Shattered By The Alpha

Chapter 6

Zara Fen POV

The attic room felt remarkably empty the moment the heavy oak door clicked shut behind Alpha Silas.

I stayed frozen on the wooden bench, my fingers still resting against the rough, indigo wool stretched tight across the loom. The lingering scent of crushed pine, winter rain, and that unmistakable, suffocating authority hung thick in the damp air, making the small space feel impossibly cramped.

My secret weapon.

The words repeated in my mind, it was a heavy, jagged weight that felt less like praise and more like a threat. I looked down at my hands, turning them over in the weak light filtering through the window. They were just hands. They were stained with wild berry dye, calloused from the rough handles of wooden shuttles, and stiff from hours of pulling threads.

There was no magic in them. No roaring wolf. No hidden grandeur. I was still just Zara, the girl who had been cast out of Silvercrest with nothing but a torn jacket and a reputation as a defect.

If the wool I wove had protected the patrol scouts from the silver-mist storm, it had to be a coincidence. A tighter pattern. A denser batch of mountain fleece. It had to be anything other than me. Because if Silas truly believed I was a weapon, it meant he expected me to fight. And I was so, so tired of fighting.

The wooden stairs outside groaned, followed by the sudden, frantic rattling of the door latch.

"Zara!"

Erica burst into the attic, her breathing shallow and her dark hair a wild, tangled mess from the mountain wind outside. She crossed the room in three long strides, her hands instantly gripping my shoulders before I could even stand up. She checked my face, squeezed my uninjured arm, and dragged me slightly closer to the window to inspect my eyes.

"Are you alright? I saw Alpha Silas crossing the clearing toward the packhouse. His face looked like a stone wall," Erica ran a hand over her face, her chest heaving. "Did he threaten you? Did he tell you that you have to leave?"

"Erica, breathe," I said, my voice quiet against her frantic energy. I gently pulled away from her grip and picked up the wooden shuttle that had slipped to the floor. "I’m fine. He didn't threaten me."

"Then why did he look like that?" Erica dropped onto the edge of my small cot, the wooden frame creaking beneath her weight. "The whole clearing is talking down there, Zara. The scouts came back from the northern border route completely untouched by the mist. They’re calling it a miracle. Martha is already telling the elders it’s because of the cloaks you wove."

I let out a slow, steady breath, leaning my hip against the frame of the loom. "It’s just a tighter pattern, Erica. I didn't do anything special."

"In Dawnridge, everything is special if it keeps a wolf from bleeding," Erica countered, her eyes dead serious as she looked at me. She spent three long seconds assessing the raw, healing stitches on my arm and the quiet, stubborn set of my jaw. "You don't get it, do you? You think you’re just hiding out in an attic, but you're becoming a name here. And names carry expectations."

I turned away from her, staring out the small, rain-streaked window pane. Down in the clearing, the pack was moving in their usual, comforting rhythms. Pups were running between the smokehouses, warriors were cleaning their mud-caked gear by the well, and women were carrying baskets of winter root vegetables. It was just an ordinary, peaceful day for them. But for me, the walls felt like they were closing in again.

"Silas called me a weapon," I whispered, the admission feeling cold against my tongue.

Erica went completely silent behind me. When I turned back, she had stood up, her expression shifting into something fiercely protective.

"An Alpha only looks at someone like that when he’s thinking about survival, Zara," she said softly, stepping closer to press her hand over mine. It wasn't hot like Silas’s, but it was steady and real. "Dawnridge is a good pack, but Alphas always protect their own territory first. Just promise me you’ll be careful. Don't let him use you up."

"I won't," I said, my fingers tightening around the smooth wood of the shuttle. "I came here to live, Erica. Not to be anyone's prize."

I lied.

The truth was, I was ready to do absolutely anything to tear Elara and my stepmother down from their golden pedestals. If survival meant letting Alpha Silas feed on my very soul to give me strength, I would willingly open the door. I didn't care about the cost anymore. I needed power, and Silas was the only ladder I had to climb out of the dirt.

I forced a soft, grateful smile onto my face as Erica tugged my shoulder gently, completely unaware of the darkness blooming inside me.

After Erica left, the attic returned to a slow, rhythmic peace. I sat back down on the bench, my boots finding the worn wooden pedals beneath the loom.

Over, under. Over, under.

I threw the shuttle, watching the indigo threads lock together, tight and unyielding. I didn't have a wolf, and I didn't have power.

But as the rain began to beat a relentless, quiet tempo against the wooden roof. A small smile crept at the corner of my lip as I thought of my revenge.