CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

DAMON'S POV.

BLOOD MOON PACK, 2005

The rogues were attacking.

The air smelled funky with the smell of rogues— men who didn't belong. The heated smell of burning wood filled the air, jerking my insides as I felt myself go into a state of panic. My father, the Alpha of my pack— the blood moon pack— had pushed me into a tiny crawl space.

"Stay hidden, Damon." The golden brown colors of his eyes darkened as his hands rubbed my shoulders. "You are the future of our pack and I can't risk you getting in harm."

I wanted to oppose his words, to join the battle, to defend my pack. But I was fourteen, it sucked that I didn't stand a chance yet. Accepting defeat, I retreated into the crawl space, closing the door as I settled into the darkness.

The soft reek of wood now flared my nostrils. I could sense the danger from where I was crammed into, the distant growl and snarls of wolves and the unmistakable sound of metal clangs.

The last thing I saw as the trapdoor closed was the back view of my father and the pack ministers all heading out to join the massacre that was going on. My father snarled out a last order to the warriors, his voice booming through the pack house like thunder.

And with that, I watched his figure fade off, leaving me in my disheveled web of troubled thoughts. Hearing the sound of war ignited a wave in my veins, desperation clawing ruthlessly at my veins.

I wanted to fight, to tear into those monster. But my father had insisted I stayed hidden, just in case. Incase he didn't make it, Incase my pack lost to the feet of the rogues, Incase it all went bad.

But the sounds. The sharp sound of bones breaking, the snarls, the growls, everything. I bit hard into my lip, willing myself to be still, to be strong, but every scream outside was like a needle to my veins. And then—there it was—the one sound I had dreaded most.

My father's roar, loud and commanding at first, then. cut short.

No. No.

My chest constricted, my hands shaking as they raked over the ground beneath me as I fought not to bolt. I had to stay. I had to. Yet every single instinct screamed for me to run, to do anything— but I was stuck here, forced to listen.

Another scream followed, higher, more piercing. My mother. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn't help. Nothing could block out the sounds of her death. Not the thud of her body hitting the ground or the victorious howls of the rogues.

They rogues— they were winning.

I felt sick. Everything inside me was breaking. My family. My pack. All because I was too weak to help them. Too young to fight. Too afraid.

And when the silence finally came, it was worse than the noise.

I waited, the air catching my in my throat as I held my breath. I could feel a powerful presence in the room, the rogues, were here, I could feel it my veins. I steadied my breathing, closing my eyes as a lone tear trickled down my cheeks. The air felt off, heavier, darker. This wasn't just any rogue.

The crack in the floorboards spared me a rough view of him. Their leader— he was here. His smell was hooded, of course it was, I felt a sharp tinge of anger in my veins. My parent's murderer was here and I couldn't do anything.

I shifted softly, the wood making a low creek. I froze, my heart beating faster as I watched him pause, dead in his tracks. No. No. This can't be happening.

His footsteps were hard, deliberate as if made to instill fear into the veins of whoever was listening. With each thud of his shoes, my heart beat increased, racing harder as I felt my wolf go into a state of panic.

"Alpha!" A sharp voice creased the thin line of tension in the room. The figure froze in his tracks, my breathing turning more intense as I watched the figure turn and walk out of the room.

From the cracked view the floorboards had spared, I could see his hood was down low, casting a shadow over everything. But what I did see was a sign, a tattoo on his hands: a spider, inked unto his wrist.

I seared the image of him into my brain. That tattoo. I would never forget it.

When, at last, the rogues left, I crawled from my hiding place, legs numb and shaking beneath me. I stood there staring at what used to be my home. My parents were gone. My pack scattered and ambushed.

But one thing I knew absolutely.

I would get my revenge upon their murders. And I'll kill that one with the spider tattoo.

****

10 YEARS LATER.

The crackling of fire sparks catches my attention as I turned my gaze back to the fire place in the room. Watching those flames go up in the air reminded of the struggles I made to finally move into the Red claw pack.

My pack had been ambushed by rogues and as scary as it may sound, I'm the only survivor. All of our pack's members were killed and slaughtered by the cold hands of the masked notorious Alpha. All except for me.

Back then, youngsters like myself weren't allowed to join battles as I hadn't clocked eighteen yet. I was only fourteen then but the thought of that now only burned in my chest. Thinking of the attack ignited a burn in my veins as the memories of that night seared back into my mind.

The battle cries, the splatters of blood and the display of several bodies remained a stark reminder of the traumas I faced growing up.

I was 24 now, it was all ten years ago but it all still seemed like yesterday. But now, I have a chance, a fresh start to everything, to free myself of the guilt and finally move on. Following my twenty fourth birthday, Nanna, my father's best friend who had raised me ever since my pack had been ambushed, had helped me fulfil a wish I've always wanted.

Freedom.

Today was my first day in the Red claw pack and things weren't as much as I'd expect. Over here, the discipline was fully asserted, the members were to face punishment if the pack's long ridiculous list weren't followed. My room smelled of dirty laundry and the soft smell of flowers from the rose bush by the side of my room's windows.

"Damon," A masculine voice beamed as I pulled out of my daydream blinking softly as the figure of Alex, my roommate, came into view.

"Come on, we're going to be late for the initiation ceremony," his voice braced my ears as I jerked my body from the bed.

I wasn't entirely certain what an "initiation" involved, but from what I'd picked up, it was some kind of function where the new members of the pack were formally received in front of the Alpha. The kind of thing you didn't want to miss.

I sprang to my feet and rushed towards the bathroom. How could I have forgotten? It was training day, and one thing for sure was not to be late.

I sprinted to the bathroom, splashed some cold water on my face, and dried off in a flash. My heart was racing while I reached for the pack's standard issue attire: a plain black shirt with tough pants— something practical yet fitting for the day. Zipping up my boots, I went for the door.

The pecking order was tightly held in this pack, the Red Claw, a stark contrast from my old pack. Order was in place; everyone had to pull their weight. No slackers allowed, no exceptions.

Joining the others, we all moved to the main assembly area of the pack, where the new recruits were standing in neat rows. The anticipation in the air was palpable, so hot I could feel it in my bones. The warmth of my seat radiated my back as I settled into the chair beside Alex.

The air smelled crisp clear, the usual smell of cheap cologne you'd meet at any pack function, but something in the air smelt intriguing, dangerous. I tried to trace the smell with my wolf but my wolf, as usual, was asleep. Life as an Omega came with it's complications, the bullying, the disrespect and this new feeling I have in my veins.

I couldn't quite decipher what it was but I could feel a presence, one that seemed to strike a chord in me. I scrambled my gaze through the crowd of unfamiliar faces around me, searching carefully to sense the direction the smell was coming from.

The ceremony kicked off, and just about to utter the oath, there came a deep voice rumbling across the gathering.

"The Alpha has arrived," The air suddenly shifted the instant the announcer announced the Alpha's presence.

My pulse races as I watch several head turn in a direction. All eyes had flown to the tall, big frame that emerged from behind the shades. The Alpha.

There was an aura of power surrounding him, the kind where instinctively everybody knew to look down, but I couldn't help myself, but stare at him in awe. His dark hair fell just above his brow, perfectly framing his angular jawline, while his eyes— intense, fairly cold— scanned the crowd with silent confidence. His movements— powerful and deliberate— had the telltale signs of a man who wasn't simply a leader but something much deadlier.

I was about to avert my gaze when something drew my attention.

On his wrist, partially hidden by the jacket sleeve he had on, was a tattoo.

A spider.

My breath hitched, and time stood still. Branded into my mind was the image of that very spider tattoo I had seen all those years ago.

That couldn't be. Was it?