Claimed by the rogue Alpha

"They say obsession is dangerous, but for you, I’ll embrace madness if it means keeping you." Knox...

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ARIA'S POV

My fists slammed into the thug’s stomach, and he groaned, stumbling backward.

“Leave her alone,” I snapped, stepping between him and the girl huddled against the wall. She was shaking, her face wet with tears and her dress torn at the sleeve.

The thug sneered, wiping blood from his mouth. “You’ve got guts, girl. Too bad they won’t save you.”

I clenched my fists tighter, ignoring the sting in my knuckles. “Try me.”

He lunged, but I was faster. I dodged to the side, kicking his leg out from under him. He crashed to the ground with a curse, clutching his knee.

“Run!” I yelled at the girl.

She hesitated for a moment before scrambling to her feet and bolting out of the alley. I didn’t look back to watch her go.

The thug pushed himself up, glaring at me. “You’re dead.”

“Not today,” I said sharply

The thug chuckled at my audacity. Well, I might be small in size compared to him but in here, I have the upper hand.

Yeah... The only place I act strong..... My imagination.

My imaginary 'come to the rescue scene dissolved into the dim walls of my bedroom. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My hands weren't bruised from a fight. The thug wasn't real. None of it was. Here, in my imagination, I was unstoppable. I was strong- fierce enough to stand up to anything which was far different from my reality. Here, I wasn’t a hero.

I opened the door as I stepped out of my room- my safe haven. The faint scent of coffee wafted the air from the kitchen. I wasn’t even halfway down the hall when I almost collided with Daphne.

“Watch it,” she snapped, stepping back with a scowl. Her perfectly manicured nails tapped impatiently against her arm. She was dressed in her usual leather hunting jacket, the one she wore when she went out with the others.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, stepping aside to let her pass.

Her eyes narrowed as they darted to the folder in my hand. “What’s that?”

“Nothing important.”

Before she could press further, heavy footsteps echoed behind her. My stepbrother, Jordan, appeared, his crossbow slung casually over his shoulder. He was grinning, but there was a coldness in his eyes that always made my stomach turn.

“Where are you going to, Aria?” my stepmother’s voice, Wren, cut through the air before I could answer. She emerged from the kitchen, her sharp gaze pinning me in place. She was dressed like the others, her gear strapped tightly, ready for the hunt.

“I have a... a job interview,” I stammered, clutching the folder tighter.

“A job interview?” Daphne sneered, her tone dripping with mockery. “What for? Cleaning toilets?”

Jordan just gave me a calculating gaze. Well, he doesn't pick on me like Daphne does, but doesn't his disinterest.

As for my stepmother, Wren, she barely spared me a glance. Her sharp eyes flicked over me, disinterested, as if I were nothing more than furniture.

“At least you're becoming useful,” she muttered under her breath, loud enough for me to catch.

The words stung, but I bit my tongue and kept my head down.

”You're going hunting?” I asked as Daphne picked up her bow as well as Jordan and Wren.

Daphne rolled her eyes, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Of course we are. What else would we be doing?” She said it like it was obvious, like there was no greater purpose in life than chasing down werewolves in the woods.

I bit my lip, holding back the urge to say what I was really thinking. Hunting made me uneasy. But to them, hunting wasn’t just a pastime; it was a tradition. My family had been tracking and killing werewolves for generations. Jordan liked to say it was in our blood. He and Daphne wore that legacy like a badge of honor.

My stepmother, Daphne, and Jordan-they were all the same. Ruthless. Calculated. Born and bred to hunt down and kill werewolves without hesitation. It wasn't just a duty for them; it was a legacy. My stepmother often reminded us, over dinner or during one of her many condescending lectures, that hunting werewolves was a noble cause. "We keep the balance," she would say, her voice laced with pride. "We rid the world of monsters."

To them, werewolves weren't people. They were animals to be exterminated. Daphne thrived on the thrill of the hunt, often boasting about her kills, while Jordan treated it like a game, competing with Daphne for the highest body count. And my stepmother? Wren was the ringleader, ensuring the family name stayed feared in hunter circles.

But I didn't belong in their world.

I had always been the outsider-the weak one they barely tolerated. I didn't have Daphne's cruel confidence or Jordan's bloodlust. I didn't want to hunt anything. And that's the most basic reason I feel out of place in a place I should have called home.

It wasn’t that I thought werewolves were innocent. I’d heard the stories—entire villages torn apart, families destroyed. But I also couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the creatures than my family wanted to admit. Something about hunting them felt… wrong.

“Aria!” Jordan’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. He was staring at me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Are you even listening? I said maybe you should come with us for once. Learn how to be useful.”

Daphne snickered, her laugh light and mocking. “Please, Jordan. She’d probably trip over her own feet before we even got to the woods.”

“I’m fine here, besides I have a job interview to attend” I said quickly, lowering my gaze.

“Suit yourself,” Jordan said with a shrug, his attention already back on his knife.

Wren finally turned to me, her expression neutral but said nothing before walking past me. They left soon after, the front door slamming behind them. The house felt quieter without them, but not in a comforting way. It was the kind of silence that pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe.

As I headed out, I noticed the silver bullets on the floor. Daphne probably threw them down unconsciously.

As I bent to pick them, a familiar pain gripped me.

I slowly shifted the neck of my shirt to reveal a bite mark.

My throat tightened as I remembered the sharp pain during the last full moon, the warmth of the bite that burned through my skin. I had told myself it wasn’t real, that I’d imagined it. But the bite mark said otherwise.

If they found out what happened to me...

It was the last full moon. I had gone out only to be bitten by a werewolf.

I swallowed hard, gripping the folder like it was a lifeline. No one could know. Not yet.

The bite was still there, hidden beneath the sleeve of my sweater, and sometimes it burned with a strange intensity. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. A werewolves bite shouldn’t turn me—so why did it feel different? Was I changing, or was something far greater happening to me?

For now, all I could do was pretend everything was normal. Pretend I wasn’t becoming the very thing my family hunted.

But deep down, I knew the truth wouldn’t stay hidden forever.