My Vow: To Kill The Alpha

Zelda's POV

The steady hum of the Boeing 747’s engines had been my lullaby for the last twelve hours. I was tucked into seat 14A, cocooned in my own world with my silk sleep mask pulled tight and my noise-canceling headsets blasting a heavy mix of dark lo-fi. For four years, this had been my reality,living abroad, schooling in a city where no one knew my name, and definitely no one knew my nature.

I felt a gentle, persistent tap on my shoulder.

I pushed the mask up, squinting against the harsh cabin lights. A flight attendant was smiling down at me, her expression a mix of professional kindness and "please hurry up."

"Miss? We’ve landed. You’re one of the last passengers on board."

"Oh...sorry. Thank you," I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep. I scrambled to gather my things, shoving my tablet and a half-finished notebook of sketches into my carry-on.

As I stepped off the plane, the humid, evening air hit me. It smelled like home, yet it felt entirely alien. I checked my phone immediately. No new messages. No "coming to pick you up!" texts. No missed calls.

That’s weird, I thought, walking toward baggage claim. My parents had been the ones to insist I stay abroad for college. They’d practically pushed me out the door the moment I turned eighteen, claiming it was for my safety and education. We were "lone wolves" in the most literal sense, no pack, no territory, just a small family living on the fringes of human society. But they were never late.

I grabbed my heavy suitcase from the carousel and headed to the arrivals lounge. I picked a spot on a cold metal bench near the sliding glass doors, my eyes scanning every face that walked by.

One hour passed. Then two.

I dialed my mom. It went straight to voicemail. I dialed my dad. Same thing. A knot of anxiety began to tighten in my chest, a cold, oily feeling that made my inner wolf pace restlessly behind my ribs.

"Come on, pick up," I whispered, staring at the screen.

By the third hour, the airport started to quiet down. The bustling crowds thinned out into a few tired travelers and janitors buffing the floors. I looked down at my reflection in the darkened glass of a closed coffee shop. I looked different than when I left, older, my curves more defined, my gaze more guarded. I had spent four years wondering why they sent me away. Was it a threat? Was it because we didn't have a pack to protect us?

By 9:00 PM, the silence from my phone was deafening. I couldn't sit there anymore. The "lone wolf" instinct, the one that tells you when the wind has shifted and a predator is near, was screaming at me to move.

"Fine," I gritted out, grabbing the handle of my suitcase. "I'll just take a taxi. You guys better have a damn good excuse."

Finding a ride turned out to be another nightmare entirely. I stood on the curb feeling completely lost, waving at cabs like a lunatic as they sped past. My patience was wearing thin; I just wanted to get home, walk through those doors, and give my parents a piece of my mind.

What could possibly be so important that they’d forget their only daughter was returning today? Especially after we’d talked just this morning. The irritation was bubbling up, masking the fear that tried to take root in my gut.

As if the heavens finally took pity on me, a taxi rolled to a hesitant stop at the curb. The driver leaned out the window, squinting at me through the humid air.

"Where to, miss?" he asked.

I quickly rattled off the address. It was my parents' estate, a magnificent place tucked away from the prying eyes of the city, usually buzzing with servants coming and going.

The driver gave a slow nod, agreeing to the trip. We negotiated a price that was probably too high, but I didn't care. I just needed to get there. I hauled my suitcase into the trunk, climbed into the back seat, and watched the airport lights fade into the dark distance.

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The ride was dead quiet, the only sound being the low hum of the tires against the asphalt. I couldn't stop myself, I kept dialing my parents' numbers over and over, the phone pressed so hard against my ear it started to throb. Still nothing. Just that empty, mechanical voicemail greeting that made my skin crawl.

After what felt like hours of driving deeper into the outskirts, the taxi finally slowed to a crawl, stopping a good distance away from the estate's main entrance.

I paid the fare, honestly, I probably overpaid, but I just wanted him gone. I hauled my luggage out of the trunk and dropped it onto the gravel. The taxi didn't waste a second; it pulled a sharp U-turn and zoomed off, the red taillights disappearing into the darkness.

I took a deep breath, the humid night air feeling heavy in my lungs, and started rolling my suitcase toward the gate. The wheels made a loud, rhythmic clack-clack against the ground that seemed way too loud in the silence. When I reached the massive iron gates, the security camera swiveled, scanning my face. With a heavy mechanical groan, it clicked open, and I slipped inside.

The place was brutally quiet. Like,too quiet. Usually, you’d hear the wind through the trees or the distant sound of the staff, but tonight? Nothing. I walked for a while, my heart starting to drum a frantic beat against my ribs. This whole estate was private, no neighbors, no through-traffic, just my parents and their life.

But then, as I rounded the final bend in the driveway, I saw it.

A flickering, dancing orange glow reflected off the leaves of the trees ahead. My stomach dropped. I let go of my luggage, not even caring as it toppled over into the dirt, and I took off running. I skidded around the corner and stopped dead in my tracks, the air leaving my lungs in a sharp gasp.

The mansion was freaking on fire.

Massive plumes of black smoke were choking the stars, and the heat hit my face like a physical blow. The house, my sanctuary was being swallowed by roaring, hungry flames.

"My parents."

That was the first and only thing that flashed through my mind. The logic, the fear, the survival instinct, it all vanished, replaced by a blind, panicked need to reach them. I didn't stop to think about the heat or anything. Before I even realized what I was doing, I was sprinting toward the inferno, throwing myself straight into the roar of the fire.