Bound to the Alpha

Chapter One – City of Shadows** L.A. is always awake. You can walk around at 3 a.m., and it's still going— lights blink, the whole city hums. Music comes from bars where people try to be someone else. Clara Langston sat on her wobbly balcony, knees-up, drinking ice-cold tea. The city was below—busy, bright, kind of lonely despite the noise. Her sketchbook was open, filled with crazy lines and dreams she almost remembered: wolves, staring eyes, red moons. She didn't even remember drawing some pages. Sleep? Nope. She hadn't slept well in weeks. Every time she closed her eyes, her brain showed her running barefoot through dark woods, lungs burning, heart loud. Something was chasing her, teeth snapping, claws scratching. Always, those eyes—silver, alive, watching. Waiting. Tonight, it felt like the dream was here. Wind blew her sketches around. She shivered, stood, and crossed her arms. Those marks were still on her wrist—pale crescents, like bites. The doctor said it was stressful. Her friend had eczema. Sure. They stung when the moon was high. She went to the living room mirror and—ugh. She looked like a ghost: dark eyes, cracked lips, big pupils. She poked her cheek and stopped. The girl in the mirror blinked late, then grinned. Clara gasped, knocking her mug over. It broke on the floor. The noise snapped her back. It was just her—scared, pale, alone. “Get it together, Clara.” Her voice sounded weird, like a recording—off, strange. She ran from the apartment before she could think twice. The city felt different, buzzing under her skin, calling her. She could hear stuff she shouldn't—a lighter across the street, power lines humming, a bird far away. Everything felt sharp, too much. She walked, letting her feet lead. Neon signs, dark alleys, shops—nothing felt normal, but she felt like she was where she should be. The air felt heavy, smelled like rain and something else, wild. Her heart was loud. Then she saw him. He leaned against a brick wall outside a dive bar, half in shadow, half in moonlight. Tall, broad, dressed in black. His eyes caught hers—cold silver, sharp. Time stopped. Traffic stopped, the wind died, all she heard was her blood, facing his stare. He moved off the wall, slowly, not wanting to scare her. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.” His voice was low, smooth, a warning. Clara couldn't talk. “Do I… know you?” He stepped closer. Her brain yelled RUN, but her legs wouldn't listen. The air felt heavy, with rain, smoke, and pine. “Not yet,” he said, a smirk. “But you will.” Her heart jumped. “Who are you?” He smiled, ready for a fight. “A friend. Call me Damien.” He said her name, softly, like he'd said it forever. She hadn't told him. “How—?” “I’ve been looking for you.” Nope. That wasn't good. Goosebumps rose. “Why?” He shrugged, eyes bright. “Because you’re not what you think you are.” The streetlights buzzed. A siren wailed. Clara stepped back, shaking. “You’re crazy.” He grinned, looking over her. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. You feel it, right? The pull? The air?” She did. A hum under her skin, like static. It tightened. Damien’s look softened. “It’s starting, isn’t it?” “Stop.” “You’re waking up.” “Stop!” It was wrong—raw. She panicked, feeling hot, nails digging. Damien moved a step, but it felt like he was huge. “Breathe,” he said, calm. “Just breathe.” Her vision blurred, colors too bright, sounds too loud. Her knees went weak. Damien caught her—strong, steady. His hands were hot, and when he touched, she felt something hot up. “Let it go,” he whispered. “You’re safe.” Her breath caught. Being close was almost too much. She wanted to pull away, but her body leaned in, shaking. “What’s happening to me?” she whispered. “You’re remembering what you are.” Her head spun. “That doesn't make sense.” He looked at her with awe and caution, like she was precious and dangerous. “You will.” His palm went over her heart. Boom. Something shot through her, like burning moonlight. The street was gone. She was in a forest, silver light, wolves howling. The air tasted like mud and storm. Then it was gone. Clara gasped, stumbling back. “What did you just do?” “I showed you what’s inside.” “You’re nuts.” He shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m the only one who can help you live.” Before she could talk, a crazy growl cut through the air. At the end of the street, two eyes burned—yellow. Damien’s face changed. He stepped between her and the thing. “Don’t move.” A huge wolf, dirty fur, wild eyes, charged. Clara froze. Damien moved fast. Metal hit, bone broke. The wolf screamed, fell. Blood splashed. Clara breathed hard. “What… what is that?” “Rogue,” Damien said, voice cold. “One of too many.” He wiped his blade on the wolf’s fur. “Now get it? It's not all fake. Her legs went weak. “I need to wake up. This can’t be real.” “It is,” he said, stepping closer. “And you’re living it.” She shook her head. “I don’t even know you!” His face softened. “You will.” That scared her, and made her chest flutter. Everywhere he’d touched her buzzed. He reached out, touched her wrist. It set her on fire. “That mark,” he mumbled, “I should’ve known. You were always mine.” Her heart stopped. “What are you saying?” “Go home, Clara,” he said, pulling back. “Lock your doors. Don’t let anyone in unless it’s me.” “And if I don’t?” “Then they’ll find you first.” The air felt heavy. He was gone. Only blood. Clara stood there, raining and smoking on her. Someth ing grew inside. Not fear. Maybe I want to. She looked down, saw her reflection. The eyes staring back? Not human. Silver. Glowing.