Seriously, There Are Werewolves?

Chapter 3

I woke up to the smell of bacon.

For a second, I thought I was home. Not the forest/cottage with creepy jars home, but real home. The one with crumpled cereal boxes on the counter and my mum humming off-key while she burnt toast.

Then I opened my eyes and remembered: different country, dead parents, witches and werewolves.

Grief is weird like that. It forgets where it’s supposed to live and then ambushes you with bacon.

I sat up, the quilt slipping down my arms. My room looked the same as it had last night, books, soft light, the faint smell of herbs, but the air was warmer now, sun spilling through the curtains. And beneath it all, the unmistakable sizzle and scent of breakfast being made.

I padded out barefoot, following my nose like a cartoon dog. Moira was at the stove, flipping something in a cast iron pan like this was just another normal morning and not the aftermath of “By the way, werewolves exist” night.

“Morning,” she said without turning. “You like your eggs runny or firm?”

I blinked. “You cook?”

“I’m a witch, not a barbarian.”

Touché.

She pointed to the table, already set with plates, cutlery, and a pile of toast stacked like a tribute to the carb gods. I sat, still trying to shake off the dream fuzz.

“So… this is real,” I said finally. “All of it.”

“Yes.”

“No take backs?”

“No.”

She placed a plate in front of me, eggs, bacon, and something that looked like sautéed mushrooms but smelled like magic. Literally.

“Cool, cool. Just checking.”

I picked up my fork and stared at the food. My stomach rumbled traitorously. Apparently, existential dread still made room for breakfast.

Moira poured me a mug of something dark. Not tea, thank God.

“Coffee,” she said. “You’ll need it.”

I sipped. It was strong enough to bring dead things back to life. Fitting.

“What’s happening today?” I asked, through a mouthful of toast.

“You’re meeting the Alpha.”

I choked. “Already? Shouldn’t there be, like, an orientation first? A safety video?”

Moira arched a brow. “He asked for you. That’s not something you decline.”

“Right. Because saying no to the head werewolf sounds like a great survival strategy.”

“He’s not a monster, Harper. He’s a leader. And he’ll want to meet you properly.”

I set my fork down. “Define ‘properly.’ Am I getting sniffed at?”

She smiled faintly. “No sniffing. Not unless you provoke someone.”

Comforting.

The walk to the Packhouse took about thirty minutes, but it didn’t feel long. The forest looked different in daylight—less like a haunted fairytale and more like something from a nature documentary. Birds chirped, wind rustled leaves, and somewhere in the distance, I heard a stream gurgling like it didn’t know what kind of drama had unfolded under its nose.

“So,” I said as we walked, “explain the pack thing again. Alpha I get. Big, scary boss wolf. But what about the others? Is there a wolf HR department?”

Moira chuckled. “It’s a structured community, not a company. The Alpha leads. Keeps order. Protects the territory. The Beta is second-in-command and trusted advisor, enforcer, diplomat.”

“Enforcer?”

“They handle disputes. Keep the peace. Step in when the Alpha can’t be everywhere.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Which is why there’s a Gamma. The third. Oversees defense. Training. Security.”

“So the Gamma’s like… the head of werewolf bootcamp?”

“In a sense.”

“And regular pack members?”

“They have roles too. Families, trades, skills. The pack is a town, Harper. A hidden one, but still a town. You’ll see.”

I frowned. “You keep saying that like it’s not insane.”

She gave me a look. “It’s only insane because it’s new.”

“Fair.”

As we rounded a bend, the trees thinned, and there it was "the Packhouse."

I stopped walking.

It was enormous. More like a mansion. at least five stories high. A large well kept front yard.. it was like walking out of a fairytale book into a modern and rich world. It wasn’t just a house. It was a statement. The "house" was white, and I could see plenty of people walking around and a couple of wolves running into the forest.

“Welcome to the heart of the pack,” Moira said beside me.

I swallowed. “So… this is where the Alpha lives?”

She nodded. “And where your real introduction begins.”

The Packhouse loomed ahead, like something out of a fantasy novel written by someone with a background in architecture and a flair for intimidation.

I followed Moira up the steps.

She didn’t hesitate. Just reached for the massive door and pushed it open.

We stepped inside, and I stopped dead.

The outside might’ve looked like some rustic luxury lodge, but the inside? Straight up werewolf Hogwarts. Or maybe a resort. Polished wood floors. Vaulted ceilings. Everything glowed warm gold from giant chandeliers that somehow didn’t feel over the top.

It smelled like cedar, leather and a touch of bleach like someone had just mopped?

People moved around like they had actual jobs. A woman in an apron walked by carrying a tray of mugs. A guy in a hoodie nodded politely as he passed us, like it was totally normal for witches and girls with traumatic baggage to stroll through the building.

Moira looked over her shoulder. “Quick tour?”

“Define ‘quick,’” I muttered. “Because this place has zip code energy.”

She ignored me, of course.

“Ground floor’s common area,” she began, walking at a pace that screamed ‘keep up or get lost.’ “Dining hall, lounge, kitchen, basically where everyone gathers. The people who cook, clean, maintain everything live down here too.”

So the supernatural equivalent of a very well staffed Hotel. Got it.

We passed a huge open space with long wooden tables and what looked like a buffet counter. I smelled something glorious garlic, maybe? Bacon again?

Up a wide staircase lined with wrought iron railing, we hit the second floor.

“Bar, TV room, game lounge, and some guest suites,” Moira said.

“Great,” I said. “In case I want to play pool with a werewolf or crash on a couch with a beer.”

Another floor. The third was quieter, more polished. Closed doors with nameplates.

“Offices,” Moira explained. “Pack business. Records. Security feeds. It’s the backbone level, so don’t touch anything.”

“Right. No spinning around in the Alpha’s chair. Got it.”

She gave me a look but didn’t slow down.

She stood still and explain what the next two levels were.

"The fourth floor is for the rancked memeber and their mates, they usually get their own house when they have children” she said. “Beta, Gamma, enforcers, key personnel. The people who keep order and carry out the Alpha’s directives.”

“So the upper management,” I muttered. “Got it.”

There was an elevator on the far end, but Moira passed it without a glance.

“Why didn't we use that?” I asked, panting a little.

“You said you wanted a tour.”

“Right. Love a good cardio-based orientation.”

She smirked, just barely, and continued down the hall.

“The fifth floor is for the Alpha alone, you have to be invited up there. He has the whole top floor to himself,” Moira said, like she was finishing a sentence she’d started earlier.

“Bit dramatic,” I muttered. “Does he also have a throne and a moat?”

It is large because when he finds his mate, him and his family will live here"

She said mate l. Like it meant something and I was supposed to know what it meant..

“His what now?”

“I’ll explain later,” she muttered, and stepped forward.

The door was carved with two wolves circling a crescent moon.

She knocked twice.

The sound echoed like a challenge.

And then… silence.