Wolfless: Claimed By The Wolf King

Lara Singh

Lara

There’s a new Alpha in town.

Yup. You can tell by the barking. And no, I don’t mean that as an insult. I’m a werewolf myself…

A wolf-less werewolf, but hey, that’s not the point.

The point?

I’m not in the mood to lay awake all night listening to howling — not after the crap day I’ve just had.

Let’s recap:

A stabbed abdomen

Two motor vehicle accidents

One drunk driver stuck between his car body and tire (don’t ask me how — even physics tapped out)

Lucky for him, he was a werewolf, too. If he’d had even a flicker of human blood, I’d be signing a death certificate right now.

Instead, I was stuck trying to explain to my human attending how I miraculously saved a patient he’d already given up on.

All to avoid a lawsuit.

Yeah. Try that for a day in life.

My name is Lara Yvonne Singh, a first-year intern at Newark Academic Hospital.

And yes — I’m a wolf.

A wolfless wolf.

A walking punchline.

A disgrace to the wolf community.

The list of insults is endless. And that’s just from my parents. Add the rest of the pack, and we’d need a 400-page booklet to keep up.

“Coffee?” A familiar voice cuts into the pity carousel spinning in my head.

“Yeah. The usual,” I mumble.

Becky, the only person here who could pass as a friend, works at the little café I’m currently crashing at like I don’t have a home.

Technically, I do. But those hospital cases swallowed the last 36 hours of my life. And no matter how wolf I am, even I can’t keep going without crashing.

“Here you go,” she says, setting down a cappuccino loaded with cream.

“Thanks,” I mutter, not even lifting my head from the table. My bag’s shoved to the other side like an unwanted guest.

“You should stop overworking yourself, you know.”

Becky’s gentle, soft-voiced. She’s human, grounded. Calm. Everything the wolf territories weren’t.

I moved here to escape the constant smell of pheromones and alpha politics.

Sure, the human world kills you with overtime and coffee dependency — but at least no one calls me broken or half-born here.

“I know, Becks. But—”

“It pays the bills,” she finishes.

“Dead right.”

The move didn’t make life easier — just different. And somehow, just as hard.

“You, Lara Singh, need a day off, and it wouldn’t kill you to take just one day. Not a week. Just a day.”

She sets the tray down beside her, watching me with that human concern I can never quite meet.

“Yeah, yeah… but a day without work means money lost,” I grumble. “And debt waits for no girl.”

You’d think switching from the wolf side to the human world would grant me a fresh start.

But it turns out that debt smells blood even better than Alphas do.

Becky rolls her eyes. “Your health comes first. You’re a doctor. You should know that.”

“Tell that to my bills, and I’ll gladly comply.” Seriously, she should tell that to my student loans, and I got a ton of them.

Before she can argue, the bell above the café door rings.

“Customers,” I nod toward the newcomers. My head flops back onto the table like it weighs fifty kilos.

“You better not pass out on my counter again,” she calls over her shoulder.

“Ouch, so much love from you. Jeez.”

My muscles are screaming.

Being a doctor is a sport.

No — being an intern is.

Running down hallways, pushing paperwork, senior doctors dump on you, answering calls, chasing cases. Then, just when they leave early, calling the day ‘quiet,’ the hospital explodes into chaos.

I sigh.

In the pack, I didn’t worry about rent or loans. Packs are rich — and weirdly organized.

Supportive, even.

Supportive until you’re different.

They made you feel like an outcast, and the voice in my head reminds me.

Okay, yeah. But at least I slept with a full belly.

“Lara, watch out!” Becky yells.

I jerk upright just in time to see my handbag vanish — snatched by some punk bolting out the door.

My stomach drops.