Incoming
1036 Words
The tension in the dining room was thick enough to choke a human. But for a room full of shifters and witches, it was a suffocating miasma of old grudges and unsaid words.
The Santiago estate’s dining hall was a beautiful relic of our Taino heritage—high ceilings of dark mahogany, walls adorned with woven tapestries, and a table that could seat twenty. My mother, Talia, sat at the head, her dark skin glowing under the chandelier, looking like the queen she was. To her right sat Augusto, her true mate—a man of Indigenous and Black descent whose presence was like a warm hearth. He reached over, squeezing her hand, his scent of sandalwood and rain acting as a balm to her nerves.
Then, there was the "Step-Monster," my biological father, Ricardo. He sat at the far end, nursing a glass of dark rum. He was a handsome man in a cruel way—sharp Puerto Rican features and eyes that always seemed to be looking for a way to profit. Beside him were my half-siblings from his fated mate, who looked at me like I was a smudge on a clean floor. They were pale and sleek, projecting a "purity" that Atabey absolutely loathed.
They are shadows, Atabey hissed in my mind, the sensation of cool sea-foam washing over my irritation. They have no roots. You are the tree; they are the dust.
"So, Gaia," Ricardo said, his voice cutting through the clinking of silverware. "College has made you bold. I heard you didn't even bother to greet the pack elders when you drove in."
"I was busy breathing, Ricardo," I said, not looking up from my plate. "It’s a luxury I didn't have the last time I was in this house."
The table went silent. My sister Maia, sitting across from me, hid a smirk behind her wine glass. She was a beautiful mix of our parents, her hair a halo of curls, her scent of Yarrow and Dragon’s Blood particularly strong tonight. She was my anchor in this sea of dysfunction.
"That's enough," my mother said softly, but her voice carried the weight of an Alpha’s command. "Tonight is about celebration. Gaia is home. Tomorrow she turns twenty. The prophecy of the Moon and Earth is nearly at its peak."
"Prophecy won't protect her from the politics of the Imperial Pack," Ricardo spat. "They are looking for a reason to claim this territory. Having a... hybrid... as a potential heir makes us look weak."
Before I could snap back, the air in the room shifted.
It wasn't a gradual change. It was a violent, atmospheric drop. The candles flickered, the flames turning a deep, eerie violet—a sign of high-level magic or an ancient presence. A scent began to fill the room, overriding the smell of roasted meat and expensive rum.
It was the smell of a winter storm—ozone and crushed ice—mixed with something decadently dark, like pomegranate, aged leather, and old-world power.
"They're here," Maia whispered, her eyes wide.
The heavy mahogany doors didn't just open; they were pushed aside by a force that made the floorboards groan. Two men walked in, and the room felt like it had suddenly shrunk.
The first was the man from the tree line. He was a giant of a man, easily six-foot-five, with a build that spoke of centuries of warfare. His skin was pale, his hair the color of moonlight, and his eyes—the icy blue I had seen in the ferns—were locked onto mine with a terrifying intensity. This was Callum Thorne, the Imperial Alpha of the Northern Wastes. He was Scandinavian by blood, a Viking soul in a modern world, and the power rolling off him made the Alphas in the room instinctively lower their heads.
The second man was his complete opposite in aesthetic but equal in lethality. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than my tuition. His skin was a rich, deep mahogany—Afro-Latino heritage evident in his high cheekbones and regal bearing. He moved with a predatory grace that wasn't wolf-like; it was too silent, too still. This was Julian Vane, a billionaire whose name was whispered in the highest circles of both the human and supernatural worlds. He was a Vampire, an ancient one, and the pomegranate scent was coming from him.
"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" Ricardo demanded, though his voice trembled.
Julian Vane didn't even look at him. He adjusted his silk cufflink, his dark eyes—flecked with gold—finally landing on me. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face, revealing the slight point of fangs.
"We aren't here for the pack, little man," Julian said, his voice a smooth, velvet baritone. "We are here for what belongs to us."
Callum, the Alpha, took a step forward, his heavy boots thudding against the rug. He didn't speak with his mouth; he spoke with his soul. A low, vibrating growl echoed in the room, a sound so primal it made my wolf, Atabey, surge to the surface. My eyes flashed—a swirl of blue, gold, and brown.
"Mine," Callum rumbled, the word vibrating in my chest.
"Ours," Julian corrected, his voice a silken thread wrapping around my senses.
I stood up, my chair screeching against the floor. My heart was a drum, my magic sparking at my fingertips in tiny bursts of green and gold light. I was a hybrid—half-witch, half-wolf—and I was supposed to be the "rejected claim." But as these two monsters stared at me with a hunger that could consume worlds, I realized the rejection was over.
"I don't belong to anyone," I said, my voice steady despite the chaos in my blood.
Callum smirked, a jagged, beautiful expression. "We shall see, little wolf. The moon rises at midnight. And we have waited a very long time for you to wake up."
The dinner was over. The hunt had begun.
- Writer
