A Piece of Me : The Alpha's Light.

Chapter One: The Weight of Blood The fire crackled softly, its fading flames casting long shadows across the trees. Zia sat cross-legged on the cold earth, her dagger resting in her lap. She could feel the night pressing in on her, heavy with silence, broken only by the distant cry of an owl. Her father sat across from her, his broad shoulders hunched forward, eyes fixed on the fire as though it held the answers to every question in the world. His face, weathered and strong, was half-hidden in shadow. Zia’s lips trembled before the words finally slipped out. “Father…” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. “Why do we kill?” He didn’t answer at first. The flames popped, spitting embers into the air. Zia lowered her eyes, fighting the sting of tears. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, steady, like iron forged in fire. “Because, Zia… if we don’t, they will kill us. The wolves are not like us. They are born for blood and ruin. To stop them is not cruelty. It is survival.” Her throat tightened. She swallowed, the tears in her eyes shimmering in the firelight. “But…” Her voice broke. “Do they not love too?” Her father turned his head then, and the firelight caught the hard line of his jaw. His gaze was sharp as a blade, but there was something else behind it—a sorrow she could not name. “We are not normal people, Zia,” he said firmly, his hand resting heavy on her shoulder. “We are hunters. We are special. The wolves are a different kind of thing altogether—savage, cursed, dangerous. Never forget that.” She wanted to shrink under his grip, but she pressed on, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “Why us? Why must we be the ones to hunt them?” His face hardened, but this time, his voice cracked with grief. “Because they took everything from us.” Zia’s breath caught. “They killed your mother.” The flames seemed to burn brighter, reflecting in his eyes, and for the first time Zia saw how much pain he carried, buried beneath his strength. His hands curled into fists as he whispered, “Every wolf I strike down is justice for her. Every life I take is a promise that no other child will grow up motherless. Do you understand?” Zia’s heart ached. She wanted to say yes, to echo his anger, to hold his pain as her own. But as she looked into the fire, a different image rose in her memory—golden eyes, wide and afraid, the eyes of a boy who had not attacked her, who had only run. She lowered her gaze quickly, hiding her thoughts. “Yes, Father,” she whispered. But deep inside, she wasn’t sure she believed it.