The Transplanted Mate

The Bunker Wolf

No one spoke to a transplant unless they had to. And when they did, it was never kind. They hated us, despised us.

“Move.”

Briar Thorn didn’t look up as the command snapped over her head. She didn’t need to. The tone alone told her who it was—one of the hunters, impatient, already irritated by her existence. Which happens often.

She shifted to the side quickly, keeping her gaze down as he passed. His shoulder clipped hers anyway, hard enough to sting.

It wasn’t an accident. It never was.

“Watch it,” he muttered. Giving her a distasteful look as he went.

Briar swallowed the instinct to apologize.

Transplants apologized too much. It only made them easier targets. The last thing she needed was a bigger sign on her back that said "kick me while I'm down."

Instead, she dipped her head and continued scrubbing the stone beneath her hands. Hands that hadn't seen better days but could definitely benefit from a little TLC. Cracked, dry, and scabbed over.

The courtyard floor was stained again—mud, blood, and whatever else the pack tracked through after a hunt. It seeped into the cracks of the stone, turning the water in her bucket murky and red-tinged.

Fitting.

Everything here bled into something else eventually. Seemed to be the epitome of her life.

Above her, the pack moved freely. She did not.

Laughter drifted from the upper levels where the higher ranks gathered, warm and careless. The sound echoed down into the lower quarters, where the transplants worked, slept, and were forgotten. That's why they called them transplants. Children are left at orphanages and get placed in different territories as they age out of the system.

Briar had learned long ago not to look up.

Looking up meant seeing what you didn’t have.

And what you would never be.

She had no memory of her mother. No memory of her father. Only whispers.

Died in childbirth.

Left behind.

Unwanted.

The story had been told enough times that it stopped sounding like a story at all. It was just fact now. Something as simple and unchangeable as the cold beneath her knees or the ache in her hands.

She was a transplant. That was all that mattered. It's the only thing she had. It wasn't a title to be proud of, but it was the only title she had ever known.

“Briar.”

Her name cut through the air like a blade.

Everything in her body went still. His voice always had the same effect. Nothing good ever came from it. In fact, the only time things were good is when no one said your name, and you remained invisible.

Slowly, she rose to her feet.

The courtyard fell quiet around her—not completely, but enough. Enough for her to feel it. The shift. The attention. All on them.

She turned toward the Alpha's voice.

Alpha Maddic Black stood at the top of the stone steps, his presence swallowing the surrounding space.

Large. Dark. Unforgiving. Soooo very unforgiving.

Even in human form, there was something unmistakably wolf about him—something sharp and predatory that never softened. People feared him, they had no choice. If you didn't fear him, he would show you exactly why you should.

His gaze locked onto her, then narrowed. “Come here.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a command.

Briar’s pulse kicked, but her face remained carefully blank as she obeyed. Each step toward him felt heavier than the last, like walking into something she couldn’t outrun, and she knew she couldn't, so she would never try.

She stopped several feet away and lowered her gaze. Making sure she never makes eye contact.

“Yes, Alpha.”

Silence stretched.

She could feel it—the weight of his attention, the way it pressed against her skin like something searching.

Dissecting.

Judging.

He had always looked at her differently. Not with indifference, like the others.

But with something closer to… disgust.

“You were seen lingering near the upper halls,” Maddic said.

Briar’s stomach tightened. She knows what he is talking about, but lingering doesn't suit when you are up there working.

“I was cleaning, Alpha.”

His lip curled.

“You don’t belong near the upper halls,” he spat.

“I know, Alpha”

“Do you?” he snapped.

The force in his voice hit like a crack of thunder. Briar flinched before she could stop herself.

Mistake. Giving him a reaction is just as bad as making eye contact.

Maddic’s eyes darkened. “Pathetic,” he muttered. The word landed harder than it should have.

Before she could react—His hand struck.

Pain exploded across her face as the blow snapped her head to the side. The world tilted for a second, ringing loud and disorienting.

Briar caught herself before she fell. Barely. She could already tell it would cause her to bleed. Wolves are supposed to have fast healing abilities, not transplants though. In order to heal like that, you have to be in tune with your wolf. Transplants weren't allowed to shift here.

“Transplants are meant to serve,” Maddic said coldly. “Not wander. Not think. And certainly not be seen where they don’t belong.”

Blood filled her mouth, metallic and warm. She swallowed it. Reacting to it would only cause more infliction.

“Yes, Alpha.”

His gaze lingered a moment longer, like he was considering something. Something darker. She waited him out though, then—

“Get out of my sight.”

Briar didn’t hesitate.

She turned and walked.

Not too fast.

Never too fast.

Running meant weakness. And weakness invited more. Ironic considering we were about as weak as you could get in the wolf community.

By the time she reached the lower quarters, where her bunker was, the sounds of the pack had faded again.

The bunker door creaked as she pushed it open.

Inside, it was quiet.

Cold.

And dark.

Safe, in the only way a place like this could be.

She lit the candle in the far corner of her room, then knelt beside the small basin, dipping a cloth into the water. It rippled faintly as she brought it to her lip, pressing it gently against the swelling skin.

The sting made her hiss under her breath.

A drop of blood slipped into the basin, blooming red in the water before fading.

She watched it for a moment.

Then another.

Her reflection wavered in the surface—distorted, broken by the movement.

Golden eyes stared back at her.

Briar froze.

For a split second… they didn’t look weak.

They didn’t look small.

They didn’t look like something meant to be hidden beneath the pack.

They looked—

Wrong.

Different.

Dangerous.

Her breath caught.

And just as quickly as it came—

It was gone.

The girl in the reflection was the same as always.

Quiet. Forgettable. Nothing.

Briar lowered the cloth, staring at the fading ripple in the water.

“No one,” she whispered softly. The word felt familiar. Comforting, in a way.

If she was no one…

Then no one would look for her.

No one would expect anything from her.

No one would notice if she disappeared.

Her fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the basin.

Because deep down—She wasn’t sure that was true. Not anymore. Something had been changing.

Brewing

Growing.

Waiting.

And she didn’t know why or what. It just felt different.

Above her, the pack howled.

Loud. Proud. And Powerful.

Briar closed her eyes as the sound echoed through the stone.

She did not join.

She never had.

She never would.

Just like every night since she could remember, when the mood touched the peak of the night, she reached at her bedside table and pulled out the old photo.

Her only possession. The only thing she has ever owned. The orphanage said it was with her the night she was left there. She assumed it was her parents. There were no names. Faces were unrecognizable. Not even a date.

Only a saying.

A few words written on the back that she didn't understand but felt a strong connection to.

Sometimes the only words that would get her to the next day or through her day. Because at one point she meant enough to someone for them to leave for her.

So, just like any other night, she repeated them over and over again, until sleep took her over.

"You are not just a wolf, child... you are what the moon left behind."