The Dream of My Lycan

Alpha Order

(Soul's POV)

The Alpha’s command hits like a weight. Not a sound. Not a shout. A pressure. It rolls through the air and shoves straight into the bond tethering me to this pack—old magic, rank-bound, anchored in blood and oaths I did not personally swear but inherited through my host. Alpha order. I don’t like it. My grip tightens on the warrior’s wrist by instinct alone, pain shooting through his forearm. His yelp cuts the air like a weak whistle. I could break it easily. One twist. One quick, clean fracture. He deserves it. He raised his hand against our father. Against what is ours. Release him, the Alpha commands again, the weight in his voice heavier, fully charged with authority.

The bond tugs. Compulsion. I bare my teeth internally. I am not his wolf.I am not his soldier. I am not some obedient little creature waiting for orders. And yet… The pack’s structure presses down. This is not a simple rank. This is the spine of the territory, the beating heart that holds the wolves under one moon. I exist in that ecosystem now whether I approve or not. To deny the Alpha outright would not just be defiance. It would be war. Rayla stands behind him—her scent sharp, eyes burning into me. Her Lycan presses at the edges of the bond-space, not commanding, not begging, but watching. Testing. Waiting to see what I will do. The warrior’s pulse races under my fingers, frantic, terrified.

My host is screaming inside. Please, Ryan begs. Don’t break him. Don’t make this worse. I could. I should. I don’t. Slowly—like pulling my hand from a hot brand—I ease my grip, fingers loosening one joint at a time. My hand falls away from the warrior’s wrist. He rips his arm back with a strangled cry, cradling it to his chest, stumbling away like I burned him. His wrist is not broken. But it is close. Damaged. A clear message. Not helpless. Not harmless. “That,” I say through Ryan’s lips, voice low and steady, “was your only free hit.” My host panics. SOUL— But I am already stepping back.

The Alpha’s gaze is locked on me. On us. Assessing. Calculating. Not relieved. Not yet. He knows what that hesitation cost. He knows how close I came to ignoring him. I feel the compulsion easing, the pressure receding like a wave after landfall. I obeyed. Barely. Satisfied? I ask, not aloud, but to the presence of authority weighing on us. No answer comes, of course. Just the thick, mutual awareness that from this moment forward, the Alpha and I are no longer strangers. We are two predators forced into the same den. I retreat, step by step, slipping from the front of Ryan’s mind back into the dark.

His consciousness stumbles forward to fill the space I leave. His knees almost buckle. I keep a claw hooked in the center of his chest, just in case he falls. We are not done here. Not by a long shot.

(Alpha Mack's POV)

The shift is subtle but unmistakable. One heartbeat, I am staring into the eyes of something old and dangerous wearing the shape of an Omega boy. The next, I am looking at Ryan. The difference is stark. Soul—whatever that Lycan is—radiates cold control, deliberate threat, relentless focus. Ryan radiates shock and terror and the lingering tremors of adrenaline he doesn’t know what to do with.

Garik scrambles backward, collapsing onto the dirt before scrambling to his feet. His wrist is swollen already, an ugly flush spreading beneath the skin, but the bone is intact. He’s lucky. He doesn’t realize how lucky. “Get to the infirmary,” I tell him, voice steel. “Now.” He opens his mouth—probably to argue, to blame, to spew something about insane Omegas—but one look from me shuts him down. He stumbles away, clutching his wrist, casting one last horrified glance at Ryan over his shoulder. That look will spread. Rumors always do. I turn my attention back to the boy. He looks like he’s going to be sick.

Brin is on his feet now, unsteady but upright, his cheek already bruising where Garik’s punch landed. His eyes flicker between me and his son, confusion and fear mingling. “I’m… I’m sorry, Alpha,” Brin stammers. “I didn’t mean for any of this—” “This is not your fault,” I cut in. “He should never have hit you.” Brin swallows hard, as if the very idea of a warrior being wrong is difficult to grasp.

Rayla stands beside me, rigid with tension. I can feel Mayra clawing at the inside of her skin; I’ve known that presence since the day it awakened in my daughter. That Lycan is pressed to the forefront, scrutinizing the boy and the thing inside him. “Ryan,” I say, shifting my gaze to him. “Can you hear me?” He nods once, swallowed by the moment. “Y-yes, Alpha.” “That,” I say calmly, “was a direct order. You obeyed.” His shoulders twitch. “I—yeah.” His voice is his own again. The Lycan has stepped back. But it is not gone. The hair on my arms still stands on end. “You grabbed a warrior’s wrist with enough force to nearly snap it,” I continue. “Without shifting. Without warning. After he struck your father.” Ryan’s eyes flicker with something like shame.

“I… I didn’t want him to hit Dad again.” “I know,” I say. “And you’re not wrong for feeling that way. But we cannot have this kind of uncontrolled reaction in the middle of the compound.” His throat works. “I didn’t… I mean… it wasn’t entirely me.” His honesty forces its way out. I respect that, even as it complicates everything. I fold my arms. “You and I will speak privately after this. You, your father, and your Lycan. But understand this: when I give an Alpha order, you will obey.” Soul stirs faintly behind his eyes, like a shadow shifting behind glass. I meet that hidden gaze directly.

“And if your Lycan ever decides he doesn’t care about my command,” I add quietly, “that will be a different conversation entirely.” Ryan flinches like I struck him. “Yes, Alpha.” Brin places a hand on his son’s shoulder, protective and terrified all at once. “We’re grateful you stepped in, Alpha. Truly.” I nod once. Gratitude is not what I want. What I want is time. Time to understand this creature. Time to assess threat levels. Time to decide if this is a blessing… or a disaster. Behind me, Rayla hasn’t moved. But her focus hasn’t left Ryan since we arrived. That worries me almost as much as the Lycan does. “Clear the area,” I call to the other wolves who’ve gathered at the edges, gawking. “There’s nothing more to see.” They disperse reluctantly. There is everything to see. But they won’t be seeing it up close. Not if I can help it.

(Rayla's POV)

I don’t miss the moment it happens. The instant Soul steps back, Ryan’s posture caves. It’s in the way his shoulders drop, the way his expression shifts from terrifying calm to raw panic. The way his eyes lose that cold, predatory gleam and turn back into something I recognize—confused, overwhelmed, desperately trying to make sense of a world that keeps rewriting itself under his feet. He looks… human again.

Still dangerous. Still different. But human. Mayra prowls just beneath my skin, unsettled. Did you feel how close he came to ignoring the Alpha? “Yeah,” I answer silently. “I felt it.” He hates being ordered. “So do you.” I hate stupidity. And weak orders. This was neither. She’s not wrong. The way he’d gripped Garik’s wrist—there had been nothing uncertain in that. No flinching. No second-guessing. It was pure decision. Dangerous, yes. But there had been one thing that held him back. He stopped because our father ordered it. He stopped because Ryan begged him to. He stopped because something—some sliver of restraint—still mattered more than his rage.

I can work with that. I stay where I am as my father dismisses Garik and sends gawkers away, as he speaks to Ryan and Brin with that measured tone that says, You’re not in trouble yet, but you will be if you lie to me. Ryan glances my way once. Just once. His eyes flit to me, then drop almost immediately, as if he’s ashamed to be looked at. Or afraid of what I saw. He should be. I watched him nearly crush a warrior’s wrist for hitting his father. I also watched him let go. Mayra’s voice is low, thoughtful. He is not simple. “No,” I agree. “He isn’t.” He is powerful. Protective. Reckless. And not fully in charge. “That’s the concerning part.” Or the interesting one. I roll my eyes internally. “Could you, for once, not sound thrilled by chaos?” She doesn’t bother answering that. My father finishes speaking and sends Ryan and Brin away with instructions to return later.

They go quickly—Brin pressing a gentle hand on his son’s back, Ryan walking like he’s trying to sink into the ground and disappear. I watch them go. My father turns to me. “Well?” I cross my arms. “That’s not a normal wolf.” “No,” he agrees. “It’s a Lycan.” “Inside an Omega,” I add. His jaw tightens. “Yes.” We stand in silence for a moment, watching the path where they vanished. Mayra stretches, her presence licking along the bond-space where Soul had stood metaphorically moments ago. He felt us. We felt him. There is no going back from that. “He’s trouble,” I say. “He’s dangerous,” my father counters. “Same thing.” He looks at me, eyes heavy. “And now, because of that… we don’t have the luxury of ignoring him.” The wind shifts, carrying away the lingering traces of blood and fear.

But I still smell him. Ryan. Soul. They are not the same, and yet they are. Mayra settles finally, still coiled, still ready. This is only the beginning, she purrs. I hate that she’s right. Because for the first time, I don’t just feel the pack shifting. I feel fate itself tugging at a thread I’m not sure I’m ready to follow.