words. “Yeah.”

Her father kept both hands on the wheel, jaw tight. “We don’t have to stay long,” he said, voice rough like gravel. “If it doesn’t feel safe, we’ll leave. You have the final say.”

That was the promise. One she’d extracted before agreeing to come back at all.

The silence stretched. Trees blurred past. Her parents said nothing more, letting her keep her thoughts to herself. She was grateful. Words never helped, not after what happened. Not after what she became.

The house came into view—a two-story colonial tucked into the woods. Same pale stone siding, same narrow porch. Same yellow glow in the kitchen window.

Aria’s chest squeezed. She could almost smell her mother’s baking already. Her childhood bedroom was still upstairs, untouched except for a fresh coat of paint and new locks on the windows.

Locks didn’t stop memories. But they helped with sleep.

As the car rolled to a stop, her wolf quieted slightly, still alert, still waiting. She stepped out into the cold mountain air and inhaled.

Pine. Earth. Rain.

And something older underneath.

Power.

She was home.

And no one knew.

Her mother stepped onto the porch, brushing her damp hands on her apron. She looked older than Aria remembered, like the years hadn’t been kind. But her eyes—sharp, golden, and steady—still held that same Beta strength.

“Come on in, sweetheart. I kept your room the way you left it.”

Aria gave a weak smile. “With less holes in the drywall, I hope.”

Her father chuckled behind her, low and brief. “Just one or two patches. Don’t let her lie to you, Viv. Our girl hit like a tank even back then.”

The warmth in their voices steadied her, even if it didn’t reach her bones. They didn’t ask questions. They didn’t have to. They’d seen the bruises when she returned, smelled the blood even after she tried to scrub it off. They knew. And they didn’t press.

Inside, the house smelled like rosemary and old leather. Familiar. Safe.

But Aria kept glancing over her shoulder. Her wolf never fully settled.

She couldn’t help it. She knew how the world worked now. Home was a temporary shelter, not a sanctuary. You didn’t relax. You watched. You waited.

And above all else—you survived.

Tomorrow, she told herself, she’d start figuring out what came next. But tonight, she just needed to rest. Just one night.

She lay in her bed, the mattress slightly firmer than she remembered, the air colder. The moonlight crept in through the blinds, silvering the edges of her dresser and picture frames.

A low whine stirred in her chest. Her wolf missed the forest.

Soon, she thought. Not tonight.

And yet, even as her eyes shut, she felt it.

That quiet hum of something moving just beyond the trees.

A presence.

Old power.