Chapter 1
There’s a special place in hell for Monday mornings, but mine came with the bonus level: learning to drive with a vendetta and two backseat banshees. It would’ve been peaceful – golden sun, pine-sweet air – if I wasn’t currently re-enacting Grand Theft Auto: Werewolf Edition.
“Okay, step down slowly now and reverse the vehicle back.”
My older sister, Bianca, and her best friend, Dora, were supposed to be teaching me how to drive. In reality, they were getting paid twenty pounds an hour to scare the life out of me with their backseat driving. What they didn’t know was that I had an ulterior motive for choosing this particular road. My sister’s ex, Marcus—the biggest cheat in history—was the Beta’s son, aka second-in-command. All arrogance and abs, he was loitering with his cronies just up the road—and I had a prank to pull.
I scratched the inside of my wrist where my werewolf leprosy was flaring again. Silvery, flaky, and totally uncooperative with every cream the healer shoved at me. “Love that for me.”
Dora snorted. “You’re not even a wolf yet, and you’re already moulting.”
“Please,” I said, flicking on the indicator for no reason at all, “this is clearly my skin’s way of saying I’m too delicate for pack life.”
“Did you see Hannah at the party?” Dora asked, twisting a strand of her fiery red hair around her finger as she turned to speak to Bianca. Dora was tall and willowy, her sharp green eyes always filled with mischief.
“I know, right? What a dork,” Bianca replied with a laugh. Bianca, the golden girl, was effortlessly beautiful – long, sleek blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a flawless complexion. Everything I wasn’t.
A grin tugged at my lips as I spotted them ahead — my target. Perfect. The plan was simple: a dramatic near-miss, maybe a little tyre squeal, just enough to make him and his friends drop their overpriced protein shakes and question their life choices. They were walking stereotypes in gym gear – human wet wipes with Wi-Fi.
What I didn’t expect was for them to actually step into the road.
Or for the brakes to be that slow.
Oops.
The car jolted violently.
My sister and Dora screamed.
My heart slammed against my ribs as I stomped on the brakes. Tyres screeched. The car jolted to a stop. Both Dora and Bianca grabbed onto their seats for balance, hair tumbling down over their faces.
Crap. I’m too young to go to jail. Did I hit them too hard?
“Shit, Sophie! Who did you just run over?”
“I—”
“Hopefully not anybody hot,” Dora muttered.
“Shut up, Dora,” Bianca snapped.
Then Bianca’s eyes went wide. She threw open the door and stumbled out. “Is everyone alright?” she called, voice tight, cautious.
The figures writhed on the ground, their groans echoing against the warm pavement.
Dora followed her out, pushing past the door with a grunt. Her breath caught.
“Oh no,” she whispered, staring at the bodies on the ground. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
At that moment, a huge wolf stepped out from the hedges. The Beta. My stomach dropped.
Shit.
I thought he was still at the Packhouse. Bianca groaned and looked at me with pure exasperation. Dora elbowed me, a nervous grin on her face. “Ten out of ten for drama, Soph. Just... maybe next time don’t use an actual car?”
Bianca, meanwhile, looked like she was mentally rewriting her will. “I can’t believe I’m related to you. Soph, what were you thinking?”
I tried to deny it, but the truth was written all over my face.
Marcus’s father, Beta Richards, didn’t yell. He just shifted back to human and, in a nearby bush, quickly changed into a pair of shorts that he must have stashed somewhere, grabbed the car keys, and pointed to the passenger seat like I was a toddler being escorted to time-out.
“Move. Now.”
By the time we pulled into the Silvercrest Packhouse driveway, I’d decided prison might actually be quieter.
If there’s one thing worse than facing your parents after you’ve accidentally committed vehicular manslaughter-lite, it’s facing the Alpha and your dad at the same time.
Alpha Greyson sat behind his massive desk, fingers steepled like he was about to negotiate a hostage situation – and spoiler, I was the hostage, and he was not happy to see me – though he didn’t look surprised either. Beside him, the Luna wore her polite-but-lethal smile. Beta-Marcus’s dad stood off to the side with his arms crossed, the living embodiment of a disappointed authority figure. And to the Alpha’s right, my dad – Gamma, strategist, enforcer, and apparently my personal executioner – was watching me like he was deciding between grounding me and claiming I was adopted. Luna had often joked in the past that I should have my own room here since I was always in trouble.
And then there were Bianca and Dora. My sister was trying to look calm and supportive, but her crossed arms and clenched jaw screamed, 'I can’t believe we share DNA.′ Dora, meanwhile, looked like she was here purely for the drama, eyes bright with the kind of morbid fascination usually reserved for reality TV reunion specials.
I stood in the middle, already rehearsing my opening statement... Your Honour, I plead “oops”.
For anyone blissfully unaware of how pack hierarchy works (lucky you), at the top, you’ve got the Alpha – our fearless leader, top dog, and centre of every power flex. Right under him is the Beta, second-in-command and muscle when things get messy. Then comes the Gamma, the strategist-slash-enforcer-slash-parental unit of people like me. Yeah. My mum and dad were Gammas. Basically, the three people in the pack least likely to appreciate my sense of humour… and all three currently staring at me like I’d just keyed their cars.
It sounds impressive, I know. But being the daughter of a high-ranking warrior pair and still not having shifted? That’s the stuff pack therapists write whole scientific research journals and books about.
Below that, you’ve got the usuals: warriors, scouts, healers, omegas, and civilians. The Alpha’s family is royalty. The Beta’s family? Mini-royalty with a superiority complex. And me? Apparently it’s the cautionary tale they whisper about during training sessions.
The Alpha rubbed his temples like he was resisting the urge to growl. “Sophie, even for you, this was too far.”
Translation... Congrats, you’ve achieved new levels of chaos.
Michael, the Alpha’s son, leaned in the office doorway with an amused smirk. “Here again, Sophie? What did you get up to this time?”
Michael was divine. Ever since I was small, I had harboured a ridiculous crush on him. He was a few years older than my sister, which meant he saw me as nothing more than a kid. But a girl could dream, right? His dark hair was always perfectly styled, his chiselled features unfairly attractive, and his golden-brown eyes had a way of making everyone feel like they were the centre of his universe. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and radiated the kind of confidence I could only dream of having.
All wolves looked like supermodels – tall, strong, and intimidating. I was the exception... shorter, rounder, more marshmallow than marble statue. A latent wolf, if I even had one, that is. I was considered a freak. A wolf was supposed to shift on their fourteenth birthday. I was seventeen and still human. A whisper in a world of howls. A ghost in a pack of legends. They looked like gods. I looked like a cautionary tale with a sketchbook. The ugly duckling of my pack. The artsy, dungaree-wearing, pen-wielding, sarcastic nerd who preferred fantasy books to fighting. My dark brown hair was perpetually messy, my hazel eyes hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses, and my wardrobe consisted mostly of oversized sweaters and paint-stained jeans.
Luna gave a long-suffering sigh and shook her head at her son as Alpha Greyson continued, clearing his throat. “Sophie.”
It wasn’t just my name. It was an entire paragraph of ′What fresh hell is this?’, 'You again,’ and 'Why do I have to deal with you before coffee?′ all packed into two syllables.
He gestured to the empty chair in front of his desk. “Sit.”
As I lowered myself to the seat, the itching got worse, making subtle scratching impossible. The light from the Alpha’s desk lamp caught the patch, making it shimmer faintly—almost silver. I yanked my sleeve down. The last thing I needed was to look like I was hiding a disco ball under my skin.
Bianca scowled. “Stop scratching—you’re making me itch just looking at you.”
“Relax,” I said, tugging my sleeve down. “It’s not contagious… unless you’re allergic to drama.”
The chair creaked loud enough to make my face flame. Perfect—like I needed help standing out in a room full of wolfish demigods. Though honestly, between the Alpha’s glare and my eczema auditioning for the lead in Itchy: The Musical, the chair was the least of my worries.
“You’ve… escalated,” the Alpha said, leaning back.
“To a whole new level,” Michael muttered as he leaned against the doorframe.
“Michael!” Luna said scoldingly to her son.
“I’m told you ran over the Beta’s son.” Alpha Greyson continued with a momentary side glance at his son.
“Allegedly,” I said quickly. “And technically it was more of a… surprise mobility exercise.”
Luna arched an eyebrow. “You put him in the infirmary.”
“Okay, but he’s fine now, right?”
It was only one prank, and it’s not like anyone died. They were werewolves, for crying out loud – it wasn’t like they wouldn’t heal in a day or two.
Okay... so maybe seven broken arms, four fractured ribs, three stitches, and counting was a bit excessive. And yes, maybe the Beta’s son was in a coma, but the good ol’ doc did say he’d wake up soon.
And honestly? It wasn’t like they didn’t deserve it after what they pulled at school – dumping food over my head and calling me a freak just because I called him out on his betrayal. Good thing the cheer squad had my back. Family.
The Beta made a noise like a wolf trying not to growl. My dad gave me the ’don’t make this worse’ face, which, to be fair, only encouraged me to make it worse.
“And Sophie,” the Alpha said, leaning forward like this was the real kicker, “you will handwrite your apologies.”
My jaw dropped. “Handwrite? Like with an actual pen? What is this, mediaeval punishment?”
I groaned. Great. When Marcus wakes up, he’s going to make my life hell and enjoy every second of it.
The Alpha’s voice went dry enough to dehydrate a cactus. “Sophie, you’ve left me no choice. You will serve community service for the next three months – three days a week, after school, two hours each day.”
I opened my mouth to negotiate. My dad shook his head so slightly most people wouldn’t notice, but it was the Gamma version of “shut up”.
“So... community service like… in the kitchen? Or something cooler, like fighting raccoons for dominance of the dumpster?”
“You will report to whichever department is assigned kitchen duty, assisting at children’s parties, cleaning, and stocking supplies. Wherever you’re needed.”
The Alpha’s eyebrow arched just slightly. From behind me, Dora whispered, “Bet he makes you peel potatoes.” Bianca elbowed her so hard I almost heard cartilage snap.
“That’s… vague.”
“That’s flexible,” he corrected.
I slouched back in my chair. “Flexible is what my yoga teacher says before making me cry.”
The Alpha went on, “You will be issued a timesheet at the start of each shift. At the end, the supervising staff member will sign it. You will hand it in to me, the Luna, the Beta, or the Gamma before leaving the Packhouse. If you miss a shift or fail to get your sheet signed, the three months restart.”
I stared at him. “Restart? Like a cursed video game?”
“This isn’t a game, Sophie.”
“Yeah, but if it was, I’d be on hard mode.”
The Alpha gave me The Look—the one that says, ’I lead this pack, and I also know you once ate the Luna’s cupcakes and blamed Theo.′
I sighed dramatically. “Fine. But do I at least get a certificate at the end? Maybe a sash? Something that says ‘Best Community Servant’?”
“No. You get your continued freedom.”
My dad, still deadpan, muttered, “Which is generous.”
“Harsh,” I said.
“You earned it,” they both replied in perfect unison.
Bianca groaned. Dora gave me a tiny thumbs-up, like this was some kind of victory.
Dora leaned over and whispered, “Think of it this way — potato duty builds character.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, “and carpal tunnel.” I hoped the kitchen stocked Red Bull—and a miracle.
