The Rise Of The Last White Wolf

Traci’s POV

“Traci, you need to rest. You’re pushing too hard.” Corbin’s voice cut through the sharp morning air while I drove my fist into the padded target again. Sweat slid down my spine despite the cool breeze rolling through the clearing behind the old patrol cabins.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, throwing another punch.

The target jerked backward. Corbin caught it before it toppled over completely and shot me a flat look. “That response right there tells me you are absolutely not fine.”

“Funny. I thought the dark circles and emotional damage gave it away first.”

His mouth twitched like he was fighting a grin. “Traci,” he warned.

“But Corbin, you know how important this is to me.” I stepped back long enough to grab the towel hanging from the fence post beside me. “For my survival. Out of everyone in this pack, you understand that better than anybody.”

“Yes,” he replied calmly, folding his arms over his chest. “And because I understand, I also know you’re useless if you collapse face-first in the dirt.”

“That only happened once,” I huffed out as I continued.

“It happened yesterday.”

I pointed at him. “Technically, I landed with dignity.”

“You passed out beside a tree and scared three patrol wolves.”

“I call that dramatic flair.”

A laugh escaped him before he shook his head. “You are impossible.”

“And yet here you are. Every morning. Still training me.”

“That’s because somebody has to keep you alive.”

Before I could answer, another voice drifted toward us. “Corbin, honey, I brought you two breakfast and coffee.” Marge appeared through the trees carrying a tray loaded with steaming cups and wrapped sandwiches. The woman had the supernatural ability to look put together at six in the morning while I looked like I’d crawled out of a battlefield.

Honestly, maybe I had.

“Thank the Moon Goddess,” Corbin breathed dramatically. “I was two minutes away from starvation.”

“You ate an hour ago,” Marge said.

“That was emotional support food. Entirely different category.”

She rolled her eyes and handed him a coffee before walking toward me. “Traci, sit down before you fall down.”

“I’m not….” I started to say before I got interrupted.

“Don’t argue with me. I raised three boys. I survived that. You don’t scare me.”

I smirked despite myself and finally dropped onto the old wooden bench near the training ring.

Before I get ahead of myself, let me explain. I’m Traci Silver. Born into the Silver Clan Pack as the daughter of two alphas. My father ruled this territory with strength. My mother ruled it with intelligence sharp enough to make grown warriors nervous. Together, they were unstoppable. Until the rogues killed them.

I was twelve when everything burned down around me. One night changed my entire life. One night turned me from future alpha into unwanted burden.

I was their only child. The rightful heir to the Silver Clan. Everyone knew it. The laws knew it. The elders knew it.

But laws stopped mattering after funerals.

Ralph stepped in immediately after my parents died. He told everyone he was only taking temporary control until I came of age. Said he wanted stability for the pack.

People believed him. Maybe some genuinely wanted to. Others were simply too afraid not to.

Back then, I still lived on the alpha floor of the packhouse. I still had my own room. My own things. My own future. That lasted less than a week. Ralph moved his family into the alpha wing and shoved me into the attic like unwanted storage.

“There just isn’t enough room,” he’d told me while his sons carried my belongings upstairs in garbage bags.

Funny how there was enough room for his giant ego though.

The attic became my prison after that.

Cold winters.

Leaking ceilings.

Broken windows patched with cardboard.

I lost everything the day my parents died.

Not only them. Everything.

Friends stopped speaking to me. Some out of fear. Others because cruelty spreads fast when powerful people allow it.

I was bullied constantly. Starved when Ralph’s mate decided I “hadn’t earned dinner.” Beaten whenever one of his children blamed me for something. Locked in the dungeon for days at a time over offenses I didn’t commit.

At thirteen, Ralph stripped me of my alpha title publicly and labeled me omega instead.

The humiliation wasn’t accidental. He wanted the pack to see me beneath them.

Weak.

Broken.

Forgettable.

Unfortunately for him, hatred is excellent motivation. I survived five years under that roof. Five years of pretending I wasn’t counting every single day until freedom.

Because my parents planned ahead. That part still makes me smile. My inheritance legally transfers to me at eighteen.

Not Ralph.

Not his children.

Me.

My parents owned land, businesses, accounts worth more money than Ralph could dream of touching. He tried anyway, of course. Filed petitions claiming he needed access to care for me.

The courts denied him every time. Watching him fail became one of my favorite hobbies.

Only one month remained before everything returned to me. One month before I could finally leave this nightmare behind forever.

Which brings us to the competition. Every year, elite warriors from surrounding packs compete for rank, recognition, and positions within the king’s army.

This year, Ralph signed me up himself. That alone told me something was wrong.

Corbin sat beside me on the bench, unwrapping his sandwich while Marge sipped her coffee quietly. “So,” Marge finally said, “do we know what Alpha Ralph is planning yet?”

“I’m still piecing it together,” Corbin answered. “But he’s absolutely planning something.”

“No kidding,” I muttered.

Corbin glanced toward me. “He entered you into a tournament filled with trained killers while believing you barely know how to throw a punch. That man is counting on public failure.”

I leaned back with a smirk. “That’s where things get interesting.”

Marge smiled slowly. “Because he has no idea who he actually signed up.”

Exactly. See, Ralph thinks neglect made me weak. He never realized people were helping me behind his back. Not everyone abandoned me after my parents died. Some warriors still honored them. Some still believed I was the rightful alpha. Corbin was one of them.

So was Marge.

And Sarah…my best friend since childhood. She never left my side even after her parents forbade her from speaking to me.

Corbin started training me in secret when I was twelve. At first, it was simple self-defense.

Then endurance.

Combat.

Weapons.

Strategy.

By fourteen, I was running border patrols with trusted warriors under darkness so nobody would report it back to Ralph.

I fought rogues before most teenagers learned pack politics.

I learned how to survive while everyone else learned how to socialize.

Corbin took another drink of coffee before pointing toward the sparring circle. “You know what your biggest problem is?”

“My sparkling personality intimidates people?”

“You get sarcastic every time you’re nervous.”

“I don’t get nervous.”

“You sharpened three knives during breakfast yesterday.”

“That means nothing.”

“You were eating pancakes.”

Marge laughed into her cup while I glared at him.

Traitor.

Corbin’s expression softened after a moment. “Listen carefully, Traci. Ralph expects humiliation. He expects you to lose publicly so he can paint you as incapable before your inheritance transfers.”

“I know.”

“What he doesn’t know,” Marge added gently, “is that you survived things most people wouldn’t.”

Silence settled over us briefly. The wind rustled through the trees surrounding the clearing.

My body ached from training. Old scars burned beneath my sleeves.

One month.

Just one more month. Then nobody would ever control me again.

Corbin stood and tossed me my practice blade. “Alright,” he said with a grin. “Enough emotional bonding for today. Try not to stab me this time.”

I caught the blade easily and stood. “No promises.”

Marge sighed dramatically. “If either of you bleed on my breakfast table later, I’m divorcing both of you.”

Corbin blinked. “Pretty sure that’s not how marriage works.”

“It does in my house.”

I laughed for real that time. And for the first time in years, freedom didn’t feel impossible anymore.