Chapter 1
1005 Words
One stormy night, with torrential rain lashing against the windows and thunder cracking through the sky, everything changed.
Donna had been sitting at her desk, books spread out, trying to focus despite the storm. The wind howled like something alive, rattling the walls of the home she shared with her parents. Then came the sound—metal crushing, a deafening impact that split the night in two.
At first, she froze.
Then the screaming started.
Pack members rushed outside, shifting mid-run despite the rain, their wolves bursting free in panic and urgency. Donna followed as fast as she could on foot, her heart pounding—not with instinct, like the others—but with dread.
She already knew.
The scent of blood hit her before she saw anything.
A car—twisted, barely recognizable—had skidded off the narrow road leading into the territory. It had slammed into the old oak at the bend, the one everyone knew to slow down for. In the storm, someone had not or had not cared.
Donna pushed through the crowd, ignoring the whispers, the looks, the way some tried to hold her back.
And then she saw them.
Her parents.
Still. Broken. Gone.
No dramatic goodbye. No last words. Just silence where their warmth had always been.
The storm raged on, but for Donna, everything went quiet.
Something inside her did not shatter.
It emptied.
The sky was grey, but the storm had passed.
It felt wrong.
Donna stood at the edge of the clearing, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, as the Crescent Moon Pack gathered in silence. The ground was still damp beneath their feet, the scent of rain lingering in the air, mixing with earth and grief.
Two pyres stood at the centre.
Too close together.
Too final.
Donna stared at them, unblinking. If she looked away, it might become real. If she moved, it might mean she accepted it.
She did not move.
Voices murmured quietly around her—soft condolences, respectful distance. No one came too close. No one quite knew what to do with her.
The wolfless girl.
The orphan.
At the front stood Alpha Dylan and Luna Lorraine, composed and steady as always. Their presence commanded calm, even now. This was their role—to lead, to hold the pack together.
And they did.
“Today, we honour two loyal members of our pack,” Alpha Dylan’s voice carried, strong and measured. “They were not warriors, nor ranked among our strongest…”
A pause.
“…but they were ours.”
A few heads bowed.
Donna’s jaw tightened.
Not strong.
Not important.
Just… theirs.
Luna Lorraine stepped forward next, her expression softer, though no less controlled. “They were kind. Devoted. And they raised a daughter who carries their resilience.”
For a moment, her eyes flicked to Donna.
Warm.
Sympathetic.
Distant.
Donna felt it like a weight.
Then it was over.
The formal words. The acknowledgment. The closure.
Too quick.
Always too quick.
The pyres were lit.
Flames caught slowly at first, then hungrily, curling upward, consuming everything in their path. Heat brushed against Donna’s skin, but she did not step back.
She could not.
This was the last of them.
And she refused to look away.
A presence shifted beside her.
Donna did not need to turn to know who it was.
“You’re not crying.”
Nolan’s voice was low, meant only for her.
Donna kept her eyes on the flames. “Does that bother you?”
A faint pause.
“People cry when they lose something that matters.”
There it was.
Sharp. Precise. Quiet enough that no one else would hear.
Donna’s fingers curled slightly, nails pressing into her palms. “Then you must be very familiar with loss,” she said, her voice just as quiet.
Nolan let out a soft breath—almost a laugh, but without humour.
“Loss implies weakness,” he replied. “Carelessness.”
Now she looked at him.
He stood with perfect posture, hands behind his back, every inch the future Alpha. To anyone watching, he was respectful. Composed. Exactly what he was supposed to be.
Only his eyes gave him away.
Cold. Measuring.
“You think this was their fault?” Donna asked.
“I think,” Nolan said evenly, “that the pack relies on strength to survive. Your parents did not have it.”
The words landed heavier than any shout.
Donna held his gaze, something steady and unyielding rising beneath her grief. “And yet,” she said, “they were still here. Still part of your pack.”
“For now,” he said.
Two simple words.
Donna frowned slightly. “What does that mean?”
Nolan’s gaze flicked briefly to the flames before returning to her.
“It means,” he said quietly, “that the world doesn’t tolerate things that don’t make sense.”
A beat.
“You don’t have a wolf,” he continued. “You contribute nothing physically. And yet you remain.”
His voice dropped further.
“That imbalance doesn’t last forever.”
Something cold slid down Donna’s spine.
Not a threat.
Not exactly.
But close enough.
Before she could respond, Nolan straightened slightly, stepping back into place as if nothing had happened.
From a distance, he looked like the perfect son—standing beside his Alpha parents, honouring the dead.
Untouchable.
Donna turned back to the flames, but the heat felt different now.
Sharper.
Closer.
For the first time since the accident, something shifted inside her grief.
Not just pain.
Awareness.
Nolan did not see her as harmless.
He saw her as something that should not exist.
And eventually
He would do something about it.
Donna had not touched their room since the funeral.
She told herself it was because she did not have time. Because there were arrangements, paperwork, pack obligations that suddenly mattered now that her parents were gone.
But the truth was simpler.
If she opened that door, it would be real.
- Writer
