Chapter 7: The Pack
848 Words
Scarlett didn't remember falling asleep.
But when she woke, her sheets were tangled around her, damp with sweat. Her shoulder throbbed faintly, a dull heat beneath the skin where the mark still glowed, subtle but stubborn.
She sat up, heart pounding. Something was wrong.
The silence wasn’t normal.
It was too quiet.
Scarlett moved to the window, but it wasn’t the street she saw—it was trees. Tall and looming, draped in morning mist.
Her breath caught.
This isn’t my apartment.
Before she could panic, a sound broke through the stillness—footsteps, light and deliberate. She spun, fists up.
A girl stood in the doorway. Maybe nineteen. Barefoot. All sharp cheekbones and dark curls, dressed in simple clothes that looked almost… tribal.
“You’re awake,” the girl said with a faint smile. “Good.”
Scarlett narrowed her eyes. “Where the hell am I?”
“Neutral ground,” the girl said. “Technically pack-owned. But we don’t fight here.”
Scarlett’s stomach twisted. “Who brought me here?”
“I did,” another voice said.
Damon.
He stepped into view, expression unreadable.
“I couldn’t leave you in the city.” he said simply.
Scarlett stared at him. “So you just—what? Took me while I was sleeping?”
“You weren’t safe,” he said. “Not after last night. They’re circling closer.”
She shoved the blanket aside, standing. “I’m not your pet project, Damon.”
“No,” he agreed quietly. “But you are marked. And that means you're part of something—whether you want to be or not.”
The girl stepped forward. “I’m Lyra, by the way. Damon’s cousin.”
Scarlett blinked. “You’ve got family?”
Damon gave a dry look. “Unfortunately.”
Lyra grinned. “Come on. You should meet the others.”
Scarlett hesitated. “Others?”
But Lyra was already walking.
Scarlett followed, wary. Damon trailed behind without a word.
They moved through the trees until the clearing opened—larger than before, with a lodge-like structure made of weathered stone and wood. It was surrounded by people.
At least a dozen. Some sat by a firepit, others sparred silently in a ring of dirt. Their movements were fluid, almost balletic.
But all of them stopped when they saw her.
Scarlett froze.
Their gazes pinned her in place. Not hostile—but wary. Curious. Some were older, a few younger, but all of them shared a certain presence. As if they didn’t just walk through the world—they owned part of it.
Lyra gestured wide. “The Crescent Pack. Well, part of it.”
Scarlett swallowed hard. “You brought me to your pack?”
“Better you see it than guess,” Damon said. “These are the ones who follow the old ways. The ones who believe control matters.”
“Control?” she asked.
“Your instincts. Your urges. Your change.”
Scarlett crossed her arms. “You think I’m going to change, how?”
Damon didn’t answer.
Lyra stepped in. “We all did, eventually. The mark changes more than your body. It reshapes who you are. The trick is deciding how you let it shape you.”
A tall man with silver-streaked hair approached. His eyes were the same stormy gray as Damon’s.
“Alpha,” Damon said quietly.
The man studied Scarlett for a long moment. “So you’re the one stirring the rogues.”
Scarlett bristled. “I didn’t stir anyone.”
He tilted his head. “And yet they’re sniffing at your heels like hounds after blood. They feel your pull. We all do.”
Scarlett looked to Damon, accusing. “Is this what you meant? That I’m not helpless?”
Damon met her eyes. “You’re a signal, Scarlett. Whether you like it or not.”
The Alpha nodded slowly. “We don’t blame you. But we do need to decide what to do about you.”
Scarlett stepped back. “Decide?”
“You could be the one that bridges the gap,” Lyra said softly. “Or the one that tears it wide open.”
Her heart pounded. “I’m not here to join anything. I didn’t ask for this.”
“No one ever does,” said the Alpha. “But it asks for you anyway.”
Scarlett turned to Damon, eyes burning. “You said I had a choice.”
“You do,” he said. “But choices come with consequences. Staying out of the pack means being hunted from both sides. Coming in means facing what you are—and controlling it before it controls you.”
She felt their eyes. Their unspoken expectation.
But she wasn’t ready.
Not yet.
So she turned, walked back into the trees, and didn’t stop until the scent of moss faded and the sounds of birds returned.
For now, she would run.
Not because she was afraid—
But because she needed to remember who she was before they told her who to become.
- Writer
