The Pack’s Chosen
1300 Words
Lizzy's POV
There’s something about wine hitting black satin that makes people stare, even when there’s no stain.
Maybe it’s the sound—the wet splash, the startled gasp, the silence that follows.
I looked down at my chest, drenched and clinging.
Sabrina pressed one hand to her mouth. “Oops.”
The word curled off her lips like perfume—faux innocence steeped in venom. She held her empty glass like a trophy, head tilted, blonde waves cascading down her bare shoulders. She was glowing tonight, of course. Marked. Mated. Worshipped. Dressed in blood red and biting sarcasm.
“Such a shame,” she added. “That dress almost made you look relevant.”
I smiled thinly. “Careful. You’re starting to sound jealous.”
Her laugh was short and sharp. “Of you? Please. I get to go home tonight with a real mate. A real future. You? You’ll be crying in your childhood bed with your stuffed wolves and your fantasy novels.”
She sauntered off before I could reply, looping her arm through Caleb’s like nothing had happened.
And he didn’t even look back.
The bathroom was quiet, marble and mirror and too much reflection. I stood at the sink, wiping my chest with wet paper towels, more out of habit than hope. The dress wasn’t ruined, but it felt like I was.
I didn’t cry.
Not yet.
I just stared at myself. Chin up. Eyes dry. Mouth set.
Then the door opened.
I caught her in the mirror before she spoke.
Sabrina.
She didn’t say a word as she locked the door behind her.
“I’m not in the mood,” I muttered.
“Too bad.”
She was across the room before I could move, fingers like claws in my hair, yanking my head back so hard I saw stars.
“You really thought I’d let you walk around tonight like some tragic little goddess?” she whispered. “You thought if you just kept looking pretty and quiet, someone might finally claim you?”
I gritted my teeth. “Get your hands off me.”
She shoved me backward. My hip cracked the sink. Pain bloomed, but I didn’t show it.
Sabrina’s eyes were wild now—burning, glowing faintly at the edges.
Her wolf was close to the surface.
Mine… wasn’t.
“You think Caleb loved you?” she sneered. “He pitied you. He kissed you because you were there. Because your daddy thought he could make you Luna by shoving you into his arms.”
I lunged forward, but she was faster—grabbing my wrists, pinning them to the mirror behind me.
“Do you want to know what Caleb said about you?” she purred, breath hot against my cheek. “He said kissing you was like licking the inside of a paper bag. That you were all nerves and no bite.”
I tried to twist free.
She slammed my shoulder into the glass.
“You ever even been kissed properly?” she asked. “Touched? f****d?”
I stared at her, silent.
She laughed.
“Oh, baby. Still a virgin. Of course you are. You practically reek of it. You think that’s some kind of badge of honor? Caleb marks me every night. He makes me scream. He makes me beg.”
I flinched, and she saw it.
Her smile widened.
“I ride him until I forget you ever existed. And trust me, he never thinks of you. Not once.”
My blood turned to ice.
“You done?” I asked.
But she wasn’t.
She let go of my wrists only to shove me hard against the stall door.
“You know what your father calls you?” she whispered. “An embarrassment. A genetic fluke. He told the Elders that if he’d known how broken you’d turn out, he would’ve taken a mistress to get a proper heir.”
I stared at her.
That part felt real.
Too real.
She leaned in again. “You’re not Luna. You’re not even pack. You’re a shadow clinging to a name that doesn’t want you.”
And I snapped.
I shoved her off me and slapped her—hard. My palm stung.
She froze.
Then smiled.
Then hit me back.
This time, her fist connected with my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I stumbled, gasped, bent over.
She kneed me in the thigh, caught me by the hair, dragged me upright again.
“I will ruin you,” she whispered. “You ever speak back to me again, I will shift in front of the whole pack and tear your throat out before they even blink.”
My cheek burned. My ribs ached. I was shaking now—quiet and slow—but not from fear.
From rage.
From humiliation.
From the goddamn truth in her words.
She walked out without looking back.
I cleaned my face in silence.
Blotted the sweat off my skin. Smoothed my hair. Dried the wine that wasn’t a stain but felt like one anyway.
I looked in the mirror.
Held my own gaze.
And then I left.
The night air bit my skin as I walked down the garden path toward the trees. The music and laughter faded behind me, replaced by the soft crunch of gravel beneath my heels. I wasn’t crying.
Not yet.
But I was close.
I heard the door open behind me.
“Elizabeth.”
I stopped.
Turned slowly.
My father approached, hands clasped behind his back, mouth tight. He looked tired. Or annoyed. It was hard to tell the difference with him.
“You walked out of a pack celebration,” he said. “Again.”
“I was assaulted.”
He raised an eyebrow. “By whom?”
“You already know.”
“She’s Luna-in-training,” he said. “She has rank. She has presence. She has a mate. She has everything you lack.”
I stared at him. “I’m your daughter.”
“And what has that given me?”
The words landed like a punch to the chest.
He stepped closer.
“I gave you time. I gave you patience. I tried to make matches, open opportunities, find fated candidates. And you’ve refused everything.”
“Because none of them felt real!”
“That’s not how leadership works,” he snapped. “We don’t wait for magic. We forge alliances. Build power. Secure futures. You were supposed to carry on the line. Instead, you cling to sentiment like a child.”
My voice cracked. “Please. Don’t do this. Don’t make me take Tristan. He doesn’t even like me. He looked at me like I was a bag of groceries.”
He didn’t blink.
“You will meet him again tomorrow. You will accept the bond, or I will revoke your claim to the Gray name and title. And I will marry you off as a civilian.”
A crowd had gathered near the patio—watching.
Whispering.
He leaned in.
“Don’t embarrass me further.”
My mouth opened. Closed. My lungs couldn’t find air.
“You don’t mean that,” I whispered.
He straightened. “We’ll speak more in the morning.”
And then he turned and walked away.
I didn’t move until I was sure no one could see me break.
Then I ran.
Up the stairs. Through the hallway. Into my room. Door locked. Dress thrown across the floor. Legs shaking.
And then—
I collapsed.
I didn’t sob pretty. I didn’t weep with grace.
I broke open.
Ugly, messy, guttural sobs tore through me as I curled into the corner of the room like something wounded. Like something dying.
I had nothing left to hold onto.
No mother.
No mate.
No pack.
- Writer
