Prologue
17 years ago
The sharp sun rays fell upon the grassy plain, warming the vast expanse of Kentucky bluegrass. The sky was bright with hazy clouds drifting lazily, and distant voices murmured in the background. Yet, a strange calm hung in the air, a silence laden with anticipation.
"Hey, you in the grey shirt! I'm talking to you, come here!" yelled Dustin Black, Alpha of the Blood Moon Pack, at the pale ten-year-old boy.
The boy, with doe-like stormy grey eyes reflecting fear and hopelessness, and a malnourished body, quietly made his way to the porch of the packhouse.
It was unusual for a rogue to venture this deep into Alpha Black's territory, but this time was different. The Alpha himself had invited the boy.
Alpha Black's sharp brown eyes softened as they met the lifeless grey orbs of the boy.
According to sources, the murder of Mark Riccard, Alpha of the Moon Howlers' Pack, by his younger brother Elijah, had plunged the Pack into turmoil. The speculation centered on the boy left alone with his dead father in their mansion. The trauma of waking up to find his father's brutal murder haunted him. His uncle was nowhere to be found.
No one wanted the burden of caring for the boy, the sole heir of such a powerful Pack. Even his mother, lost in her own emotional turmoil, overlooked her son's deep wounds.
But Alpha Black was different. Having lost someone close, his once raging Alpha spirit had softened. And he had a daughter to consider.
Examining the boy's shabby clothes and rough skin, Alpha Black absentmindedly brushed his disheveled hair. The boy stood stiff, his hands clenched tightly.
Entering the cozy mansion, the ten-year-old's curious eyes wandered over the paintings and frames along the stairs. His mouth remained tightly shut.
"Better safe than sorry," he thought.
Before he could grasp anything, his innocent yet scared eyes met a small figure across the hallway—a toddler, running awkwardly with giggles, bumping into a sculpture. For the first time in days, the boy felt something. Slowly approaching her, he crouched down with a sense of wonder and protection enveloping him.
What stood out were her Punch Pink irises—beyond normal, pure and raw in their sparkle as she looked at him.
An unbreakable connection formed between them.
"Hey, sweetheart. This is Alex, your friend. Say hi to him," Alpha Black cheerfully said to Victoria, his precious three-year-old daughter.
Unaccustomed to anything but amusement and happiness, Victoria couldn't sense the boy's turmoil. But her eyes saw everything—his fears, weaknesses, and dark truths locked within.
"Hi," she said softly, smiling as she extended her small hand for a handshake.
"Vic, I learned a new word today—it's called bullshi—" A boy's voice, with neatly trimmed golden locks, halted as he saw the scene—a new kid in the Pack.
Alex's eyes shifted towards him, a tremor of uncertainty in his gaze. Before he could react, a different tremor shook the scene—not an earthquake, but a bomb-like tremor.
Time slowed as chaos erupted—rogues stormed the mansion, Alpha Dustin whisked his daughter to safety, fighters mobilized, and women sought refuge inside.
Amidst the turmoil, the boy remained unfazed by the brutal scenes. The rogues were subdued, fires extinguished, and the boy escorted back to his own Pack, left in the care of the Beta, the only soul he trusted.
Alpha Black had trusted the boy, yet his presence seemed to bring only misfortune.
Driven by his love for his daughter and a promise to his dying wife, Alpha Black prioritized her safety.
Thus, the Blood Moon Pack flourished, leaving behind the dilapidated Moon Howlers' Pack to survive in the muddle of death and chaos.
