Born to Hunt, Bound to the Alpha

The Imbalance

Reghan POV

The packhouse is louder than usual when I return.

Not chaotic, but alive in a way that comes with familiarity rather than tension. Voices overlap easily, movement flowing through the space without urgency or direction. Someone is arguing near the far side of the room, though the tone suggests habit more than conflict, and laughter follows quickly enough that it never has the chance to become anything else.

It is normal. Predictable. Grounded.

I pause just inside the doorway for a moment, letting the shift settle around me before stepping further inside. The scent of the pack is steady here. Wood, smoke, and something warmer beneath it that has nothing to do with the forest outside.

It should feel like a return. Instead, something in me remains slightly elsewhere.

I ignore it.

Garron is already seated at the long table, one arm draped across the back of his chair, watching something unfold on the other side of the room with clear amusement.

I follow his line of sight.

Two she-wolves stand near the hearth.

Seraphine and Nymera.

Both of them attempting, unsuccessfully, to pretend they are not focused on the same thing.

Me.

Seraphine adjusts her stance first, subtle in a way that suggests control, her movements measured, deliberate. Nymera follows a heartbeat later, less restrained, her shift sharper, more obvious, her attention harder to hide.

They are trying. Too hard.

I exhale quietly, dragging a hand once through my hair as I move further into the room.

That is enough, both of them notice.

Of course they do.

Their attention sharpens instantly, each of them stepping just slightly closer, as if proximity alone might shift something that has already been decided.

Behind me, Garron lets out a low breath that sounds suspiciously like suppressed laughter.

“This should be good,” he mutters.

I do not respond.

Seraphine speaks first, her tone smooth, almost casual if not for the way she watches me too closely.

“You’re back late.”

Nymera doesn’t wait.

“You’ve been out more than usual.”

A pause follows, brief but charged. Then, inevitably, the edge slips in.

“Well, at least some of us are actually doing something useful,” Nymera says, her gaze flicking sideways.

Seraphine’s expression tightens, though she doesn’t lose composure. “I didn’t realize standing around counted as effort.”

“Better than trying too hard.”

“Better than failing completely.”

The shift is quick. Predictable.

I watch it unfold for a moment longer than necessary before letting out a quiet breath, something between a sigh and a faint scuff of amusement.

“My Goddess,” I mutter under my breath, not quite quietly enough to go unheard.

Their attention snaps back to me instantly, I meet both of their gazes, unimpressed.

“You’re both trying too hard.”

The words land cleanly.

Not harsh. Not gentle.

Simply true.

For a moment, neither of them responds.

Then the tension breaks, not into argument this time, but embarrassment edged with frustration. Seraphine looks away first, her composure slipping just slightly. Nymera follows a second later, less willing but no less affected.

Good, that ends that.

I turn away without another word, moving toward the table where Garron is waiting.

He is already grinning.

“That was kinder than I expected,” he says.

“I wasn’t trying to be kind.”

“No,” he agrees easily. “That’s what made it better.”

I take a seat across from him, leaning back slightly as I let my attention settle.

For a brief moment, the noise of the room fades, and something else presses in.

Not a thought. Not quite instinct. More like an awareness that doesn’t belong here.

It doesn’t align with the space, with the pack, with anything in front of me.

It pulls elsewhere.

My wolf shifts beneath it.

Not rising. Not claiming.

Just not interested.

A quiet dismissal settles through me, directed at the room, at the attention still lingering near the hearth, at the expectation that any of it matters. It doesn’t.

I still slightly.

The shift is subtle but not subtle enough. Garron notices.

Of course he does.

“You’ve been distracted,” he says.

“I’ve been occupied.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

I do not respond immediately because he is not wrong.

“She adjusted it,” I say instead.

That redirects him, of course it does.

Garron’s gaze sharpens slightly. “You mean the trap.”

“Yes.”

A brief pause.

“How?” he asks.

“She stopped relying on the obvious path.”

Garron leans forward slightly, interest sharpening. “She almost had you.”

“No,” I say quietly. “But she got closer than she should have.”

That matters more.

“She shouldn’t be learning that fast,” he says.

“She shouldn’t be doing a lot of things she’s doing.”

That much is becoming increasingly clear.

Garron studies me more closely now.

“You’re not talking about her like she’s just another hunter.”

“No.”

The answer comes too easily. A brief silence follows.

“What is she, then?” he asks.

The question lingers.

Not because I don’t understand it, because I don’t have a clean answer.

“She doesn’t fit,” I say finally.

Garron’s brow furrows slightly.

“That’s vague.”

“It’s accurate.”

I lean back slightly, my gaze drifting past him for a moment, not focusing on anything in particular.

“She moves like she’s been trained to hunt,” I continue, “but she doesn’t behave like prey, and she doesn’t rely on the same patterns the others do.”

“She’s just better,” Garron says.

“No.” The word is quiet, but firm. “That’s not it.”

He watches me more closely now.

“What, then?”

I let the silence stretch a moment longer before answering.

“She doesn’t hesitate where she should.” That alone would not be enough. “But she does hesitate in the wrong places.”

Garron stills slightly. That catches his attention.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“No,” I agree. “It doesn’t.”

And yet it’s there.

In the way she adjusts. In the way she commits. In the way, for a fraction of a second, something shifts.

My wolf stirs again.

Sharper this time.

Focus. Too focused.

It narrows toward her without permission, toward the memory of her movement, her presence, the way she stood too close without pulling back, the way the space changed when she did.

I shut it down immediately.

Irrelevant.

I don’t need instinct complicating something that is already becoming less predictable than it should be.

Garron leans back again, his expression settling into something more thoughtful.

“This is going to get complicated,” he says.

“It already is.”

Across the room, Seraphine and Nymera have resumed their positions, though the tension between them has dulled into something quieter now, more contained.

They still glance in my direction. Less boldly this time.

Better.

I don’t look at them again. My attention shifts instead toward the open doorway, where the night stretches beyond the edges of the packhouse.

The forest waits.

Steady. Unchanged.

But something within it is not.

“She’ll push further,” Garron says.

“Yes.”

“And you’ll let her.”

“Yes.”

He exhales slowly.

“Remind me why that’s a good idea.”

I don’t answer.

Because the truth is, it isn’t.

Not entirely. Not anymore.

And I don’t like that the reason has nothing to do with the hunt.