When The Alpha Wanted What Wasn’t His

Zoey

You would think being born the beta’s daughter would mean something. You would think it would mean protection, respect, maybe even mercy. You would think wrong.

The dirt is cold against my cheek when I hit the ground, the taste of iron flooding my mouth before I even register the sound of my ribs cracking. Someone laughs nearby. Someone always laughs.

“Get up, Zoey.”

Reagan’s voice slices through the morning air, sharp and bored, like he’s already disappointed in me before I’ve even failed again. I spit blood into the dust and force my palms under my shoulders, my arms shaking so badly I almost collapse again.

“I said get up,” he repeats, louder this time. “Or are you done already?”

I drag myself upright, my vision swimming as pain detonates through my side. Something inside me shifts wrong, grinding instead of bending, and my breath comes out in a wet, broken hiss. I don’t scream. I learned a long time ago that screaming only makes them try harder.

“I’m up,” I manage, forcing my spine straight even though my body is screaming at me to curl inward and protect what’s left. “I’m still standing.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Reagan snaps. He paces in front of me, boots crunching over gravel and broken pride. “I asked if you were done. Because if you are, I can move on to people who actually belong here.”

The circle tightens around me.

Haley cracks her knuckles like she’s warming up for fun. Christopher rolls his shoulders, eyes bright with anticipation. Dion doesn’t bother pretending this is training. He never does. He watches me the way predators watch injured prey, head tilted, mouth curved like he’s already imagining how this will end.

“Faster, Zoey,” Reagan calls out again. “You fight like you’re afraid to touch them.”

“I’m not afraid,” I say through clenched teeth, even as my ribs scream with every breath. “I just don’t have a wolf to do the work for me.”

That gets a reaction.

Christopher laughs openly, a sharp bark that turns heads across the training grounds. “Still talking about that imaginary wolf of yours? What is it now, Zoey, shy? Lost? Too embarrassed to show up?”

“Maybe it died,” Haley adds sweetly, stepping closer. “Maybe it took one look at you and decided it didn’t want to be stuck in there forever.”

Dion doesn’t laugh. He steps forward instead, slow and deliberate, like he knows I can’t run even if I wanted to. “Or maybe,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only I can hear, “you were never meant to have one at all.”

Something hot and feral snaps in my chest.

I lunge first.

I don’t fight like a wolf. I never have. I fight dirty, desperate, human. My fist slams into Christopher’s jaw with a crunch that sends shockwaves up my arm. He staggers back, swearing, blood spraying from his mouth as his head snaps to the side.

“Bitch—”

I don’t let him finish. I drive my elbow into his nose, feel cartilage collapse under the blow, and for one perfect second, the only sound is his scream.

Then Dion is on me.

He grabs me from behind, one massive arm locking around my throat, the other hooking under my arm and yanking me back against his chest. My feet leave the ground as he lifts me like I weigh nothing, my vision exploding in stars as pressure cuts off my air.

“There it is,” he mutters in my ear, breath hot and cruel. “That little spark. I was wondering when you’d show it.”

I claw at his arm, nails digging into skin, but it’s useless. He tightens his grip until my lungs burn and my heartbeat roars in my ears.

“I broke the right side,” he continues conversationally, like we’re discussing the weather. “You hear that, Haley? Want to finish the set?”

“Gladly,” she replies, practically bouncing on her toes.

Her kick slams into my left ribs with brutal precision. Pain detonates so violently it steals the sound from the world, my scream trapped somewhere deep in my chest as my body goes limp in Dion’s hold.

For a second, I think I might actually black out.

Instead, I choke down air in shallow, stabbing breaths, my head falling back against his shoulder as he laughs.

“Too easy,” Dion announces loudly, loosening his grip just enough for me to slump instead of suffocate. “She never learns.”

Around us, people stop pretending not to watch. I can feel their eyes like fingers, digging into my skin, cataloging every weakness, every fracture, every reminder that I don’t belong.

Reagan finally raises a hand. “That’s enough.”

Dion drops me without warning.

I hit the ground hard, my knees buckling as I catch myself with trembling hands. My entire torso feels like it’s on fire, every breath slicing through me like broken glass.

“Go to the healers,” Reagan says flatly, already turning away. “And make sure you didn’t puncture a lung. I don’t want paperwork.”

I force myself to stand.

Walking away hurts more than staying, but I refuse to limp. I refuse to give them that. Every step is agony, but I keep my head high, my jaw set, my pride stitched together with sheer willpower.

“It’s pretty easy to win when three people gang up on one.”

The voice cuts in sharp and furious.

I turn just in time to see Emma storming toward us, her hands clenched into fists, her eyes blazing with a fire I recognize all too well. Too late. Always too late.

“Or are you afraid of fighting her one-on-one?” she snaps, planting herself between me and Dion like she can actually stop him.

Dion smirks, slow and ugly. “Afraid of your freak sister?” He makes a mock kissing noise that makes my stomach twist. “In her dreams.”

Emma looks like she might actually attack him, consequences be damned, and I grab her arm before she can. The movement sends another wave of pain through my ribs, but I don’t let go.

“Emma,” I whisper. “Don’t.”

She looks back at me, torn between rage and guilt, and that look hurts worse than any broken bone.

We leave the training grounds in silence, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on us. Every step toward the healer’s shop feels like a walk of shame, a familiar path worn smooth by years of failure.

“I should have stepped in sooner,” Emma finally mutters, hands on her hips as she stops outside the building. “I don’t know why I keep thinking it won’t get that bad.”

“Because if you step in every time,” I say quietly, “they’ll just hurt you too.”

She scoffs, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. “Let them try.”

I manage a weak smile despite everything. “You’ve already got a wolf, a rank, and half the pack watching your every move. Don’t add ‘defending the beta’s broken daughter’ to your list of problems.”

Her jaw tightens. “You’re not broken.”

I don’t answer. We both know the truth.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell her, gesturing toward the healer’s door. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

She hesitates, then sighs. “You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

She turns to leave, then pauses. “And for the record,” she adds, cheeks flushing despite herself, “you better never tell anyone about Reagan.”

I laugh softly, the sound cracking around the pain. “Relax. Your secret’s safe. I’ve got enough reasons for people to hate me already.”

Emma leaves, and I cross the street alone.

The healer’s door creaks open, and the scent of herbs and antiseptic fills my lungs. I step inside, finally letting my shoulders sag as the weight of the morning crashes down on me.

They can break my bones. They can laugh. They can call me a freak.

But I’m still standing.

And one day, they’re going to regret teaching me how to survive without a wolf.