MERCY

Blood oozes across the floor, a deep crimson hue, thick like paint. I fix my gaze on it, unable to tear my eyes away from the dead man on my kitchen floor.

A loud bang on the door jolts me from my focus on the corpse. My father and his men have arrived. I release the breath I had been holding, the urgency of the situation causing me to tremble.

I turn to my friend Kali, noticing the sheer fear in her eyes. “Run!” I urge her.

“I won’t leave you behind!” she insists, her voice filled with a blend of adrenaline and fear. Shaking her head, she stands firm, her feet planted on the ground. Her eyes burn with fierce determination, ready to face my father alongside me.

“You have to. If you stay, my father won’t show you mercy. I need you to go—now!” I gently push her away, desperate to make my point clear, but she steps closer. I pull her into a tight embrace, wanting to be close to my best friend one last time. Her arms wrap around me, holding on as if she can somehow change my mind. But then, gathering my strength, I firmly push her away again, making it clear to her it’s time to leave.

“I love you, sister,” she murmurs, stepping cautiously backward toward the door.

“I love you too, sis,” I reply, forcing myself to sound strong, hiding my tears so she feels it’s alright to go.

Taking a deep breath, she opens the sliding glass door and steps into the enveloping shadows beyond.

Ever since Kali entered my life during the first year of college, we’ve taken on the world side by side. Now, I’m faced with the daunting task of doing this without her. My chest feels heavy, almost caving in as I think about never seeing her again.

I give the body a glance, my eyes locked on the blood as I slowly tiptoe past it. The marks on his abdomen remind me of what happened—a secret I must keep. A secret that isn’t mine. But how?

I look up and spot the knife block beside the stove. Hurrying over, I take a knife from it and kneel next to the dead body. With both hands gripping the handle, I plunge the blade into his stomach and move it vertically over the open skin. As blood spills from his abs, I instinctively turn away, wincing and covering my mouth with my elbow.

The sight of more red spilling onto the ground sends an intense wave of nausea washing over me. I hurry to the sink, dropping the knife into the basin, and lean against the counter, struggling to suppress my heaves. I attempt to wash my hands, but the stains cling stubbornly, refusing to fade away.

Just then, another bang hits against the door. I quickly wipe my stained hands on my dress and walk over to it.

I comb my hair behind my ears and hold my head up high before turning the knob with my visibly red hands. My father enters, his suit impeccably pressed, his finger accessorized by a large gold ring. He exudes the arrogance of a city alpha, the dominant wolf of the urban landscape where I’m pursuing my college education.

Men rush into my tiny home, each gripping weapons as they file past me, diligently checking the windows and locking both doors. “All secure,” one of them announces to my father.

My father steps deeper into my home, which is technically his since he pays for it. Positioned between us is Beta, a man I’ve known all my life, shielding my father as if he’s unsure whether to protect his alpha from his own daughter. Together, they stare at the corpse before them.

“How did this happen?” My father asks, his voice rough with irritation.

“It was an accident,” I whimper, my arms stiff at my side.

“I didn’t ask for an excuse. How did this happen?” he snarls. This time, I take a step back away from him. My father isn’t one to toy with. He’s ruthless, a cunning man, his only love for the pack, leaving little emotion for his own daughter.

I turn, my gaze landing on the lifeless body sprawled on my kitchen floor. The events unfolded in an instant, leaving me trembling and struggling to process the chaos of the night.

I had only met the man lying still on my kitchen floor a few days ago, but there was something undeniably magnetic about him—his dark, tousled hair, and those captivating eyes that seemed to see right through to my soul.

We met up at the bar tonight for a drink, and I was excited about going on a date with him. “Let’s go back to your place,” he whispered in my ear, gently brushing my hair away from my face while his other hand moved up my thigh. I had only one drink. It must have been particularly strong because that one drink left me feeling unsteady.

When we got back here, he wouldn’t stop talking about how I smelled, insisting he could sense the “real me” and that I had a delicious scent. It was unsettling to see how drastically his behavior had shifted. He was no longer the kind and friendly wolf I had met just a few days ago. Instead, he was invasive, pushing me and touching me in ways I clearly did not want. Still feeling the effects of the drinks, I struggled to push him away.

Then, he did the unthinkable. He grabbed me by the neck and bent me over the kitchen counter, tearing at my dress.

I suddenly remember the state of my torn dress and looked down to see the bottom ripped to shreds, leaving just a thin layer covering between my legs—a sight that I’m sure the men in the room immediately noticed.

My father’s eyes narrow as he waits for my answer. The two men in charge do not look at me with pity or love. No, they regard me with disgust, as though I had brought this upon myself.

I wrap my arms around my chest, tightly squeezing myself in for a hug. Tears fill the brim of my eyes as I whisper in a shaking voice, trying to convey what led to this man’s death, “He tried to rape me.”

My father’s snarl softens at the mention of the man hurting me, and for a moment, I think he might actually care about me. But then he crosses his arms with a commanding presence and instructs Beta to examine the body. I’m left feeling alone and retreating into the corner, wishing I could disappear. This is one of those times I wish my mom were still alive. I need her right now.

Beta Brodie kneels, his finger tracing the contours of the body. When he stands, he wipes the blood on a napkin before tossing it aside, landing on the still form.

“We have a serious issue,” he says urgently, glancing at my father with concern. He leans closer, whispering something in my father’s ear that makes his eyebrows raise in surprise, and his expression shifts to one of intense scrutiny.

“How did you manage to kill a soldier?” my father asks, unable to believe that I could have done such a thing.

A mercenary werewolf? No, that can’t be. I thought he was a regular wolf like me.

Killing him? Well, that story is a bit more complicated, and if I share it with my father, there will be harsh repercussions I’m not ready to endure. I grab the knife from the sink and hold it up to him, my hands shaking with blood dripping from the blade.

“You know what we must do.” Beta gives me a sympathetic glance, subtly moving away from my father’s watchful eyes, conveying an unspoken message filled with concern.

My father remains silent, weighing his options carefully. According to the Evergreen Treaty, the rule is clear: an eye for an eye. If one of theirs is killed, they take one of ours. Blood has been spilled, and I’m the price for the crime committed.

My father must choose between surrendering me to the werewolf alpha and risking war with the powerful werewolf pack —the enforcers of the Treaty. Inside me, my wolf cries out, aware that my father harbors no affection for me, nor will I find any solace among the werewolves. To them, I’m merely a regular wolf—small, on four paws, and lacking the strength they boast about.

They will not care that I am the daughter of an alpha. I face a grim fate of either becoming a slave to their whims or meeting a deadly end. My life hangs in the balance as the weight of my father’s decision looms over us both.

“Alpha,” Beta calls out.

My father releases a heavy sigh, twisting the gold ring on his finger—a mark of his authority as alpha. He cast one final glance at the dead werewolf before commanding, “Call Alpha Vix.”

I cry out, “No! Please, Dad, don’t go through with this.” Desperation fills my voice. I’ve never encountered Alpha Vix, but just hearing his name sends a chill down my spine. I reach out, grabbing my father, begging him to reconsider.

“Shut up, girl!” he snarls, and the sting of his hand against my cheek sends shockwaves of both pain and panic through me.

I press my hand against my cheek, desperate to ease the pain as my father turns away, engaging in conversation with his men. I sink to the floor, my legs folded mere inches from the pooling blood, tears streaming down my face as I brace myself for what may come next—the terrifying end of my life.