Chapter 1
Leah Clearwater stared at her reflection in the mirror. The girl in front of her didn't look any older than the girl fourteen years ago. Same straight black hair framing her face, dark brown eyes, olive skin tone, even in this cold place. She sighed and turned away from the mirror.
The ballroom of Crystal Bay Resort was a suffocating sea of black ties, glittering diamonds, and the cloying scent of expensive perfume.
She stood in a perfectly straight line with the other waitstaff, her spine rigid, her expression carefully neutral. To the wealthy patrons, she was just another nameless server in a black uniform. They didn't know the wolf beneath the skin; they didn't know the decade and a half of stagnant time that kept her looking like the girl who had once run through the forests of Washington. She was Amelia Brown, a common girl living in Alaska, 12 miles away from Juneau.
The girl in front of her, a nervous waitress named Sophie, stumbled slightly, the heavy silver platter of hors d'oeuvres tilting precariously. Leah’s hand shot out, steadying the tray with a grip of iron hidden behind a polite, practiced smile.
"Easy," Leah murmured.
"Thanks, Lia," Sophie breathed, her knuckles white. "If I drop this, Evelyn will literally skin me alive."
Leah’s gaze flicked across the room to the head server, Evelyn. She was a woman who wore her authority like a weapon, pacing the perimeter of the ballroom with a scowl etched into her features. Her eyes locked onto Leah, sharp and predatory.
"Evelyn is pissed at you," a voice whispered. It was Violet, leaning in from behind, her tone laced with amusement.
Leah glanced at the woman who seemed always determined to make her shift a living hell. Evelyn had been riding her since the day she’d been hired, nitpicking her posture, her service, even the way she tied her apron.
"Let her," Leah muttered, her voice low and steady. "She’s all bark and no fang."
Sophie turned back, a small, mischievous grin breaking through her anxiety. "Or maybe she’s intimidated by you. You’re always so calm, Leah. It’s like you’re not even here."
"I doubt that," Leah replied, though a cold shiver touched her spine. She knew how she looked to them—the quiet, mysterious girl who never talked about her past, never tripped. "Or else she wouldn't have taken it upon herself to make my life miserable."
Violet scoffed, the sound barely audible over the clinking of champagne glasses. "That bitch loves to make everyone's life miserable. It’s her favorite hobby. She’s just projecting because she knows she’s miserable herself. I heard she is pissed because the owner of the resort sell it to someone,"
"What?" Sophie asked in fake shocked face, "but she was fucking him... What will happen to our poor Evelyn,"
Leah didn't respond. She watched Evelyn adjust a centerpiece with aggressive movements. Being around humans was supposed to be the "safe" way to live—the way to avoid the pack, the memories, and the shifting—but the petty drama felt like a bizarre parody of the life she’d left behind.
She could hear the erratic heartbeats of the guests, the muffled whispers of gossip, and the sharp, jagged rhythm of Evelyn’s irritation. It was a constant sensory assault, a reminder that she was a predator playing house in a world of prey.
"Positions!" Evelyn barked, her voice cutting through the room like shattered glass.
Leah adjusted the tray, her movements fluid and silent. She didn't want trouble, and she certainly didn't care about Evelyn’s fragile ego and what she was doing in her free time. She just wanted to finish the night, collect her paycheck, and disappear into the night air—the only place where she didn't have to pretend to be anything other than what she was.
As she passed Evelyn, the woman shot her a look of pure venom. Leah didn't blink. She simply kept walking, her eyes fixed on the horizon, already halfway out the door.
The sound dropped and the main door opened. Making all the guest to pretend that they weren't waiting for their ridiculously expensive bird food to arrive. Leah take a round around the hall, smiling at the guest as she walked. Then took another round before going back to the kitchen to replace her empty tray with another full tray of disgusting looking food.
The kitchen hummed with the frantic, clattering energy of a high-end gala. Leah gripped the side of the silver tray, ready go back to the hall.
Evelyn’s face was twisted into a mask of professional fury, her voice a sharp blade cutting through the noise of clinking silverware.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Evelyn hissed, stepping into Leah’s personal space. Her eyes raked over Leah with blatant disdain. "The guests don't want to smile at you! Don't make eye contact with any of them. Look down and pretend to be invisible! And make yourself look small! For fuck's sake!"
Leah’s jaw tightened, a muscle in her cheek pulsing. She shifted her weight, the floorboards groaning slightly under her boots. "I’m just serving the food, Evelyn. I’m doing exactly what’s on the schedule."
"You’re towering over them!" Evelyn poked a manicured finger at Leah’s chest. "You’re making them uncomfortable. Slouch. Keep your head down. I don't care how you do it, just stop being so… imposing. You look like you’re waiting to snap someone’s neck instead of serving appetizers."
Leah’s eyes flickered—a dangerous, ember-lit gold for a split second before she forced them back to a dull brown. She took a slow, steadying breath. "I’m six-foot-one. It’s hard to 'look small' when I’m nearly taller than most of them."
Evelyn let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. "Then find a way. If one more guest comments on the 'striking server' with the 'intense gaze,' you’re out on the street. I don't need a model, Amelia Brown. I need a invisible waitress who walk without being notice. Can you manage that, or is your ego too big to fit in a uniform?"
Leah tilted her head, her dark hair shielding her face as she looked down at the floor, just as requested. "I'll be a ghost, then," she muttered, the bitterness thick enough to taste.
"Good," Evelyn snapped, smoothing her apron. "And keep your mouth shut. Nobody is paying to hear your opinions on the menu."
As Evelyn pivoted on her heel and stormed back toward the dining hall, Violet stepped out from behind a stack of crates, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She leaned in, her voice barely audible over the roar of the kitchen.
"You know," Violet whispered, a wry smile playing on her lips, "if you actually did snap her neck, I think the rest of the staff would pitch in to bury the body."
Leah finally met her gaze, the ghost of a cold, predatory smirk touching her own lips. "It’s tempting, Violet. Really tempting. But I promised myself I’d stay off the radar today."
"Well," Violet chuckled, nudging Leah’s shoulder. "You might want to work on that slouch. You’re still looking entirely too much like a runway model in a server’s vest."
Leah sighed, adjusting the heavy tray. "It’s a work in progress."
She stepped out into the dining hall, deliberately rounding her shoulders and fixing her gaze on the polished marble floor. She moved with a silent, unnatural grace, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, waiting for the night to end so she could finally stop pretending.
