Her Savior Alpha

Body aching, I flopped onto the thin mattress in her room...or what passed as my room. I spent my nights in the small attic of the house I shared with Dane and Grant. The house itself was expansive, being the Alpha’s abode. At the center of the pack’s residential side of town, the house was a sprawling country house where important pack activity occurred. I was only a passing traveler checked into a room for the time being. My real home was back in that thatched house at the outskirts of town, encircled by a span of greenery and bushes that my mother tended to.

Despite that, I managed to make the attic my own. While a stack of old storage boxes leaned against the right side of the trapdoor in the floor’s center, I’d created a cozy space with my bed against the far left side, and a rackety desk adjacent to the footboard. A small dresser sat beside the head of the bed, part of it feeling like protection for me when she fell asleep.

Too sore to change out of my jeans and torn sweater, I sighed, trying to distract myself from the pain. Although I would heal quickly, the sting of the beatings never failed to reverberate through my body for hours afterward. Even worse was the sting of my grandfather’s hatred.

Did I deserve it? Sometimes I felt no punishment could suffice the gravity of my sin. As the reason for my parent’s death, I agreed with Dane to an extent; I was worthless. Yet something within me wondered what would my parents think? What would my mother think if she knew how her father was treating her daughter?

My eyes fell on the picture I kept untouched on the dresser beside my head. Rolling onto my side for a better look, I winced when my bruised cheek touched the pillow. It was a picture of my parents, Arcadia and Rebecca, suspended in a scene of utter autumnal bliss. Sparse trees of still-hanging leaves the color of rust and gold and copper surrounded them. I could almost hear the laughter bubbling from their wide smiles and crinkled eyes. Between them, a toddler-me floated, held in my father’s hands, arms extended. My legs were frozen mid-motion, akimbo in my overalls’ pants.

Gazing at the image almost took me to that time - the chill of the air, the warmth of the scarf my mother had knit me and of their hands enclosing around my chubby ones. We were supposed to rake leaves that day. Instead, we got caught up throwing them at each other. But no matter how hard I tried, there was an invisible wall between her and the memory. There was no going back.

Full with a sheen of unshed tears, my eyes flickered up to the window right across from me, nestled in a small alcove where I often liked to sit and read. The crescent moon glowed at me soothingly, and the birthmark behind my ear tingled, as if in response.

Living a life of heartbreak and guilt left little room to consider my own wants and goals. I’d spent the last five years hoping one day, Dane would forgive me. Maybe once I finished my sentence, he would let me out of my hell-hole. Maybe once I turned eighteen and became a full-fledged werewolf, I could redeem herself through pack duties. But deep down, I knew that as long as my parents were dead, this pack was no home for me. And I had nowhere else to go.

The only thing I could do was survive.

The words of my best friend Thelma came to mind: “They might break your bones, but they’ll never break your spirit. I wish I could do more, but know this: I’m here for you.”

A small smile slipped onto my face as the precious pixie-like blonde came to mind.

Actually, perhaps I did have something for me here. For now anyway.

If not for myself, then for Thelma, I would keep going. The moon waxed and waned every month, but it never left the sky. Just like it, I would endure and stand tall, even if I didn’t have the will or the courage to stand up to those who despised her.

Looking at the moon now from her angle, I felt it was beaming a smile at me. Oddly reassured, I gazed at it until the pain faded with sleep.

While I wished I could say the warmth of the morning sun woke me up, it was actually a loud slam that shook me out of my well-needed rest. My eyes flew open in time to see the attic door shuddering on the floor. A redhead popped itself through the square opening.

“Get up, you lazy whore, it’s time to get to work,” Grant snarled, looking like she just got up herself beneath her mascara and concealer. Morning-Grant was even more unpleasant than usual. Normally, I tried to wake up on my own, dreading these abruptions. I probably forgot to set my phone alarm last night.

Yawning, I sat up, blinking at Grant. Feeling annoyed at the intrusion was the last of my concern. I was used to the disrespect, and even cherished it - it was better than getting the living hell beaten out of me. If I didn’t wake up myself, my grandfather would send Grant in. Sometimes she pushed me off the bed. Other times she screamed in my ear, jolting me out of sleep. Compared to that, today was a blessing.

“Work? What is it today?” I mumbled, clearing my eyes of the remnants of sleep. My back was still sore, as was my tailbone, and I’m sure many of my bruises still showed, but I felt a lot better after a night’s rest.

“The barracks. Grandpa wants you to clean them up. The patrolling squad’s coming back soon,” Grant sniffed. It was the time again. The barracks housed the majority of the military personnel; most of-age werewolves on-duty spent their time in the barracks, which held a mess hall, showers, storage, interior training gyms, and many dorm rooms filled with cots and necessary needs for basic living. When I became of age and got my wolf, I would be moved there. Until then, I had to make do with this tiny dusty space and a harpy waking me up every day.

“Not the barracks,” I murmured without thinking. I took on most of my chores without much complaint. But the barracks...let’s just say a soldier’s busy life left little time to clean up - add werewolf to mix and you’ve got yourself a furry mess. Cleaning the barracks was supposed to be the job of a team of janitors. Ever since the last one retired a couple of years ago, the responsibility fell to me. And it meant cleaning quite literally every room: showers, bathrooms, locker room (my least favorite), and all the dorms not in use.

“What did you just say?” Grant hissed, pale eyebrows arched. Then a sinister smirk spread across her face. “Grandpa won’t be happy when he hears this.”

I leaped to my feet. Memories from the last time Dane was told I didn’t want to do something he ordained rushed through me. I was to go to the clean and sharpen every weapon with an edge in the armory. It contained a collection of over three hundred axes, maces, swords, arrows, javelins, and more. I refused because that night, I had chemistry final to study for, and the task would take hours. I was still young and hopeful then, less broken. I used to entertain ideals like standing up for myself and fighting back. But life isn’t like the stories we tell. A character might be able to fall down enough times to decide that enough is enough and go against their opponent. Seeing the character fighting back might strike a change. In real life, fighting back made me lose more than I had.

Rather than visuals in my mind, my muscles tensed, remembering every moment anticipation right before the strike. It was a feeling perhaps worse than the pain itself. Dane had used a broomstick that day. When he got tired of swinging, he made me the target for archery practice for some newly turned werewolves. I stood in the middle of a clearing with a deep red apple on my head. Shaking like a leaf, I froze in place, knowing that an ever worse punishment would befall me if I were to step out of place or dodge a shot. A few of the trainees were hesitant. Bless those who missed on purpose, risking Dane’s disappointment. Most of them had no such qualms The sinister pleasure in their eyes would never leave my mind. The cruel twist of their lips as they notched their arrow and aimed, biding their time for my own suspense to build. I could see their hatred, their desire to pour the pack’s combined resentment onto me, the one who caused the absolute disgrace of the Moon Hunter Pack that fateful day five years ago.

On the outside, I was a coward. On the inside, shame burned through my veins. The humiliation felt worse than the rejection of my own pack members. I survived the punishment with my head intact, and scars all along my arms, shoulders, and one of an arrow that narrowly skimmed my temple. Afterward, I retched in one of the stalls in the barracks’ communal restroom.

“No, I’ll do it now,” the words rushed out of my mouth. “As soon as I get ready.”

Grant’s deep brown eyes assessed my form critically. I was still in yesterday’s clothes, blood dried brown in several areas. She snorted. “Well, I assumed you were ready since you look like you always do.”

I didn’t respond, willing her to leave without any trouble. I wouldn’t put it past her to relay to Dane of my initial reluctance, even if I agreed to clean the barracks.

Realizing she wasn’t getting anything from me, Grant rolled her eyes. “Talking to you is like talking to a dumb wall. I’m out. I have my own important duties to tend to, seeing as I’ll be alpha someday.” With a careless wave of her hand, her head disappeared below the trapdoor opening.

“Wait,” I called out before I knew it. Ignoring the strain in my limbs, I left my warm bed to peer down the trap door. Grant was in the middle of the ladder down, not pausing even though I knew she heard me. “Is he still here?”

At the question, Grant tilted her head up, her glossy red locks bouncing with the motion. “Is little Vera afraid of the big bad wolf? Hah!” She sneered for a moment, knowing I was talking about Dane. Then, “No. And even if he was...well, not everything revolves around you.”

With that, she finished the descent and strode out of view.

I sighed, feeling my cheeks warm. Well, that was good news, but I detested the fact that I was so pathetic. What kind of werewolf was I?

Facing the small mirror on my dresser, I assessed my face. It wasn’t as bad as yesterday: red mixed with purple bloomed across my cheek, the skin swollen and tender. My lip had a small scar on the bottom where the skin broke. Against my pale skin, the scars and bruises looked so pronounced, like a child who broke into her mother’s makeup and didn’t know how to apply it. My left temple still had a pale line marring it, tracing the path of the arrow that narrowly missed my eye….my eyes of autumn that looked more and more like a murky river water every day. The mixture of green, brown, and gold looked more washed out, cloudy, and muddy than ever. Dark circles underlined them. My lips, normally a healthy pink (when I could be healthy) were cracked and pale. Gaunt cheekbones completed the look, my midnight hair contrasting my colorless skin. I looked like a ghost, not a werewolf. A faded wisp of a person.

Snapping out of my dark thoughts, I decided a quick, hot shower was first on my list. It had to be quick. The barracks would take all day, and I wanted time to train. I needed to be stronger, to be the werewolf I wanted to be when I was young and still had lofty dreams. Maybe when I got my wolf, I‘d have someone on my side, other than Thelma. Someone who could take pride in me, protect me, stand up for me, fight for me. Until then, I had to look out for myself.

I headed to the small bathroom directly below the attic, one on the third floor that no one generally used since Dane and Grant had their own personal bathrooms in their rooms. Peeling off my clothes stung, but I grit my teeth through it. I was craving the invigorating hit of searing hot water against my still-tender flesh. And sure enough, stepping into the shower felt like a dream, even with the mildew-stained walls. I had to remind myself to clean that up later.

When I stepped out, I rushed back up to the attic in only a long towel wrapped around my dripping body. Facing the mirror again, I felt I looked much more alive, cheeks tinted pink from the hot shower. My wet black hair curled at the nape of my neck. I dried off and dressed in clothes I wouldn’t miss; ratty old jeans that had ripped on one knee - not for fashion reasons - and a long-sleeve oversized black shirt. I dried my hair and threw the mass into a low bun before slipping on my worn-out converse. I left my room, locking the trapdoor with a makeshift lock that I made, although I knew it wouldn’t actually keep anyone out.

Usually, if Dane was around, breakfast was out of the question. Wolves had high metabolisms and spent a lot of time eating. Dane’s house included a large kitchen that connected to the main living area where important and private meetings were held, divided by the counter. It also meant that there was no way to get to the kitchen without someone taking notice, especially if it was a busy day. Wolves walked in and out on those days, free to grab any food they needed from the always-stocked cupboard and fridge.

So far, the air was quiet, only the sound of birds chirping outside. With my heightened senses, I should’ve been able to hear the tapping of footsteps or the murmur of voices if there was any. A breath of relief left me. Maybe I wouldn’t go hungry this morning.

I stepped down the main staircase, down to the first landing. Rounding the hallway into the expansive living space confirmed my suspicion: no one was home. Ecstatic, I flew to the kitchen.

Breakfast would still have to be quick, so I grabbed a protein bar, a banana, and a glass of milk from the fridge. I sat on a stool at the marble counter and gobbled them down, realizing I hadn’t eaten since noon yesterday.

Satisfied, I left the house through the back. I usually took roundabout ways to places in the pack town, near forests or empty nature-ridden paths. The fewer people I passed, the better. Since I was going to the center of pack activity, it wouldn’t be the case for long. But I still wanted to enjoy the still-dewy morning, the leaves rustling gently in the breeze, the grounding feeling of putting one foot after the other on packed dirt and crunching grass. I couldn’t wait to relish runs as a wolf when I finally turned eighteen.

I passed by most of the homes in the pack’s residential area, reaching the beginning of town. Climbed over a fence, I landed on a cobblestone side path beside the pack’s apothecary. It was run by a relatively harmless old wolf with memory problems. Whenever I visited to resupply my stock of tincture ingredients, he never seemed to remember that I was the bane of the Mount Hunters. I appreciated him regardless.

The path become busier and busier as I neared the barracks. I could already see the large stone-grey building peeking above slated roofs. When it came fully into view, the surrounding buildings gave it a large berth around its perimeters. At the front, groups of pack members stood around conversing or discussing seemingly important topics. Behind it lay a brick-red running track. Beyond the track, trees lining the entrance of the forest beckoned invitingly.

Most pack members who weren’t on-duty or stationed came here to train. A glorious gym awaited within, filled with equipment of all kinds. Others liked to take a nap here or a meal in the mess hall occasionally. Otherwise, most wolves went to the training grounds by the western hill, a fifteen-minute walk from here. There, the ruthless, one-on-one sparring occurred, as well as practice with various weapons, courtesy of the nearby armory.

Keeping my head low, I walked around the edge of the courtyard and entered the set of double doors. Passing through the cavernous front hall, I went straight up the wide staircase. The mess hall and gym were on the first floor. The second floor held the actual rooms.

Weaving through the hallways of the dorms, I was relieved to find the space relatively empty. Only a few pack members were heading out or coming back from where the showers were. Used to the routine, I beelined to the very end of the first hallway to a small storage closet. I collected my cleaning supplies: a hamper for old sheets, a duster, a broom and dustpan, and a bucket of chemical cleaning products. Starting from there, I opened the first unused door and began cleaning.

Usually, military barracks were rows of cots for the bare necessities. The Mount Hunter Pack had managed to funnel funds into military expenses under Dane’s rule. We took our conquests very seriously. That’s how the town could afford this dorm-like military base. And I guessed it was working. So far, the battle against Beartown notwithstanding, Mount Hunter was a formidable force that hadn’t allowed any opponents past even the outermost perimeter marking our territory.

The work went on like clockwork. After the first few rooms, it became less of a pain to dispose of rumpled sheets, used towels, forgotten pieces of clothing, and clumps of hair. The dorms were small, enough to hold a cot and a standard closet. The problem was in the quantity. I had to go down each hall before turning the corner and going down another hall. The in-use doors was marked by a red sign hanging on the doorknobs. When the hamper and trash bag got full, I had to dispose of them first before returning to my place.

After finishing a couple of halls, it was noon. The bell signaling lunchtime in the dining hall rang, startling me out of my stupor. I was hungry, but I needed to finish. It was around this time that things got crowded. I flew through the repetitive actions of sweeping and stripping the beds’ linens. A sudden thought popped in my mind - Archer. He was staying here in the barracks, wasn’t he? I wondered if I would run into him.

Scratching the moon behind my ear, I also wondered why I was entertaining thoughts of him. Sure, he was quite handsome, in a honed way, like a beautifully sharpened and polished blade. Even his mannerisms and smooth tongue were charming. But t’s not like there were plenty of good-looking wolves in town, I thought, lashes fluttering up to notice a cute ginger guy approaching. When his eyes slid to me, he give me a dark look of recognition, bumping into my shoulders.

“Ah, that’s why,” I murmured to myself as I stumbled back. Because Archer didn’t hate me. He actually treated me like a human - a fellow werewolf. Imagine that. Being shunned by your own kind but accepted by a rogue.

He’ll probably catch on eventually. It was best not to get used to his kindness, risking utter disappointment. I continued on with my seemingly endless task.

A rumble of voices crept near, alerting me to an approaching group of pack members. Groups could be more vicious than a solitary person. But something familiar about the voices made my skin prickle. I perked my head up, sniffing the air - they were coming from behind me. I hurried onward. In-use, in use, in-use… just when I would have liked to be doing nothing other than cleaning another messy room, every door seemed to be used.

Behind a curtain of loose hair that had escaped my tie, I peeked behind me. Sure enough, it was them.

Five or six of them swaggered down the hall, boisterous. Loud laughter echoed against the walls. At the head, leading them, was Riely, the bane of my existence: a tall figure clad in a leather jacket, a head of dirty blonde waves the reached his chin. He walked with all the swagger of an overentitled prince, hands tucked into pockets. With my sharp eyesight, I could see the glint of metal hanging from one ear.

Because of me, Riely’s parents died during that battle. He never let me forget it. With his group of close companions (or followers), including his girlfriend Gina, who was always wrapped around his arm, came a close second after Dane in making my life a living hell. Never did I pass by them without jeering at best and battering me to a pulp at worst.

Speeding up, heart thudding against my ribcage, I zeroed in on the end of the hall opening to the left. I’d finish this hall later. It was a bit difficult with the cleaning items I held. Being too fast would definitely alert their suspicions. Maybe they’d just think I was any other wolf on cleaning duty.

“Hey! Is that who I think it is?” A voice behind me boomed, the sound reverberating through my ears and my breath caught.

Too late. I cursed, picking up the pace. Don’t look back, don’t look back.

A female voice shrilled. “Ragged black hair, a stick-like body, clothes from the dumps - I think you’re right, darling!”

I couldn’t help it. Swiveling back, I met the dangerous glint in Riely’s eyes. They were less than half the hall away, strutting closer like a pack of hyenas. A disgusting grin spread across his jaw. “My favorite punching bag.”

I broke into a run, reaching the end and throwing all the things there before rounding the corner. Yells broke out behind me, followed by the skid of the group running too. At least a day’s break between beatings would be nice. I needed to get them off my back. PEeking back, I saw that they were right behind me. Running into any room wouldn’t do good, especially in full view of them. It was a rule that none of the general-use dorms had any locks in case of an emergency - that’s why signs on the doors signaled occupancies.

An idea occurred to me when I reached a familiar part of the place - a doorway cutting in the middle branched out to the right. Above it, a sign: Permanent Housing. Here housed the long-term soldiers of the pack, usually those who were of a higher position and had longer hours on duty. This is where I accompanied Thelma to spend time together when I got any chance. As a skilled solder, she was regularly out on reconnaissance missions, like the one she currently was on. That made her eligible for a private, extended stay room here, one with an electronic keypad to lock it. I also hoped to have a place here eventually.

I could still remember the code. Thelma had gladly given it to me, allowing me to come rest here whenever I pleased. While I didn’t like to take such indulgences, I still knew she used her birth year.

Running through the empty hall of widely spaced doors, I knew I had to take a left to find her door. Thelma’s was #32. Voices and thudding footsteps still followed me. Before I veered left, I saw the group just entering the Permanent Housing hall. Getting into Thelma’s room before they rounded the second turn was paramount.

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty...so close.

I panted, stitches in my side burning through the still-raw bruises.

Thirty-two! Finger shaking, I began punching in the passcode, forcing myself not to glance to my right to see if they were on my heels. With a buzz and a twist of the doorknob, I pushed the door just as Riely’s tall form appeared. Flames of fury in his eyes still reached me despite the distance. His angry face bounding toward me was the last thing I saw before I ducked into the room and slammed it shut.

Leaning against the wooden door, I tried to tame my breathing. My chest heaved, both in exertion and pain. An empty ache burned my abdomen along with nausea from the fear. Yes, I was afraid. That’s what I didn’t understand. No matter how many times I got flung around like a ragdoll, I still feared it before it happened. An animal’s instinct, I supposed.

And my instinct was telling me that the danger was far from gone. Seconds later, bangs from behind me made me jump out of my bones.

“Come on out, you pathetic wench,” said a low snarl. “If only you were this good at hiding the day our pack was slaughtered!” His words raised gradually in volume until he ended on an explosive note.

I could only breathe in and out as the banging continued. Shutting up and waiting was all I could do now. Letting my eyes flit around the familiar room, I felt calmer. Thelma’s touch was in everything: flowery bed lined with more pillows than necessary, the posters of various bands and movies on the walls, a wooden desk covered in messy papers, a line of cacti at the top of a shelf on the left wall.

“She’s in there?” A female voice rang out. A scrabble of feet and huffing - the group had arrived.

“What a coward,” a gruff voice of another scoffed. “How is she still allowed to be a part of this pack.”

“Hey, little girl!” Another mocked. “Think we won’t beat this door down?”

“How’d she have access anyway?”

“She doesn’t,” I heard Riely hiss, a sharp edge to his voice. “It’s her stupid friend’s room, that traitor-sympathizer.”

Bristling at the insult to my best friend, I wondered too late if my actions ever affected Thelma or how others treated her. A pool of regret and fear grew within me.

The voices grew more hushed, and I struggled to hear ever with my werewolf hearing. After all, we all knew how to whisper quietly enough not to be heard by fellow pack members. Mindlink also helped, but I knew Riely still hadn’t gotten his wolf, and surely his friends didn’t either.

Shuffling steps got farther and farther. I stilled for a moment, straining to grab onto any sensory information I could. Did they leave? That’s it? I expected a few more minutes of yelling and taunting. Maybe they didn’t want to cause a ruckus in this quieter section of the barracks.

Slumping down onto the soft beige carpet, I sighed in relief. I tilted my jaw up, head against the door. Thank you, Thelma, I thought with deep gratitude.

I enjoyed a moment of peace after the short chase. But the moment dissipate immediately when I heard steps coming nearer and nearer. Many steps. They stopped right outside the door and tensed.

“Right here?” A new, older male voice rumbled.

“That’s it, sir, number 32,” Riely’s voice said in a polite, deceptively angelic version of his usual abrasive character.

The clicks of the keypads made me scramble up from the floor in horror. The door swung inward, nearly slamming into my nose. Before me stood a broad-shouldered, middle aged man in guard personnel uniform, a grey standard marked with an ID attached to his right breast-pocket. In his hands was a clipboard, and he was flitting through papers. “State your first and last name,” he said, eyes suspicious.

I cleared my dry throat. “It’s-it’s Vera Hunter, sir.”

“Hmm, Vera. I’ve got a Thelma for Room 32. You do not have the authorization to occupy this room, much less be able to get in.”

My mouth opened and closed like a fish.

The guard stepped aside to motion to the group beside me; Reily and friends. I swung my gaze from face to face, trying to search their expression for what was going on. A conspiratorial red smirk was painted on Gina’s caramel face, as she flicked her curly brown hair behind her shoulder. Another one of the goons, a broad guy with a buzzcut and hawk like eyes stared at me with vicious hunger. Whatever it was, I was in trouble.

“Now they tell me I have reason to believe you might be here to steal,” the guard surveyed the room behind me than my form, looking for anywhere I might be hiding something.

“Steal? You have to believe me - this is my friend’s room, she gave me the code!” I tried to explain, but suddenly the guard’s hand shot out and grabbed me around my upper arm. His pull yanked me forward into the hall.

“Whether that is true or not, the fact remains that you broke into a room that is not yours, and therefore, the standard procedure is to check if you’ve taken anything.” Without warning, the guard began patting me down. “Arms up,” he barked. Face heating up, I tried not to squirm out of his reach at his large hands felt around my body for anything. He went down on leg, then the other, before trailing back up around my sides.

“Clear,” he announced, stepping back. “Since you haven’t stolen, I don’t have to take any disciplinary procedures. But this is a warning. Now then, I trust that your friends can escort you down.” With that, he strode swiftly past us, but not before I caught him winking at Riely.

Riely’s angular features showed mirth. Realizing I’d been fooled, I bored my eyes into his, daring him to come near me. “You heard the man, Vera. We’re your friends, and we only want the best for you. Breaking into someone room wasn’t a smart idea.”

Ready to run, I backed away, but they blocked my exit. Then, Gina moved with lightning speed. A swift pull of my hair, unfurling it completely out of the bun, brought tears to my eyes, scalp stinging. Gina’s hot breath was close to my ear. Fingers squeezed my jaw. “Thought you could get away? Ha!” She yanked me back and forth, the world shaking around me. Her sharp nails pierced my chin. “Useless trash like you needs to know its place.” The wall flew toward me as she took hold of my scalp and threw me. Blackness and blinding stars danced with my vision upon impact, my skull bouncing against the solid wall. Getting a hold of my body, I whirled around. Riely approached, his body seeming bigger than I’d ever remembered. The buzzcut guy flanked him, while a shorter wolf with tan skin and an undercut tensed his thick corded arm muscles in a cut-off sleeve shirt. Gina stood to my right, while a tall, intimidating girl with black-lined eyes and a platinum-blonde braid swinging down her back stood behind them.

Riely grabbed the front of my shirt, bunching it up into a chokehold. He hoisted me up by my collar, until my feet no longer met floor. The sound of cloth ripping filled my ears. My eyes widened at his strength. Nose-to-nose, he glared with unbridled rage in his brown eyes, the color of the dirt he’d love to use to fill my grave. My heart pounded. It occurred to me how deep Riely’s hatred of me ran: it was pure and unadulterated, and I felt it in his shaking hand and saw it in the twitching veins winding down his arm.

“If you think running or hiding will save you, think again,” he hissed, nostrils flaring. You ran from that battleground leaving corpses of my parents and countless others. I promise you that no matter where you are, for as long as you live, I will chase you and pay you back tenfold for what you’ve done.”

“Please,” I whispered, staring straight in his orbs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Disgust curled his upper lip. He slammed me against the wall, forcing a grunt out of me. Letting go, I crumpled to the floor. “If you were really sorry....” he paused, shaking his head. “You would’ve never returned from the battle.” Whether he meant I should’ve died, sacrificed myself, or ran away that five years ago, I wouldn’t know. Because he then motioned to the buzzcut brute next to him and before I could move, a fat fist came hurtling at lighting speed toward my face, and the world exploded into darkness. The last thing I saw was Riely’s wicked gaze, gleeful with the satisfaction of hurting me.

***

When I woke, I thought I’d gone blind. The pitch-black darkness surrounded me like a blanket, and the air was damp and cold. The smell of rotten wood, dust, and mildew overwhelmed my senses.

I counted the days by the dim light that filtered in through a single window at top of a wall. The glass was clouded and dusty, and it was too high to reach. Not that I wanted to anyway. Hunger was a welcome sacrifice in exchange for peace for once.

Although by the fifth day, while I was numb to the hollowness of my stomach, my body slumped against the corner in fatigue. To be truthful, I did yearn for even a piece of fruit, an apple would be a feast.

A feast. I remembered the pot roast and sweet pumpkin pie and warm buttery rolls my mother made. My mind could nearly replicate the flavors, and I smiled. Reality was hell, but my mind was my sanctuary. Lost to thoughts of happy memories, I dozed off.

Tapping jolted me out of light slumber. Neck aching, I took a moment to massage it as I surveyed the room. The basement remained shadowy, only due to the pale light coming in from the window. Nothing out of place. Another click and tap, my gaze flew back to the window - a blurry, moving shadow. Then, the window squeaked and with a grunt, the ancient pane slid slowly open.

A face I never expected to see appeared through the tiny opening: Archer.

He threw something on the ground. It was a bag. Weakly crawling to it, I found several items of food; a sandwich, a juicebox, a protein bar, a banana, an apple, a pack of crackers, and a water bottle. I looked up at Archer questioningly.

“I thought you could use the nourishment after a few days locked in here,” he said nonchalantly, but I could see anger in his eyes.

Grateful, I questioned no further. “Thank you,” I said with emotion, opening the sandwich and digging in. I practically moaned on the first bite and devoured the rest.

I didn’t bother asking him why he didn’t offer to help me escape from the window. I didn’t want to anyway, and something like this was too selfish to ask of him. As a visiting rogue, he was in a precarious position. Staying in Dane’s good graces was top-priority. One wrong move could get him kicked out or worse.

“You don’t deserve this. But I think if I got you out, you’d be in more trouble. Besides, something tells me you rather enjoy solitude.”

He was right. I didn’t know he understood me so well.

“Archer. I don’t know why you’re helping me. This is a huge risk. I really appreciate it.”

He cracked a smile that softened his sharp features. “For you, it’s worth it.” With that, he waved and shut the window before anyone could catch him.

Clive

The smell of the forest after rain was refreshing. However, spending most of the time in the wilderness made it less special. As my large paws mauled the still-moist dirt, my mind was occupied by other things. Returning home was always a bittersweet thing. Although my muscles and my mind could use a rest from constant runs and hypervigilance, going back to Mount Hunter always brought back unsavory memories. It was why I insisted on long-term missions, visiting once every several months.

On this mission, I had been tracking some out-of-control rogues in the mountains. They were a duo, two wild gray coats with matted fur and flesh still stuck between their teeth. All were the signs of rabidity. They had been out of a pack for too long and nearly lost their humanity. One’s wolf could be one’s greatest support, but it could also take over if given too much free reign.

The mission was long. I had to capture the two wolves, who had caused problems in neighboring human abodes. Wild wolf attacks were spreading in their news like wildfire. After several months, I’d finally followed them to a secluded part of the mountains, where I ambushed them alongside my team of half a dozen others. Weakening them until they returned to human form, we captured them and carted them to the Deerborn Pack, a fellow ally. Then began weeks of diplomacy as we ensured the pack rehabilitated the wild rogues back to normalcy.

On our way back, my team and I joined with another team headed by Thelma, a well-known reconnaissance artist and trusted second-in-command to Captain James. One of the youngest in our ranks, her talent and maturity contrasted against her normal appearance - a five-foot-tall woman with blonde hair cropped mid-neck and big blue eyes that were vivid when she turned into her wolf. Since then, we traveled together down the rocky slopes of the mountains and the winding forest path.

In our wolf forms, we could travel for a day, getting through the journey at double the speed of human pace. At night, we had the most power, and tried to run through our endurance then. Every couple days, we hunted mountain deer and hares, feasting to keep us going. Sometimes, we turned human and trekked that way, just for a change. The journey back wasn’t so pressing, after all.

“Town coming in sight, estimated time of arrival, half an hour!” Thelma’s bubbly voice signaled to the group through Mindlink, as her blonde fur shimmered beside me with every muscle movement. Sure enough, peeking beyond the tips of the dew-dipped pines, our sprawling town gradually came into view at the bottom of the slope. While no longer steep, we were still at the edge of the surrounding mountains, air cooler up here.

“Thank you for the heads up,” I murmured to her, allowing all wolves to hear the communication. I continued running through the low brush, with nothing but the pelt of over a dozen wolf legs striking the ground and the wind rushing past my ears.

Only half an hour before I would see my brother again. How would be be since last time I saw him nearly half a year ago? Guilt needled my innards. As his older brother, I loved Riely. But I also knew I had abandoned him in a way. Taking on mission after mission was only in part due to my dutybound nature. Most of it was escapism. While Riely became an unpredictable storm of rage and resentment, I want to forget, forget, forget.

The last time I saw him, he had grown into his shoulders and had nearly reached me in height. He’s also grown out his hair and tacked on a few peircings and left a trail of destruction where he walked. I heard whispers of him being a bully, while others pitied the abandoned young teenager living in a big, echoing empty house of ghosts. As for me, I tended to leave for another mission before I could discover the truth of those rumors.

Now, I was not sure if I would do the same. Something deep, aching instinct within me told me to stand and face the consequences, face the past, and the present. I have been a coward for five years.

We trampled through a clearing of white wildflowers, sparse but still hanging on. Pinecones littered the forest floor, crunching beneath our powerful feet. Wolves were destructive by nature, but also protective. And it seems I’ve only been the latter, which I feared most becoming, and little of the former. As the tall gray tower emerging from the barracks sharpened into view, I made my decision. I would stay this time and take care of my brother. I just hoped he would be willing to welcome me back into his life.

When we reached the edge of the woods, we shifted back to human form and adorned the clothes we kept in satchels we carried in both forms.

I turned to my team, a group of three female and two male soldiers who all looked haggard and worse for wear. “We will debrief tomorrow at the base after you’ve had food and rest. Thank you all for your hard work,” I told them. They nodded in their soldier-like surety. One of the women still managed to smile at me coyly, despite not having shaved or freshened up in a while. Ignoring her, I turned and disbanded, but not before sending Thelma a nod.

I emerged from the trees, heading straight for the barracks.