Past Debt

Don

I shouldn't have saved her. I didn't want to save her, but I had to. That's my role as her "personal guard"—a title I despise. I'm not here to serve Isabella. I'm here on a mission, sent by Lucian, alpha of the Lucian Pack, and his wicked luna, Maria. I hate those two to the core, but I hate Isabella and her mother even more. That's why I struck a deal: an eye for an eye. As the old saying goes, you wash my hands, and I'll wash yours.

My mission is to infiltrate the Crescent Pack, a fortress Lucian has been trying to breach for years. He needed someone to dismantle it from within, and I became his tool. The feud between the North and South packs means nothing to me. I'm merely collateral damage in their struggle for power. My father, Derek, was loyal to Lucian, a servant who never took a day off, not even for Christmas or New Year. We rarely saw him. He was a ghost, a shadow, a legend my bedridden mother would glorify in stories when we complained.

"Your father is a hero," she'd say. "A close friend to Lucian who protected his luna, Isabella's mother."

But I knew better. Lucian doesn't know friendship or family—only power. My father wasn't a hero; he was a pawn. And when his usefulness ended, so did he. My mother, unable to bear his death, wasted away in grief. By the time I was twelve, I was working day and night to support my siblings. Generational poverty runs deep, and nothing ever changes.

Then Maria came.

She wasn't kind. She was brutal, unnerving, and devoid of sympathy. I'll never forget her visit to our two-bedroom house in Juvenile Village, just within the North's borders.

"Your father left a great debt behind," she announced, her voice echoing through our cramped home.

"That has nothing to do with us," I spat back. My father wasn't a father to us; he was a myth. Even his casket was empty—no body, no closure.

Maria laughed coldly. "Oh, it does. Unless, of course, you want your little siblings to join your forsaken parents."

I froze. "Leave my mother out of this!"

Maria's expression darkened. She stepped forward, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat. Before I could react, she grabbed my skinny frame and slammed me against the wall. Pain shot through my body as I heard the sickening crunch of bones.

"Listen, mutt," she hissed. "Your mother and father worked for me. Your father was my spy, planted close to Lucian, and your mother was near his luna. Everything was perfect until your mother fell ill and ruined my plans."

I couldn't believe her. "My mother was human!"

Maria slammed my head against the wall, once, twice, until I begged her to stop. My survival instinct overrode my pride. From that day forward, I was hers. She trained me, broke me, and molded me into a monster. When I tried to run, she broke my little sister's leg and made me watch. After that, I never ran again.

Maria's training stripped away my humanity. I'd cry by the lake in the nearby mountains, pouring out my pain and anger where no one could see. The scars on my body and the guilt for my sister's injury became my constant companions.

When Maria finally deemed me ready, she sent me to Lucian's home. I followed a secret path to the meeting room, accidentally knocking over a picture in a storage room along the way. My heart stopped when I saw it: my father, gruff and cold, smiling. In the photo, he was giving a little girl a piggyback ride while a woman stood beside them. The girl was Isabella Morgan.

I pushed the memory aside and reported to Maria through a burner phone.

"Don here, reporting," I said.

Her voice, dark and menacing, came through. "Yes?"

"She didn't shift. It was a failed attempt. Only her paws appeared, and they vanished too quickly for me to collect a sample of her fur."

Maria was silent, but I heard a clank, followed by more noises. She was throwing a tantrum. After a moment, she calmed. "Anything else?"

A memory flashed in my mind. "Yes, about Isabella and the beta—"

I stopped mid-sentence. Someone was approaching the woods.

"What is it?" Maria demanded.

"Nothing. Someone's coming." I ended the call abruptly and turned to face the intruder.

It was her. Isabella.

"D-Don?" Her voice was uncertain, laced with curiosity.

For a moment, I considered ending her right there. I could take my siblings and run, but the scar on my forehead reminded me of Maria's warnings. Isabella had to stay alive—for now. Still, the sight of her stirred a dark desire within me: to destroy the laughter frozen in that picture, to erase the happiness my father gave her while he left us with nothing but pain.