Alpha Victoria

Uncanny Feelings

Present Time: Victoria's Perspective

I woke abruptly to a bucket of ice-cold water splashing over me, courtesy of Aaron. Swiftly getting out of bed, leaving him wheezing in pain, I headed straight for the washroom. After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I tied my hair up in a high bun. Dressed in a black Calvin Klein sports bra and fitting joggers, I slipped on my sports shoes and jogged to the training ground. Kicking Aaron might have been harsh, but his wake-up call was extreme—he probably deserved it.

Stepping onto the training ground, all pack members, including my Beta Aaron (surprised, eh?), Gamma Blake, Delta Ava, head tracer Richard, and head witch Kaitlyn, bowed before me. My pack respected and loved me like family.

It hadn't been easy for us to become one of the 13-member packs of the Werewolf Administrative and Legislative Council (W.A.L.C.). My father's declining health and my hybrid status—a stigma in the werewolf world—posed challenges. Alpha Dustin Black led 385 pack members, including me, without a Luna. My mother, Luna Valentina, a vampire, died giving birth to me. Her conflicting genes proved fatal to her but immunized me. Despite the loss, my father strengthened the pack. Leading without a Luna is nearly impossible, yet my father fought for us, for me.

I was initially apprehensive about the bloodshed, but watching my father defend others, despite lacking defenders himself, inspired me. Confident in my blood, my genes, being a hybrid—the only one of my kind—I assumed the mantle of Alpha at 14. Some pack members initially questioned my half-vampire heritage, but they came around.

Initially, the pack hadn't warmed to my mother when she became Luna due to her being a vampire. As I grew, my eyes changed color—from baby pink to lavender to violet—and my abilities developed. At 12, I was revealed as half-vampire. My father loved me unconditionally, but some in the pack were outraged. The W.A.L.C. questioned my pack's legitimacy and my status.

I worked tirelessly to earn the pack's trust. At 15, a rogue catastrophe struck. Unable to handle more than three wolves at once, poorly trained pack members, and females unable to defend themselves, I couldn't shift until 16. Amidst chaos, my eyes reportedly changed from lavender to magenta with black specks, involuntarily throwing fireballs that turned targets to ashes. My pack was saved, thanks to my mother's spirit element—able to heal and revive—buried in our land. My element was fire; I wasn't as skilled as my mother.

At 17, I was appointed the 13th and final member of the W.A.L.C., my pack ranked among Italy's most powerful. Overnight, my pack began loving me as their own. I trained pack members, females over 15, crucial for defense without shifting.

After three hours of training, I hurried to the mansion. Entering, a warm bear hug engulfed me. Dad never missed a chance to annoy me, but he was an exception; he's my first love. Chuckling, he asked, "How was training, darling?" I replied, "As usual, pa. Not to mention what Aaron did to wake me up." Pecking his cheek, I bolted upstairs.

Dad was cool, remembering her with happy moments, not grief. In the washroom, I stripped off my clothes, hair cascading down my waist.

Time for self-analysis.

I had black wavy hair, wheatish-golden skin, and dark violet eyes. Standing at 5'4" with a toned figure, I bore tattoos—fire on my left thigh, a moon on my ribcage, and an ice tattoo on my neck's right side, their meanings revealed during my first shift: fire for my element, moon for my Alpha birth, and the ice tattoo remaining a mystery. A barely noticeable mole graced the corner of my upper lip. After 20 years of being single, I'd started to appreciate myself more.

Relaxing in the jacuzzi, I let my thoughts drift, Eria's restless presence at the edge of my consciousness.

I sprinted off the mansion and slipped into my black Porsche. Driving towards the W.A.L.C. land for the annual meeting, I reflected on the fact that while the council always held their gathering, the Alpha of the Moon Howlers' Pack never attended.

Rumors had it that he was a Lycan—an advanced species capable of controlling their transformations. Though their existence was shrouded in conspiracy, if I could exist as a hybrid, then Lycans could too. The Moon Howlers' Pack was notorious for its ruthlessness, rumored to enforce punishments as severe as medieval-era impalement. Perhaps their Alpha was just a grumpy old man.

Still mateless at 20, I harbored no desire to be a submissive Luna. My father had taught me strength, not submission. I often wondered about my mate—typically found upon our first shift at 16—but remained content in my solitude. An uncanny feeling brewed within me, shared by Eria, who, despite her usual annoyance, seemed restless too. It hinted at something imminent—something potentially life-changing or life-threatening.