The Winter Alpha & the Cynic Vet

POV: Celina Reyes  Snow was beautiful—when it wasn’t trying to kill you. Celina Reyes tightened her coat around her as another gust of icy wind slapped her across the face. It wasn’t even the dramatic kind of snowfall, the one in movies where flakes drift like gentle feathers while lovers kiss under twinkling lights. No. This was sharp. Aggressive. Mean. “Of course,” she muttered as the wind shoved her sideways on the narrow mountain path. “Of course this would happen to me.” The village of Valdoria lay several minutes ahead, nestled between jagged winter peaks. From a distance, it looked like a postcard—warm lights glowing from wooden cabins, a distant bell chiming from the clock tower, red and gold holiday banners fluttering gently. But on the outskirts? Chaos. Holiday chaos. Celina’s first five minutes in Europe had already been disastrous. Her connecting flight was delayed. Her luggage got “temporarily misplaced.” The airport shuttle broke down halfway up the mountain. The replacement tricycle service—yes, a tricycle in the snow—slid into a snowbank. And now here she was, dragging her carry-on through a forest path because the driver had said, “Village just ten minutes walk, Miss. Or fifteen… maybe twenty.” He forgot to mention the uphill part. And the storm. “I should’ve stayed home,” she whispered through chattering teeth. “But no, Celina. Go volunteer abroad. Help the wildlife. Heal from heartbreak. Maybe even rediscover the joy of—” Her boot caught something under the snow. Her ankle twisted violently. “Ow—OW! ****, seriously?!” Even her Tagalog–mandarin cursing didn’t help. She stumbled forward and fell—face-first—into a fresh pile of snow. Cold. Wet. Humiliating. For a moment, she simply lay there, cheek pressed against the icy ground, wondering why fate had such a personal vendetta against her every December. Holidays and heartbreak were apparently her permanent theme. Last Christmas had given her a breakup. This Christmas was giving her frostbite. She pushed herself up, brushing snow off her face. Her breath fogged the air. “Okay,” she muttered. “You survived vet school. You can survive this.” She stood—and froze. A sound echoed through the quiet woods. Crunch. Snow shifting. Heavy. Slow. Celina straightened, her heartbeat kicking upward. “Hello?” she called out. Nothing. Just wind, rustling through fir trees. She took another step— Crunch. This time louder. Closer. Her instincts sharpened instantly—the same instincts that kept her alive during rescues of injured strays, wild boars, and one very angry ostrich. She clutched her flashlight, flicked it on, and pointed it toward the sound. Branches trembled. A shape moved between the trees. No—not a shape. A shadow. Large. Massive. Far too big to be any local wildlife she was familiar with. Celina’s breath caught. “Please,” she whispered, “don’t be a bear.” The shape stepped into the light. Not a bear. A wolf. A wolf larger than any she had ever seen, even in textbooks. Thick silver fur. Powerful frame. Breath rising in white clouds. Its eyes—unnaturally bright, piercing gold—locked directly onto her. For a split second, fear punched through her chest. This was no ordinary animal. But then she saw it. Blood. Dark, sticky crimson along its left flank, seeping through matted fur. The wolf limped weakly, its breaths shallow and uneven. Her fear vanished instantly. In its place: instinct. Training. Compassion. “Oh no… you’re hurt,” she breathed, stepping closer. The wolf growled low—not aggressive, more like warning—but it didn’t retreat. It didn’t even bare its teeth. It simply watched her, unmoving, like it was deciding whether she was a threat… or something else. Celina raised both hands slowly. “Hey, sweetheart. I won’t hurt you. I’m a vet. I can help.” The wolf’s ears twitched, confused. She approached slowly, carefully, whispering soothing words. “You’re bleeding. I know it hurts. Let me look, okay? Just stay still.” Another step. Another. She crouched in front of it, heart pounding. The wolf was enormous—if she stretched out her arms, she still wouldn’t reach across its body. But the pain in its eyes tore at her. Celina extended her hand. “Please,” she whispered, “let me help you.” The wolf lowered its head. Permission. She touched its fur— —and the wind stopped. Completely. The blizzard that had been raging around them froze mid-air, flakes suspended for a breathless second before gently floating down. Celina gasped. “What the—?” The wolf’s eyes widened too, like it wasn’t expecting that. Like it was… alarmed. Her pulse thundered. Something was wrong. This wasn’t normal. Not scientifically. Not medically. Not logically. But she pushed the thought aside—patients came first. She carefully checked the wound. Deep scratch—likely from a trap or another predator. No broken bones. She pulled alcohol wipes and gauze from her kit. The wolf watched her steadily, golden eyes never wavering. “You’re a good boy,” she murmured gently. “Strong. Brave.” The wolf huffed, as if offended by “boy.” “Fine. Good sir.” It blinked. Twice. She cleaned the wound, wrapped a crude bandage, and kept talking softly to keep it calm. “I’m going to take you to the village. There’s a clinic. I can fix this properly.” But the wolf stepped backward, shaking its head. “You don’t want help?” she asked. It hesitated. Then nudged her instead—pushing her lightly toward the village path. “You’re telling me to go?” The wolf huffed. “Well, too bad. I’m not leaving you here bleeding.” Celina stood firm. “I am not that kind of vet. Now come on—” The wolf growled faintly—not hostile, more like exasperation. “Don’t growl at me,” she scolded. “I’m trying to save your shiny, oversized, handsome—” Wait. Handsome? She shook her head. “Okay, I’m officially freezing and hallucinating.” She tried again. “Just walk with me. I can support your weight.” The wolf stared at her. Then—shockingly—leaned its massive head against her shoulder. Celina froze. “Woah. Okay. Wow. You’re… trusting me?” It didn’t respond. But its warmth seeped into her coat, grounding her. Together, slowly, they walked toward the village lights. A strange calm settled around her—like the forest itself relaxed because she touched him. The wind stayed gentle. Snow fell softly again. Too softly. Celina looked up. “What are you?” No answer. But the wolf’s golden eyes glowed faintly in the dark, watching her with something between recognition and… something else she didn’t have a word for. By the time they reached the edge of Valdoria, her muscles burned from supporting him. She stopped beside a lantern post. “Okay,” she panted, “let’s rest here.” She turned to check him again— And the wolf was gone. Completely. Only pawprints remained in the snow… until those vanished too, swept away by a sudden breeze. “I—what?” Celina spun in a circle. “Sir Wolf?! Hey!” She checked behind trees, behind bushes, everywhere. Nothing. It was like he vanished into thin air. Celina stood there, breathless and confused, heart pounding in her chest. The storm began again. Fierce. Violent. As if her touch had been the only thing holding it back. She hugged her coat tightly and whispered into the wind: “What… just happened?” Behind her, unseen, a pair of golden eyes watched from the shadows. And far deeper in the forest, a man with silver hair and a bleeding wound staggered to his knees, whispering hoarsely: “Anchor…?”