Dahlia

I walk into the training hall with my head slightly tilted down, my usual calm expression in place, and my senses on high alert. I nod at a few packmates as I make my way to my usual spot. The air carries the scent of damp earth and shifting fur, the familiar musk of wolves training in human form.

I started combat training two weeks ago, against my parents’ initial wishes. A few pleading looks and promises later, they caved. I needed something to do after finishing my formal education, and my parents refused to let me take on any actual responsibility within the pack.

In our world of danger and shifters, there’s a threat lurking at every corner, and with me being a late bloomer and an important member of the pack, I understood why my parents were worried about my safety.

There are many werewolves of different shapes and sizes, some with wonderful abilities. And then there are the lycans, big, scary, and powerful lycans. They aren’t as common as we werewolves, but there are a number of them and they often stick together with a few scattered around. Some packs recruit lycans as warriors, others treat them as royalty, but the majority just avoid them altogether, and our pack was one of them.

Consumed with my thoughts, I nearly trip over my own feet, but I quickly catch myself.

The hall is large but not overly crowded, which is perfect for me. Fighting was never a passion of mine, just an escape from the suffocating rules that came with being in the Alpha’s family.

My Uncle is the Alpha of the Razor pack; he and my father, who is his younger brother, don’t get along too well. There was a huge fight after my grandparents died, and they’ve barely been in contact since my father moved further away from the pack house many years ago.

My parents aren’t the wealthiest in the kingdom, but as part of the leaders of the Razor Pack and members of the council, they hold enough influence. As their only child, I’ve grown up in our expansive estate, still bound to it, still forbidden from venturing out alone.

My gaze drifts around the training hall, my pulse stuttering slightly when my eyes land on a male wolf with dark auburn hair. He’s been staring at me for a while. When he catches me looking, he smirks and winks. I roll my eyes, but can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

He gets up and strides toward me, dragging a chair beside mine. The silver studs in his ears glint under the dim lighting.

Nathan Dorrer. In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve learned that he’s a menace. Not quite the class clown, but something else entirely. He’s just… Nathan.

We first met at the small art studio, which I frequently visit at the edge of the pack lands a few months back, but we never did more than exchange a few words; no one there does much talking anyways. I was surprised to meet him here, taking training as well, and I was even more surprised at how outspoken he is.

“I caught you staring at me from all the way over there, so I thought I’d save you the trouble and come closer,” he teases, his grin infectious.

“Sadly, Nathan, no matter how much you wish it, I wasn’t staring at you,” I retort, amusement lacing my voice.

His smirk falters just a bit. “Damn, Dahlia, you really know how to make a guy feel special,” he says, rolling his eyes. I laugh, unable to help myself.

“You know, everyone thinks you’re the sweetest little thing,” he continues, eyes twinkling with mischief. “But I know the truth. Just because you have those big, pretty amber eyes, perfectly arched brows, and—”

“If you keep going, I might start thinking you have a little crush on me,” I interrupt, tilting my head at him.

His cheeks tinge red, and he grumbles under his breath, making me laugh harder.

The sound of the door opening steals everyone’s attention. A female warrior strides in, dressed in a leather vest and dark boots, her scent carrying the distinct tang of blood and fresh pine.

“Training is cancelled today. The Gamma isn’t available,” she announces. “You can stay and practice, or you can leave. Your choice.” Her tone makes it clear she doesn’t care either way before she turns and leaves.

One by one, the packmates begin to disperse. Some stay back to train, but I pack my bag, intending to leave. Just as I stand, Nathan appears in front of me.

“You’re leaving already? It’s still early. I was thinking we could hang out or something,” he says, hopeful.

I want to say yes. I really do. But there’s an unsettling pull in my gut urging me to go home.

“I’m sorry, Nathan. Maybe some other time?” I say, gripping my bag tightly.

His hopeful expression dims into disappointment, but he nods. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you around, Dahlia.”

He gives me a small smile, one that lacks his usual radiance. I smile back before turning away.

Outside, I call my escort who is one of the warriors assigned to me, but there’s no answer. Odd. I try again. Still nothing.

Shrugging off the unease, I shift my focus, stopping by a flower shop to buy dahlia, my mother’s favourite. She named me after them, after all. Over time, they became my favourite as well.

A taxi drops me off at the gates of my home. As I step out, two dark, sleek SUVs pull into the driveway. My brows furrow. My parents didn’t mention expecting guests, and we rarely receive unexpected visitors.

I glance down at my sundress and sandals, deeming them decent enough before heading inside.

The second I step through the doors, my world shatters.

My father stands with his claws half-shifted, his eyes burning gold, his stance rigid. Across from him, a man sits at our wooden dining table, calm, collected, and dangerous.

Three shifters stand behind him, two with their claws extended toward my father’s throat, and one with a gun pointed at my mother’s head.

My blood turns to ice.

“Dahlia, what are you doing here?! Leave!” my father barks. I take a step back, but a massive hand clamps around my wrist. I look up to see a huge man towering over me with a scowl on his face.

“She just got here, Rick. Where are your manners?” the seated man speaks, voice smooth as silk but laced with poison.

My mother’s tear-streaked face locks onto mine.

“Mom… Dad… who are these people?” My voice is steady, but inside, I feel anything but.

“This is between you and me, Cyrus,” my father snarls. “Let them go.”

Cyrus. I’ve heard that name before.

But it can’t be him, there’s no way my father would have anything to do with The Cyrus Steele, Alpha of the Scrap Pack, the home to lycans.

Cyrus chuckles, the sound dark and foreboding. “You stole from me, Rick. What right do you have to make demands?”

He snaps his fingers. The wolves holding my parents adjust their grip, claws pressing in warning.

Panic grips me. Without thinking, I wrench my arm free and step toward Cyrus.

“Wait! Please... don’t kill them. Take whatever you want. Just… please don’t hurt them.” My breath comes in short, panicked gasps.

Cyrus meets my gaze, and for a fleeting moment, something flickers in his dark, soulless eyes.

“You have nothing I want,” he murmurs.

Desperation claws at me. “Then take me.”

Silence.

My father shouts in protest, my mother sobbing harder, but I don’t look away from Cyrus.

His head tilts as he assesses me, searching for weakness. I hold my ground.

Then, slowly, his lips curl into a dangerous smile.

“Well, Rick,” he muses, “it seems you and your lovely mate live to see another day. But do not mistake this for mercy. You have until the next full moon to settle your debt.”

His gaze slides back to me. “Dahlia, was it?”

I nod.

Cyrus rises, extending a hand. “Shall we?”

I take it, and with that, I walk away from my home, my family, and everything I’ve ever known.