Shattered By The Alpha

Chapter 6

When I finally woke up the frantic noise of the clearing was was gone replaced by a steady rhythmic thump creak of a wooden lump.

I wasn't in a cell but in a small sun-drenched attic room above the pack’s textile workshop. The air smelled of lanolin, dried lavender, and cedar scents so clean they made the memory of the boundary woods feel like a fever dream.

My arm was bandaged tightly in clean linen. The fever from the feral bite had broken three days ago, leaving me weak but, for the first time in my life, remarkably still.

"You're awake," a voice said.

It was an older woman sitting by the window, her fingers moving with practiced grace as she carded wool. She had the steady, grounded scent of a wolf who had seen too many winters to be easily impressed.

"Alpha Silas said you’d be hungry when the cloud finally lifted," she said, nodding toward a bowl of thick broth on the bedside table. "I’m Martha. This is my shop. He decided that if you’re going to stay, you might as well be useful."

I sat up slowly, my muscles protestingly stiff. "He's letting me stay?"

"He doesn't give second chances," Martha said, her eyes meeting mine. "But you brought back that token. In Dawnridge, we don't care much for Silvercrest curses or unfit labels. We care if you can pull your weight. He's given you a month to prove you can."

I looked down at my hands. They were scarred, stained with the dirt of the forest.

"I don't know how to weave," I admitted quietly.

Martha chuckled, a dry, warm sound. "You survived the boundary woods with a rusted blade and a broken bond, girl. You can learn to throw a shuttle. It’s better than being a warrior besides threads don't bleed when you pull them too hard."

The weeks that followed were the quietest of my life.

Life in Dawnridge was different. There were no grand ceremonies every weekend, no hovering priests, and no mirrors tucked into every corner to remind me of what I lacked. Most of the pack ignored me, which was a mercy. Here, I was just the weaver’s apprentice.

I spent most of my days in the workshop. I learned the language of wool, the difference between the soft fur underneath and the rough outer fur. I learned how to dye yarn using berries and bark. There was a peace in the repetition. Over, under. Over, under.

One rainy afternoon, I was alone in the shop, finishing a heavy winter cloak for a patrol scout. The rhythmic motion I heard lulled me into a trance.

"The color is good."

I jolted, the shuttle slipping from my hand.

Alpha Silas stood in the door way wearing a simple t-shirt he was looking less than an Alpha and more of a man.

“Thank you, Alpha," I said, keeping my head level. I remembered Emily's advice, don't bow.

Alpha Silas stepped further inside the room, his presence filled the small attic until the air felt different, his gaze fixed on the the cloak I was finishing. It was a deep midnight blue, dyed from the berries I found near the boarder.

“I heard from Martha that you work faster than anyone she had ever trained.” Alpha Silas said calmly. “She also said you dont follow the pattern she gave you.”

My heart hammered against my chest. “I just follow my ideas. I didn't mean any disrespect to the craft, Alpha.”

He reached out, his calloused fingers grazing the fabric and I watched his eyes narrow as he felt the texture of the weave. In a contemporary world of machines and mass production, my hand-woven wool felt different. It felt heavy and that raised concern about my features.

"The patrol scouts who wore your first batch of cloaks came back from the boundary yesterday," he said, finally looking up at me. "They were caught in a silver-mist storm. Usually, the type that leaves a wolf’s skin blistered and raw through their clothes."

I swallowed hard, without looking up at him. “Are they alright?”

"They’re fine, Zara. Not a single mark on them." Silas stepped closer, his shadow falling over the loom. "The silver didn't touch them. The wool you wove repelled the toxin and acted like a shield."

I stared at him, confused. "It’s just wool, Alpha. It’s just a cloak.”

Alpha Silas leaned in, his scent of pine and rain overwhelming.

“You have done a great job Zara. We will need more cloak for the winter to get more supplies from the border.”