The Alpha's broken first daughter .

“Natille, step forward.” The wolf’s voice cracked across the yard, louder than usual, rough enough to make me drop the wet tunic back into the bucket. He had never once spoken my name in four years. To him, I was always “Prisoner Twelve.” My chest tightened, and I froze with my hands half-submerged in icy water. He shifted on his feet, eyes darting to the gates. He looked nervous. That alone made me wary. “The Alpha has sent someone for you,” he said, trying to sound firm, but the edge was gone from his tone. My breath snagged. Was this a joke? Or another trap meant to break me? “Don’t make me repeat myself.” His glare flicked over me, but it lacked its usual venom. I stood slowly, mud clinging to my worn shoes as I dragged my legs toward him. Pain was nothing new, but my knees still trembled under the weight of it. Four years in this place had drained everything out of me but caution. The gates creaked open, and the cold wind cut sharper against my skin. Outside stood Ronan. I stopped short. Ronan Wilson, the boy who once teased me in the garden, who used to shield me from bullies. The same boy who had whipped me bloody on Navy’s orders. “Natille,” he said, voice low, eyes steady. Something flickered there. Pity? Regret? It didn’t matter. “Grandmother misses you. The Alpha King pardoned you. Come home.” Home. The word tasted strange, like biting into something that had long gone sour. I bent into a stiff curtsy. My voice came out flat. “Thank you, Alpha, for the pardon.” His jaw twitched. “You should call them Father and Mother. You’re still their child.” A bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “Their child? Do you think silence counts as love? Four years I begged for a word. Not one came.” “Don’t speak to me like that.” I bowed again, shallow and sharp. “Yes, Alpha.” He exhaled hard, then turned toward the sleek car parked near the gate. “Fine. Don’t keep Grandmother waiting.” I trailed after him, my thin body struggling to match his long strides. Every step sent aches shooting up my legs, but I forced my face blank. I would not show weakness. At the car, I pulled open the back door. Old memories hissed in my ears—Navy laughing, whip in hand, telling me I wasn’t worthy of sitting near him. My chest squeezed tight. “Sit in the front,” Ronan ordered. “No.” My voice wavered, but I kept my chin up. “I’ll sit in the back.” His temper snapped. “Why? Are you so unwilling? What are you angry about?” I stayed silent, nails digging into my palms. “Navy lost fourteen years because of you,” he spat. His hand clenched on the door. “You’ve only lost four. What gives you the right to feel wronged?” The words struck like a lash, each one slicing deeper. My body swayed, but I refused to let him see how much it hurt. He slammed the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. His voice was ice. “Walk then, if you’re so unwilling.” The car roared off, snow spraying across my clothes. I stood there, frozen, until the taillights disappeared into the storm. My legs finally moved. One step, then another. The Alpha’s house lay ahead, every thought of it heavy as stone. The snow bit into my ankles through worn shoes. Each step burned, each breath a ragged gasp. Still, I pressed on. Then headlights cut through the swirling white. A car stopped in front of me. The window slid down. “Natille?” My knees weakened. My lungs locked. He leaned toward the opening, ice-blue eyes fixed on me, sharp and impossible to forget. Florian. The man I once called fiancé. The only one I had ever loved. “Natille…” he said again, voice steady, reaching me even through the storm. “Get in.” I heard his voice before I saw his face. Calm. Firm. Close. I kept my knees locked and lifted my chin. The snow blew into my eyes. My breath came slow and thin. “I can walk,” I said. “No,” Florian said. He stepped into view. “You are at your limit. Get in the car.” His eyes were the same cold blue I knew by heart. His hair had more silver in it. His shoulders looked wider. Time had sharpened him. It had not softened me either. I held his gaze until my lashes stung. “Why are you here?” I asked. “It is not the question,” he said. He opened the passenger door and waited. “Elder will be angry if you show up like this. In you go.” The word Elder hit a tender place in me. Grandmother. I swallowed. I moved. My legs shook. I kept my hands to myself as I passed him. He did not touch me. He did not look away. I slid into the seat. Heat rose through the leather. My frozen skin prickled. He closed the door and circled the hood. The scent reached me first. Bright floral with a sweet edge. Navy’s favorite. It sat in the air like a claim. My fingers went tight on the frayed cuff of my coat. He started the engine. We pulled onto the road. The snow hissed under the tires. He said nothing. I watched his hands on the wheel. Steady. Sure. My heart gave one hard knock and then slowed into the old cage I had built for it. “Leave me at the gate,” I said. “No,” he said. “You will walk only when a healer clears you.” “I do not need a healer.” “You do,” he said. “Do not argue to save face. Save your strength.” I turned my head to the window. Dark trees. White fields. The land I knew by feel. It should have felt like home. It did not. Navy’s smell lingered in the vents. A small, cruel echo of a night I could not forget. I sat still and tried to breathe around it. He did not try to fill the silence. He never had. He drove with focus, like this was a task and not a history. The pack house rose out of the white, tall and neat, all glass and stone. My stomach clenched. I tasted iron. “Do not fall,” I told my legs. “I will not catch you,” he said. “But I will not let you hit the ground either.” “I do not need you,” I said. He parked. He came around and opened my door. I stepped down. The cold cut through my thin shoes. I kept my back straight. He watched me like I was a problem to solve. The front doors opened. Luna Nicole hurried out with no coat, only a shawl. Her hair was pinned up. Her face was pale. For a breath I saw the mother who used to pull me into her kitchen and hide me from rules. The next breath brought the rest. The nights she chose order over me. The message that had ended my life here. “Natille,” she said. My name trembled in her mouth. She reached for me and then stopped. “You are too thin. What did they do to you?” I shifted back. My shoulders touched the car. Her hands shook. She pressed them to her chest. Tears filled her eyes. I did not move toward her. Navy stepped into the doorway. Red dress. Hair smooth and bright. Green eyes soft with a shine that looked like grief. The same scent that coated the car swirled around her. “I have missed you,” she said. “Sister, I am sorry for so much. I have wanted to say it a hundred times.” I did not look at her. My lungs felt tight.