Fated to the Crowned Wolf

The heavy glass door of Benny’s Diner had barely swung shut behind me before the atmosphere curdled. I hadn’t even punched the time clock when the familiar, jagged edge of a confrontation sliced through the morning grease and chatter. At the center of the storm sat Seraphine Elvyr, her platinum blonde hair shimmering under the fluorescent lights, her blue eyes wide with a predatory sort of glee.

Beside her sat a man I recognized as Flint Barlow, another shifter from our pack. He was currently turning a deep shade of crimson, puffing out his chest like a territorial rooster.

"I am so sorry, darling," Flint snarled, though his words were directed at me rather than his date. "It’s a disgrace that this place lets bottom-feeders like this handle anything meant for consumption."

I stiffened, my hand still gripping the strap of my bag.

"Sir "

"Don't 'sir' me!" he barked, slamming a hand onto the table so hard the silverware danced. "Seraphine specifically requested her meal at a precise temperature, and you bring out this lukewarm slop? It’s an insult."

"I literally just walked in," I said, my voice flatter than I intended. I was exhausted before my shift had even begun. "I haven't even touched a tray today, Flint. If you have a problem with the service, talk to whoever was actually on the floor ten minutes ago."

Seraphine leaned back, a delicate hand tracing the rim of her bowl. She knew exactly what she was doing. This was the sixth time this month she’d brought a different "tough guy" suitor to my place of work, using me as a prop to make them feel powerful. It was her favorite hobby: reminding the "wolf-less" orphan that she was at the very bottom of the food chain.

"Are you talking back to a superior?" Flint’s voice rose, attracting the attention of several human diners who looked on with awkward curiosity.

"I'm stating a fact," I countered. "I wasn't here. If you want, I’ll find the person who took your order, but I suspect you’re more interested in the performance than the soup."

That did it. Shifters like Flint, who had no real standing in the pack hierarchy, were always the most desperate to exert dominance over the one person they legally could: me.

"You've got a lot of nerve for a lump of meat with no spirit!" Flint roared.

Before I could even blink, he grabbed the bowl of soup.

I saw a blur of orange liquid and ceramic coming but my human reflexes were a joke compared to a shifter’s speed. The scalding liquid hit me full force, splashing across my face, soaking into my uniform, and blooming like a crown of fire across my neck.

A sharp, jagged scream tore from my throat as I stumbled back, my hands flying to my eyes. It wasn't just the heat; it was the spices, stinging like a thousand needles.

"Oh, goodness! Elara!" Seraphine’s voice was a mockery of concern as she stood up, smoothing her skirt. "Flint, really! That was so unnecessary. I told you I didn't mind if it was a little cool."

Underneath the sound of my own ragged breathing, I heard her lean in. Her voice was a low, venomous purr intended only for my ears.

"Red looks better on you than rags, Firecrotch. Consider it a makeover."

My skin felt like it was bubbling. I wanted to lunge at her, to tear that smug expression off her face, but the reality of my life held me back. Her father was the Beta. If I so much as scratched her, I wouldn’t just lose my job; I’d likely lose my life in a "training accident" by the end of the week.

"Get away from her!"

A firm arm wrapped around my waist, steadying me. It was Sam. Sam was a half-breed son of a human and a shifter which meant he was "tolerated" by the pack but not truly part of it. He lacked a wolf spirit like me, but because of his heritage, he was treated with a modicum more respect than a pure-blooded "dud" like myself.

"She’s fine, Sam," Seraphine said, her smile returning to its polished, public version. "Just a little kitchen mishap."

"Mishap? He threw boiling soup in her face!" Sam snapped, his usual easygoing nature replaced by a cold fury. He began dabbing at my skin with a cold, wet rag.

"She provoked a member of the pack," Flint grumbled, though he looked slightly cowed by Sam’s intensity. "She needs to learn her place."

"Her place is as a human citizen under the protection of the law," Sam hissed. "And I was the server who brought your food. It was steaming when I set it down. You let it sit there while you ignored your date to talk about yourself. I’m calling the police."

The word 'police' hit the table like a lead weight. Shifters hated human authorities; it was the one thing that could actually complicate their lives.

"Now, now," Seraphine interjected, her eyes narrowing. "Let’s not be dramatic, Sam. Elara doesn't want to involve the cops, do you, Elara? Think about how... complicated... that would make things for everyone involved."

The threat was clear. If the police came, my life in the Moonlight Pack would become a living hell.

But then, a voice rang out from a nearby booth.

"Hello? Yes, I need to report an assault at Benny’s Diner. A man just threw scalding liquid at an employee. Please hurry."

I felt a cold shiver of dread wash over me. A human customer was doing the "right thing," and it was going to cost me everything. Seraphine’s face transformed, her mask of civility cracking to reveal the predator beneath as she glared at the woman on the phone.

"Let’s go," Sam whispered, ignoring the brewing chaos.

He ushered me into the kitchen, away from the prying eyes and the mounting tension.

Once inside, he shoved me toward the industrial sink and filled a large plastic container with cold water.

"Submerge your face. Now. The pepper is going to blister if you don't get it out of your pores."

I plunged my face into the water, the cold shock grounding me as the burning began to recede into a dull, throbbing ache.

"The officers are going to want a statement, Elara," Sam said, handing me a clean apron to replace my ruined one.

I pulled back from the water, my skin angry and red, my vision blurry.

"I can't, Sam. You know I can't. If I sign a paper against Flint, Thorne Elvyr will have my head. Seraphine will make sure of it."

"You can't keep letting them treat you like a target," Sam argued, though his voice lacked conviction. He knew the rules of our world as well as I did.

"I just need to survive until I can leave," I whispered, wiping the water from my chin. "Just help me clean this up. I have ten hours left on my shift, and I can't afford to lose the tips."

I looked in the cracked mirror above the sink. My face was a map of pain, but my eyes were blue and defiant. They could burn my skin, but they hadn't broken me yet. Not quite.