CHAPTER ONE

“It must be some kind of joke,” Jon said through a sneer. “There’s no such thing as an Alpha of Alphas. What is even funnier is that you believe he’ll come for our pack.”

“I assure you, the information is not to be disregarded,” Atlas warned.

Even though Celia Blackwood was present in the room, she was as good as invisible to the council in charge of the Knox settlement pack.

The four of them were seated at a round table in the Alpha’s cabin—Nicholas, the Alpha yet to have a mate. Jon, the pack’s Beta and Nicholas’ younger brother. Indra, the Beta female, Jon’s mate. Finally, the highest mid–rank werewolf, Atlas.

Atlas was trusted with the job of relating with other packs. He could be seen as an intermediary, one respected, as was the entire council.

 He had just returned with information from a pack settlement that was a half–a–days run from Knox, and Celia was able to listen in on their conversation.

It was the perks of being the weakest in the pack. A lowly Omega like her could only contribute by cleaning cabins and gathering spices. It was actually hard to imagine there were any perks to being an Omega, however, she could only look to the bright side.

“We’re going to take the word of the Flora settlement?” Jon scoffed, running a hand over his rough–hewn face. “Don’t tell me you believe this, Nicholas?”

Indra leaned close to her mate and spoke with a soft voice, “Maybe we should—”

“I didn’t ask for your input!” Jon snapped, causing her to settle.

Of course he snaps, Celia thought as she filled cups with grape wine in a corner of the room. Jon was an ass, and Indra was often at the end of his temper tantrums.

Celia hoped to never be mated to someone like him, though she couldn’t imagine being mated to anyone at all. She was in her mid–twenties, and it happened for most female werewolves around her age, but it was almost out of the question for someone like her—weak and unseen.

If she was lucky, she would meet someone from a different pack, likely an Omega as pathetic as she was. Maybe fate would link them out of pity.

“As long as she’s at this table, her input is valued,” Nicholas told Jon in a commanding tone. “Also, to disregard Atlas’ information would be insulting him. This is his duty in our pack, understand?”

Jon looked away, clicking his tongue irritatedly.

“Understand?” Nicholas repeated. This time, his words came out a threatening growl, and his eyes glowed red. 

His authority affected everyone in the room. Celia was almost pressured to kneel, even though it wasn’t the Alpha’s desire.

Jon ducked his head, conceding to his brother’s power. “I understand,” he bit out.

Celia breathed in and out to calm herself before taking a tray of wine–filled wooden cups to the round table.

Nicholas ran a hand through his dusty brown hair. He was, of course, the most desirable man in the pack, and more so since he wasn’t mated. With his chiseled jawline and broad shoulders…heavens! The man could have any female he desired.

“Atlas,” he called, “I want you to make certain of this information from other packs. If there is truly an Alpha deluded enough to think he can have our pack, then I’d be happy to kill him.”

Atlas nodded. “I will leave this—”

While setting the cups down, Celia accidentally spilled wine on Nicholas. He hopped to his feet, wearing an aggravated features as he looked down on himself.

Celia winced, putting her hands over her mouth in dread. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

Jon was chuckling lightly, the only one in the room who found it amusing.

“How can you be so careless, Celia?!” Indra asked angrily, giving Celia a disgusted look.

“I’m sorry. I’ll get a rag and clean this up,” Celia said, springing to action.

“Don’t bother.” Nicholas patted his tunic, as if that would dry it. “Just leave. You shouldn’t be in here anyway.”

Celia looked unsure. She had made a mess and felt responsible for—

“Leave,” Nicholas ordered through gritted teeth, and Celia was sure that she would be better off being anywhere but around the Alpha.

She took off, leaving the cabin. She had taken all of three steps from the structure when her sensitive ears picked up their conversation.

“She has one job,” Nicholas muttered, his voice holding agitation.

“She has no job,” Jon corrected. “We should have kicked her out of the pack a long time ago. There’s no room for dead weight.”

“We don’t kick out pack members who have no fault, right Nicholas?” Atlas asked.

Nicholas sighed. “Yes, yes, you’re right. Back to business.”

Celia’s gaze fell. She shut her eyes when it watered. Why the hell did she feel like crying now? After all this time? She had heard a lot worse about herself, and it was her fault this time anyway.

Her chest burned as she stomped past the array of cabins in the Knox settlement that was surrounded by trees and much fauna. She stomped past competent male and female werewolves, and pups playing around in their wolf form.

Celia was starting to think, maybe she really should be kicked out.

________________________________________________________________________

At night, under the orange glow of a torch, Celia was kneeling before a bucket in the center of her cabin, washing her face.

When the water in the bucket calmed, she stared at her reflection—her neck–length curly brown hair, her silver eyes that glowed the same color in her wolf form,  her small face that matched her petite frame.

“What is it?” her mother asked, leaning against their cabin’s window, looking up at the moon.

Sheeva Blackwood was often in that position. The moonlight was precious to every werewolf, but Celia sometimes thought her mother worshiped the moon.

“I was just asking myself whether I belong here,” Celia replied.

Her mother turned from the window to her. “Of course,” she answered without hesitation.

“The eyes of my pack glow amber. Mother, your eyes are the same, and so was father’s.” Celia looked at the water. “Yet mine are silver.”

“It only means you’re special—”

“It means I’m weak,” Celia interjected. “It’s a reminder that I’m an Omega, and I’ll always be on my own.”

Sheeva walked to Celia and settled on her knees. “Even when I die, you will never be alone.”

“Don’t talk of your death. It bothers me.”

Sheeva laughed lightly and put her warm palms on Celia’s cheeks. “It is okay, my child. You will find your fated match soon enough.”

Celia snorted. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“Don’t doubt it,” Sheeva countered. “It will be instantaneous. Your hearts will bond in a painful yet pleasurable moment. It will be just like it was when I and your father first met.”

Celia shook her head. “You shouldn’t compare me with you and father.”

Sheeva held Celia’s head straight and solemnly peered into her eyes. “You will have a life far better than we did. I can feel it.”

They were in that position for sometime, silently holding each other's eyes as mother tried to convince daughter, until Sheeva suddenly broke contact, whipping towards the window.

“What is it?” Celia asked, wearing a frown.

“You don’t smell it?” her mother asked.

Celia shook her head. Her sense of smell and hearing were not to be compared with that of her mother.

“There’s blood.” Sheeva rose to her feet. “There’s a lot of blood.”

“NICHOLAS!” someone screamed from outside, loud enough that even a human would hear. “NICHOLAS!”

Celia and her mother shared a panicked look before racing out of their cabin. They soon joined the forming crowd in the settlement’s center, and Celia sucked in a breath when she surveyed the scene.

Atlas was on his knees, and he had lost almost his entire left arm.

There was so much blood, but his mate and a few others were frantically working to slow down the bleeding. Werewolves could heal…but this wound could kill him if he lost too much blood.

And he wasn’t getting his arm back.

A large wolf raced onto the scene. It was majestic and powerful in its frame, covered in a furry brown coat. Everyone stepped back as Nicholas assessed Atlas’ state with the red–eyed gaze of an alpha.

Before he would shift to his human form, someone was already coming with a sheet. He was covered up, even though it seemed like he would rather be nude.

“Who did this to you?” he asked, his voice a low growl that reflected his rage.

Atlas’ face was a picture of terror. “He’s coming, Nicholas.”

Nicholas frowned, confused. “Who do you speak of?”

“The one that calls himself the Alpha of Alphas,” Atlas answered. “He is coming, and he wants our pack.”