Primal Instinct

22-WHISPERS

The hallway felt different in daylight—too alive. Every sound carried, footsteps against the polished floors, the rustle of fabric, the faint scrape of chairs as warriors gathered for breakfast. When I stepped into the hall, the world seemed to tilt toward her. Conversations faltered. The hum of voices bent into whispers that clung to the walls then floated up in laughter, the low murmur of people going about their morning. It should have been comforting. Instead, every voice sounded like a threat.

“That’s her.”

“The human.”

“They’re saying she’s his Luna.”

The word pricked like glass under her skin. Luna. She didn’t know what it meant exactly, but the way they said it—half awe, half disbelief—made her stomach knot.

At the far end of the corridor, two guys stood talking near a window. Their conversation dipped when they saw me. One looked away immediately, shoulders dropping, throat bared in a way I didn’t understand but felt in my bones. The other stared a second too long. His nostrils flared, his eyes darkening in a way that had nothing to do with curiosity.

Heat crawled up my neck. Before I could decide whether to keep walking or bolt back into the room I’d just escaped, a familiar voice sliced through the charged air.

“Oh, hell no.” Lyric appeared from a side door like she’d been waiting for this exact moment. She moved fast, robe sleeves swishing, expressing a mix of exasperation and tight concern.

“You,” she said to me, already shrugging a thick, soft robe off her arm. “Are not supposed to be out of bed.”

“I feel fine,” I lied. My voice came out thinner than I liked. I need coffee and maybe a fire extinguisher.”

She snorted and almost smiled. Almost. “You don’t joke about heat around here.” She wrapped the robe around my shoulders anyway, cinching it close. It smelled faintly of lavender and something crisp, like river water.

Her gaze flicked down the hallway toward the two men. Ignoring the one who’d looked away, she pinned the other with a glare sharp enough to cut.

“Eyes,” she said.

His gaze dropped instantly to the floor. The tension in the air eased a fraction, my skin loosening in my own body.

Lyric’s fingers tightened on my shoulders, guiding me away from them. “Come on, sweetie,” she murmured under her breath. “Walk with purpose before someone else gets stupid. Head up. Shoulders back. Pretend you don’t smell like him.”

“I do not—” I started hotly, then caught the look she gave me. Pity. Frustration. Something like, Oh, sweet girl, you really don’t get it yet.

“That bad?” I asked weakly.

“Let’s just say,” she said, steering me down a narrower hallway away from the main staircase, “if scent were a status, you’re basically walking around in his signature, and everyone here knows it.”

Humiliation exploded in my chest. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know.” Her tone softened. “That’s the thing about this life—no one ever does.”

We stepped through a heavy oak door that opened into the inner courtyard. The air here was fresher, touched with pine and rain. Damien and Elias were waiting, both of them standing in easy, deceptively relaxed poses.

Damien’s dark gaze flicked over me once, assessing, protective. “You’re holding up better than I expected.”

“That makes one of us.” I muttered.

Lyric gestured to the bench beneath a cypress tree. “Sit. You’re still radiating energy. Half the unmated males are pacing the grounds like it’s a full moon.”

“Why?”

“Because your scent hasn’t faded.” Lyric said it softly. “Because the bond’s still pulsing.”

Elias poured tea into a clay cup and handed it to me. His movements were deliberate, calm, as though I might shatter if he moved too quickly. His voice matched—low, steady, impossible not to listen to. “Humans aren’t built to survive a heat,” he said. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Your heart should’ve given out,” Damien added matter-of-factly. “Which means you aren’t as human as you think.”

My fingers tightened on the cup. “If I’m not human—and that’s a big if—then what am I?”

Lyric exchanged a look with her companions before answering. “That’s what my brother’s trying to find out. The elders are already whispering about it. About you.”

“What are they saying?”

“That a human can’t be Luna,” Damien said, his mouth twisting. “That if you are, it changes everything.”

“Luna,” I repeated, testing the word. “It’s a title?”

“It’s more than that,” Lyric said. “She leads beside the Alpha. His equal, his balance. The one the pack follows when he falls.”

I looked down into the dark liquid swirling in my cup. “Then you’re all wrong. That man can barely stand to be in the same room as me.”

Damien’s mouth twitched. “For what it’s worth, most wolves spend their whole lives waiting for the bond you stumbled into and lived through on your first week here.”

“All I wanted was better health insurance and a break from Atlanta traffic, and I got hit with supernatural soul-cancer.” I said, hugging the robe tighter around me.

Lyric actually laughed at that, shoulders dropping a little. “Okay, that’s funny.”

I glanced around the courtyard—at the warriors moving in loose formation along the upper walkway, at the women hanging linens from a line near the kitchen wing, at the two figures sparring near the training ring. “You all talk like this is normal. Can someone start at the top and work their way down?”

Damien leaned back, stretching his long legs. “Alright. Lesson one. Not all wolves are equal.”

Elias nodded. “The pack is built in tiers. At the top—your Alpha and Luna. Below them, the Beta, who manages discipline and internal order, and the Gamma, who oversees security and training. Beneath them are warriors, ranked by skill and dominance, then the Omegas—those without strong wolves of their own, often tending to domestic and healing duties.”

My brow furrowed. “And you are Gamma, what does that mean?”

Elias inclined his head. “Head of the warriors. Every fighter reports to me.”

“Beta.” Damien said simply. “I deal with the Council, the Alpha’s decisions, and damage control when he forgets he’s supposed to be diplomatic.”

Lyric smirked. “Which is most of the time.”

Damien continued, his tone faintly instructive. “The packhouse isn’t just a home—it’s a base. There’s a training ring for warriors, a wing for Omegas and their families, and the Healers’ quarters run by my mother. Everything runs on rank and scent. Order keeps instinct from turning into chaos.”

My brain spun trying to piece it all together. “So basically it’s… supernatural corporate structure.”

Elias chuckled softly. “With more snarling and fangs.”

Lyric leaned forward. “It’s also balanced. Wolves don’t survive alone. Each rank feeds into the next—power, care, protection, healing. When one fails, the others feel it.”

“And Trenton is the Alpha?” I asked.

“He is. He runs the most feared pack in America, Crystal Lunar Pack.” Damien said. “He is feared by all, respected by his pack and women are naturally drawn to him. His bloodline has ruled since the beginning of time.”

Elias nodded slowly. “The Steele family’s carried the Alpha gene for generations. First-born sons inherit it. Always have. That’s why Lyric isn’t Alpha, even though she’s older.”

Lyric’s mouth tightened. “Lucky me.”

Damien gave a humorless chuckle. “The gene’s not the problem. It’s what comes with it.”

My brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Elias hesitated, choosing his words. “His wolf isn’t… normal. None of the records describe it clearly, just fragments. Other Alphas call it a beast, something darker than a wolf. Stronger. Faster. Harder to leash.”

Lyric’s eyes flicked toward the window, as if she could feel him from here. “Most wolves answer the moon,” she said quietly. “His wolf doesn’t. It competes with it. That’s what scares people.”

A chill crept up my spine. “And nobody knows why?”

“No one ever has,” Elias said. “The stories say the first Steele Alpha made a pact during the Old Wars. Something about keeping the bloodline strong. But whatever he bound himself to, it stuck.”

Damien exhaled through his nose. “Every generation, the sons get worse. The power grows, but so does the pull to… something else. Some say it’s just the cost of the Alpha line being in power for so long. Some say it’s a curse.”

Lyric’s voice softened, but her expression stayed hard. “And right now, my brother’s losing that fight. Every time his wolf surfaces, it takes longer for him to come back.”

I remembered his eyes glowing silver, the growl that had seemed to shake the walls. “You say that like he’s two people.”

“In some ways, he is,” Elias said. “Most Alphas wrestle with dominance. Trenton wrestles with survival. His wolf doesn’t obey anyone, it challenges every authority.”

Lyric’s gaze softened. “You’ve seen what happens when he slips.”

I had. The memory of Jace pinned against the wall flashed behind my eyes. The raw fury in Trenton’s face. The voice that hadn’t sounded human when it said ‘Mine.’

“The packhouse,” Lyric said quietly, “was built on old sacred ground. Long before the city, long before the companies and contracts, this was the site of a split in the earth during the Old Wars. Blood, bone, and moonlight fused beneath us. Every Alpha since has ruled from this place. Every bond formed here echoes through that bloodline.”

“No wonder it feels like the walls hum,” I muttered.

“They do,” Elias said with a faint smile. “Especially near his quarters. The closer you are to the Alpha, the louder it gets.”

My stomach flipped. I’d slept in that space. I’d felt the hum.

Lyric’s gaze dropped to her tea. “And now you’re tied to him. The whole pack feels it. They don’t know why, not yet, but they can sense something’s changed.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

Damien’s voice gentled. “You survived what should have killed you, Nahiry. That alone means something.”

I stared down into my cup. “He doesn’t want me.”

Lyric’s mouth pressed tight. “He doesn’t trust himself. That’s not the same thing.”

“Maybe it doesn’t matter.” My voice cracked. “If this bond is what’s going to destroy everything, maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s better if it fades.”

Elias shook his head. “It won’t. It might quiet, it might change—but it won’t vanish. You’re linked now, whether you wanted it or not. Unless he rejects you, which he wont do.”

My pulse jumped. “And if he… rejects me?”

Lyric’s face darkened. “Then you surviving last night will be for nothing and the heartbreak alone will kill you instead.”

The silence after that said enough.

Before I could ask anything else, the air shifted. The hum under my skin surged, sharp and insistent. Lyric’s head snapped toward the doorway, her eyes going distant for a heartbeat before she whispered, “He’s coming.”

The teacup rattled in its saucer.

Trenton appeared in the doorway, sleeves rolled up, eyes unreadable. “You’re coming with me,” he said. Not a question. Not even a command. Just inevitability. Lyric opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off with a single glance that could have frozen sunlight.“Now.”