Dear Alpha, Your Luna

Chapter 1

DEAR PEN PAL

Hello.

Her name was Adrian Blackwood. He was twelve years old, a sixth grader at Crescent Lake Elementary in Northern California.

Adrian didn’t want to admit it, but the only reason he held the pencil and pressed it to the paper was because his teacher demanded it. If he didn’t complete the assignment, he would receive an F, and that was something he refused to accept. His father would never forgive such a failure. Alpha Darius Blackwood did not tolerate weakness, not even from his son.

So, Adrian wrote. Not because he wanted a pen pal. Not because he longed for a stranger’s friendship. He already had people at school, a circle of friends who surrounded him daily. Why bother connecting with someone who lived hundreds of miles away, someone he would never see, never truly know?

And so, in the few lines he scrawled, he made it clear: there was no point in sharing more. There was no reason to write again. He even hoped the stranger on the other end understood—it wasn’t personal. He did not hate them, nor despise them. He simply did not care. He had his own world, and they had theirs.

“Thanks for letting me write this letter,” he signed at the end, “so I can get my A.”

Sincerely,

Adrian Blackwood.

ADRIAN

“All right, class,” Mrs. Appleton called from the front, her chipper voice filling the room. “Make sure you address your envelopes exactly as I showed you. Seal them properly, and don’t forget to place them on my desk before you leave. I’ll be mailing them to Colorado after school today. By next week, you should have an answer from your pen pal!”

Her words made Adrian roll his eyes. His gaze met that of his best friend, Callum Hayes, who looked just as unamused. Callum hated this assignment as much as Adrian did. But unlike his friend, Adrian had no choice but to turn his in. His father, Alpha Darius, demanded perfection from him. If Adrian so much as slipped up on something as small as homework, his punishment would be swift: extra laps, endless push-ups, relentless training until sweat and exhaustion broke him.

High expectations. Ruthless standards. Adrian carried them like chains around his shoulders. He was the eldest son. The future Alpha. The one who could never fail.

“What did you write?” Callum whispered as they both moved toward the front to drop off their letters.

Adrian smirked bitterly. “I told them I only wrote because my dad would kill me if I got an F on something this stupid.”

Callum stifled a laugh, trailing behind him to the back where their backpacks hung in neat rows. Adrian’s black one hung beside Callum’s gray. Everything in Mrs. Appleton’s classroom was alphabetized—seats, supplies, even the order of their line. It was childish, but Adrian didn’t complain out loud. Too often.

“I told mine never to write me again,” Callum grinned, flipping his baseball cap backward over his messy blond hair. Hats weren’t allowed, but Callum had charm. Teachers melted under his mischievous grin, pretending not to notice his rule-breaking.

If Adrian did the same, though, every eye would snap on him. The future Alpha had no leeway. He had to be perfect, untouchable, always in control. He had to lead, even now, at twelve years old.

“I’m just glad Mrs. Appleton doesn’t read them before sending them out. Can you imagine if she called my dad to tell him what I wrote?” Adrian muttered, grimacing at the very thought.

Callum burst out laughing, and Adrian couldn’t help but grin too, despite himself. The bell rang, saving them from further discussion. The entire class surged with energy, anticipation crackling through the air like lightning. It wasn’t just the end of the day—it was Friday. Two days of freedom, of no classes, no teachers, no rules except their own.

The moment the doors opened, chaos erupted. Students surged through the hallways like a tide, rushing toward the gates. For werewolves, everything was competition. Who would reach the gates first? Who would claim the unspoken victory?

Adrian, of course, won. He always did. His speed, his strength—it wasn’t just discipline. It was blood. Alpha blood.

Trailing behind him were Callum, their older friend Rowan Shepard, and Adrian’s little brother, Elias. Though Elias was younger, the four of them were bound, destined to lead the pack together one day. But Adrian’s role would always be heavier. He was the Alpha’s heir. His father’s shadow stretched long and merciless behind him.

“Ugh, Rowan, you’re lucky,” Callum groaned, shoving at his older friend’s arm. “You didn’t have to write that stupid letter. Adrian and I did. Dumbest thing ever.”

Rowan laughed, shaking his head. “Poor you. I only have a ten-page paper on the history of the Moon Goddess due on Monday.”

“And you haven’t started it,” Adrian teased knowingly.

“I’ve started it!” Rowan insisted. His pause betrayed him. “…a sentence.”

The others burst into laughter, their voices echoing through the forest as they cut toward the packhouse.

Their pack was hidden deep within the Redwood Forest, beside a crescent-shaped lake that gave their territory its name. Large enough to hold their own school, their own world. And someday, Adrian would rule it. Once he found his mate.

HAVEN

Haven Rivers stared at the boy’s letter, her small hands trembling as she held the page. Each word dug into her chest like claws, leaving her raw, bleeding invisibly inside. He didn’t want her. He didn’t care.

A dull red crayon sat on her desk. She grabbed it, her jaw tight, and scrawled furiously across the back of his letter.

Adrian Blackwood, she wrote, you do not deserve the word “dear.” You are a big, ugly meanie. I hope someone punches you in your stupid face. I hope it hurts as much as your words hurt me.

She dropped the crayon, shoving her shaking hands beneath her legs to hide them. Her throat burned, her eyes stung, but she refused to let the tears fall. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He didn’t know her. He couldn’t possibly know how fragile her heart already was.

Adrian didn’t know she was an orphan. He didn’t know she had been abandoned at a fire station as a baby, wrapped in a single purple blanket with her name stitched on the corner: Haven Rivers. He didn’t know the system had shuffled her from family to family, nine homes in nine years.

But here—finally—she had found something that almost felt like belonging. Jack and Shirley Franklin had taken her in, given her kindness, enrolled her in dance lessons, cheered for her at school. They told her she could call them Mom and Dad. She hadn’t. Not yet. But maybe someday.

And now, a careless boy’s words threatened to unravel the fragile hope she clung to.

No. She wouldn’t let them.

She pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, her favorite sharp pencil, her dictionary and thesaurus lined up beside her like soldiers. Her hands steadied, determination burning away the ache in her chest. She was Haven Rivers, and she would not be broken by a boy who claimed he didn’t care.

Not now. Not ever.