The Pack’s Joke
1644 Words
The first rule of living in Northbridge Pack is simple:
keep your head down and laugh when they laugh at you.
By eight in the morning, I’ve already had two “jokes” thrown my way.
“Careful, Evelyn, you might scare the humans,” one of the Beta girls snickers as I carry crates of liquor into the rooftop bar. “Oh wait. You don’t even have a wolf to scare them with.”
The others laugh. I give them the smile they’re waiting for, the small, practiced curve of my lips that means I’m not going to make trouble.
“That’s right,” I say lightly. “I’m practically harmless. Tragic, isn’t it?”
They lose interest. Harmless things aren’t fun for long.
I balance the crate on my hip and push through the staff door that leads to the pack’s private level of the building. Music from the human club below thumps through the floor—our favorite cover, loud enough to hide how many of us slip upstairs every weekend.
Northbridge looks like any other expensive glass-and-steel tower in the city. Humans see a luxury hotel and rooftop bar.
We see territory. I’ve learned to move through it like I belong, even when I don’t.
I set the crate down in the storage room and take a moment to roll my shoulders. My back aches. My arms ache. Everything aches, but not in the way it does for the others when they’ve trained or shifted too hard.
I’ve never shifted. Not once.
Some wolves find their other half at thirteen. Some at sixteen.
I turned eighteen last month. Still nothing.
No tingling under my skin. No voice in my head. No sense of a presence waiting just out of reach.
Just… me.
“Evelyn!”
I straighten automatically at the sound of my name. The Alpha’s sister, Mara, is framed in the doorway, all red lipstick and razor‑sharp heels.
“Yes?” I wipe my hands on my apron.
“Father wants to see you.” She eyes my plain black dress, the cheap fabric worn smooth. “And maybe try not to smell like beer when you go.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I untie the apron and smooth my hair back as I follow her down the hall. The upper level of the tower is quieter, all dark wood and leather, like the inside of someone’s very rich, very serious mind.
The Alpha’s office door is open. I stop at the threshold, heart hitching when I see who’s inside.
Alpha Garrick sits behind his massive desk, salt‑and‑pepper beard neatly trimmed, eyes cold as ever. Beside him stands his son, Damon—future Alpha, future everything.
His suit is black, tailored to his broad shoulders. Dark hair pushed back from his sharp face. His presence fills the room before he speaks, an invisible pressure pressing against my skin.
My nonexistent wolf whimpers anyway, hiding like it always does when he’s near.
“Evelyn.” Alpha Garrick gestures. “Come in.”
I step forward, folding my hands in front of me. “Yes, Alpha.”
His gaze skims over me, impersonal. To him, I’m inventory. A piece of pack property that hasn’t worked as advertised.
“As you know,” he says, “our alliances with the neighboring packs have been… tense.”
I did not know, but I nod like I did.
“Their Alpha is demanding a show of good faith.” Garrick leans back. “In return, he’s willing to give us access to the riverfront development and the shipping contracts we need.”
That sounds important. It also sounds very much like it has nothing to do with me.
Until he says, “He has a son. A spoiled, impulsive boy who thinks with his wolf instead of his head. I will not hand over a daughter of this pack and risk her being mistreated.”
I blink. “Of course, Alpha.”
Garrick steeples his fingers. “Which brings us to you.”
The room goes very still.
Damon shifts his weight, jaw tightening. He hasn’t looked at me once. He stares out the window at the city skyline, as if he’d rather be anywhere but here.
“You are pack,” Garrick continues, “but you’re not… quite like the others.”
Not quite. That’s one way to put it.
“No wolf,” he says bluntly. “No high‑value family connections. No political weight. If their boy mishandles you, it will be unfortunate, but it will not cost us a Luna or a bloodline we cannot replace.”
Each word lands like a stone in my stomach.
“This is how you serve your pack,” he says. “You will marry him.”
I open my mouth, then close it again. There it is. The punchline to the longest running joke in Northbridge.
The wolf‑less girl is finally useful.
Damon laughs once, sharp and humorless. “You can’t be serious.”
Garrick’s eyes flick toward his son. “You have something to add?”
“Yes.” Damon pushes off the window frame, finally looking at me. His gaze is ice over steel. “You’re going to throw her at another pack’s heir like a bone and hope he doesn’t choke on it? That’s your plan?”
Bone. Choke. Useful imagery.
Garrick’s patience frays. “It secures what we need.”
“It broadcasts weakness.” Damon’s stare stays on me, but I know I’m not the one he’s angry at. “We send them the girl we all know is—”
He stops himself.
I finish the sentence in my head. Broken. Useless. Wrong.
“Enough,” Garrick snaps. “The contract is written. The elders agreed.”
Contract. My fingers curl.
“Actually,” Damon says quietly, “there’s a better way.”
Garrick stiffens. “Damon—”
“If they want a show of good faith, we give them something bigger than a simple marriage tie.” Damon’s mouth curves in a smile that isn’t a smile at all. “We give them me.”
My head jerks up. “What?”
“I marry their precious heir,” he says smoothly. “Alpha to Alpha blood. They get direct access to Northbridge, I get a leash on them, and you get your contracts. Everyone wins.”
Silence slams into the room.
Garrick’s expression is thunderous. “You would–”
“Relax,” Damon says, eyes glittering. “It’s a political marriage, not a love story. You just said it yourself.” His gaze flicks over me again, almost bored. “You wouldn’t risk a real daughter on something like this.”
It’s meant as another casual cruelty, I think.
But then he adds, quietly, “And we both know you were never going to send Evelyn anyway. That would be barbaric, even for you.”
Garrick inhales slowly, nostrils flaring. “You are my heir. You do not speak to me like—”
“I’ll sign the contract,” Damon cuts in. “On one condition.”
Garrick’s voice is a growl. “Name it.”
Damon finally turns fully toward me, eyes locking with mine. For the first time, I see something there that isn’t only disdain. It looks almost like… calculation.
“She marries me,” he says.
The floor might as well drop away.
I stare at him. “What?”
Damon’s smile is cold. “If you’re so determined to chain me to a stranger, fine. But you’re not throwing some girl to the wolves in my place. I’ll handle the alliance. Evelyn will stay here, where at least I can make sure no one uses her as a bargaining chip ever again.”
Garrick is outright snarling now. “You think I will allow—”
“You want the docks, the riverfront, the money?” Damon’s voice is quiet, dangerous. “You want your empire? Then you need me. And I’m telling you, this is the only way I sign.”
He holds my gaze like this is some twisted joke we’re both in on.
It isn’t.
“Marrying her costs you nothing,” Damon says. “You’ve made that very clear for years.”
Garrick breathes out through his teeth, then looks at me, as if suddenly remembering I’m in the room.
“Do you understand what is being discussed, Evelyn?”
I force my throat to work. “You… you want me to marry Damon instead of the other pack’s heir?”
Garrick’s jaw flexes. “A contract marriage. For stability and appearances only. You will do as your Alpha commands.”
My chest feels tight, too small for my lungs. I look at Damon. “You don’t even like me.”
A bitter sound escapes him. “That’s not the point.”
“What is the point, then?” I whisper.
He holds my gaze, eyes flat. “The point is, I can’t stop my father from using you. I can only control how badly you get hurt.”
For a second, something like pity flares in me. It dies just as quickly.
Garrick slams his palm on the desk. “It’s decided. The ceremony will be in three days, on the rooftop. The pack needs a spectacle.”
Of course it does.
“Congratulations,” Damon says blandly. “You’re finally useful, Evelyn.”
The first rule of living in Northbridge Pack is simple: keep your head down and laugh when they laugh at you.
I manage a smile that feels like broken glass.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m honored.”
Inside, something small and tired sits up, watching them both, and quietly begins to sharpen its teeth.
- Writer
