chapter 1

Author's POV

Thirteen-year-old Akira was at home with her grandmother in their quiet, close-knit Chicago town when piercing cries for help shattered the stillness of the afternoon.

Akira stood frozen, her brows knitted and her mouth slightly open, a swirl of confusion clouding her eyes. She strained to understand, but nothing made sense.

Beside her, Mrs. Webster gripped the armrest of her chair, her body quaking with fear. Her wide, anxious eyes scanned the room as if expecting danger to burst through the walls. Her face, drained of color, was tight with worry, every wrinkle etched deeper by the weight of knowing exactly what those cries meant.

The raiders had launched yet another brutal attack on their town. It was a grim and undeniable sign that the Blue Moon pack had fallen in battle against their long-standing rivals. These raiders weren't ordinary invaders—they were an elite force, meticulously chosen by Alpha Arnold himself. Their mission was clear: to hunt down and forcibly recruit young werewolves into their dwindling ranks. After enduring devastating losses in a recent, bloody conflict, they were growing desperate to replenish their numbers.

"Grandma, what's happening?" Akira asked, her voice trembling with confusion and fear as she turned to her grandmother, eyes wide and bewildered.

"Akira, we need to leave. Right now. It's not safe anymore," her grandmother responded urgently, her tone sharp with panic as she hastily began stuffing clothes and a few essentials into a worn duffel bag. They didn't own much—just the bare necessities.

Grabbing Akira's hand tightly, her grandmother led her toward the front door. But just as they were about to step outside, she glanced out the window and froze. Her eyes locked on a group of raiders rapidly approaching their home. Her breath caught in her throat. She stopped in her tracks.

"Akira, listen to me carefully! You need to crawl under the bed and stay completely silent," Akira's grandmother urged, her voice trembling and her eyes wide with fear.

"Grandma, I'm really scared. What's happening?" Akira asked, her voice quivering as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Everything will be okay, Akira. Just do as I say, and it'll all be over soon," her grandmother whispered, hastily shoving the bags out of sight with shaking hands.

Without hesitation, Akira scrambled under the bed, her heart pounding. Moments later, the front door crashed open, splintering wood flying as the raiders stormed into the house.

"Where's your child?!" one of the raiders barked, his voice harsh and commanding, filled with menace.

"I don't have a child, I live here by myself," Akira's grandmother said, her voice steady but laced with urgency, attempting to deceive the intruders. She understood this lie was the only way to keep Akira safe—to stop them from discovering and taking him.

The majority of the raiders spread out and swept their eyes across the cramped, dimly lit room. They rifled through corners and glanced under furniture but found nothing to confirm their suspicions. Satisfied—or perhaps just bored—they began to retreat, their heavy boots thudding against the wooden floorboards.

But one of them lingered.

Unlike the others, this raider had a strange, unsettling presence. His stance was rigid, and his gaze was locked on the bed as if drawn by something invisible.

"Hold up, I smell fear," he muttered, his voice low and chilling. There was something eerie in the way he spoke, something that made the air in the room feel colder. This one wasn't ordinary—he had a rare ability, a twisted gift: he could sense emotions like a predator detecting prey. And in that moment, he felt it clearly—there was someone else hidden in the room, someone other than the old woman.

Akira, who was trembling uncontrollably beneath the bed, was consumed by fear. Every muscle in her body was tense, her breath shallow and rapid, as the distant cries and blood-curdling screams of people outside echoed through the walls, growing louder with each passing second. Terror gripped her like a vice, and she squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could disappear.

Suddenly, a rough, calloused hand thrust itself under the bed. Fingers seized her ankle with brutal force, yanking her out from her hiding place. Akira shrieked in terror, her nails clawing at the floorboards as she was dragged into the open. Her grandmother collapsed onto her knees, powerless and paralyzed by despair, her frail hands reaching out helplessly.

"No! Please, don't take my granddaughter away!" her grandmother cried out, her voice cracking with desperation, as tears streamed freely down her weathered cheeks. Her heart ached with unbearable sorrow—Akira was all she had left. She had already endured the crushing loss of her daughter, Akira's mother, and the thought of losing her granddaughter too was more than she could bear. In her heart, she knew the grim truth: no one taken by the raiders ever returned.

"You old hag! How dare you try to deceive us?!" one of the raiders bellowed, his voice thick with rage. His eyes blazed with fury as he stepped forward, brandishing his weapon. "You'll pay with your life for this!"

"Leave my grandma alone!" Akira cried out, her voice trembling with desperation as she struggled violently to free herself from the tight grip of the raider holding her back.

Without hesitation, another raider unsheathed a sharp, gleaming blade and, in one swift motion, slashed Akira's grandmother. Akira watched in horror, frozen in place as her grandmother collapsed onto the cold, unforgiving floor. Just moments ago, she had been speaking—her voice full of defiance—and now she lay silent, unmoving, a dark pool of blood spreading rapidly beneath her fragile frame.

Akira was yanked out of her home, her limbs flailing helplessly, and thrown into a waiting van already crowded with other captives. The door slammed shut behind her with a metallic clang.

Throughout the entire ride, Akira sat in stunned silence, her eyes wide and unblinking, unable to utter a single word.They pulled up to the grand Blue Moon Pack house, a sprawling estate nestled between towering pines, its stone façade gleaming under the pale afternoon sun. The wrought-iron gates creaked open as the black van rolled slowly to a stop on the circular drive, gravel crunching under the tires. At the top of the wide stone steps stood a tall, dark-haired man in his mid-30s, clad in a sleek black coat that matched the intimidating air around him. His posture was rigid, commanding, and his sharp brown eyes were locked onto the van with the cold patience of someone who had been waiting.

His presence alone seemed to draw silence from the trees. The raiders, clad in rough leather and dark gear, climbed out swiftly. With a unified motion, they bowed their heads low in deference.

"Greetings, Alpha Arnold," they said, their voices low and reverent, as if afraid to disturb the calm before the storm.

Without a word, the Alpha gave a curt nod. At his signal, the raiders moved quickly, yanking open the rear doors of the van. Akira and the other captives were pulled out one by one, their wrists bound and expressions dazed with exhaustion and fear. They were lined up before the steps like offerings.

Akira stumbled slightly as she was shoved forward, but her balance returned with the rush of adrenaline. Then she heard it—Alpha Arnold. The name struck her like a slap, sharp and jarring. Her breath hitched, eyes widening as her memory flared awake. He was the one who had sent the raiders. He was the one who had torn her from her home.

Rage bloomed in her chest like wildfire. Her shoulders straightened, and her trembling ceased. Slowly, she lifted her head, her blue eyes locking on the Alpha's with a burning fury. Her lip curled, and her glare cut through the air like a blade.

Hatred blazed in her gaze, clear and unyielding.

She would never forget his face. And she would never forgive.

After being evaluated, Akira was sent to the servant quarters, deemed too young and undeveloped to manifest her wolf powers. Stripped of status, she was forced to live as a slave, laboring in silence and shadow until her 18th birthday—the destined day she would finally awaken her wolf abilities.

Four years passed.

Now seventeen, Akira Webster is an orphan marked by quiet resilience. Her long, flowing brown hair tumbles down her back in soft waves, catching the light with each step she takes. Her hazel eyes, a striking blend of green and brown, shimmer with mystery and unspoken emotion, setting her apart in any crowd. Her skin holds a warm, sun-kissed glow, a testament to long days spent outdoors. Her lips are full, naturally shaped with a gentle curve that softens her delicate features. Standing at just 5 feet 2 inches, Akira has a petite, graceful frame that moves with a subtle elegance born from years of quiet endurance.

Akira was still without her wolf powers, but she had developed a fierce determination, carved from pain and sharpened by loss. Though the others around her could shift with ease, feeling the ancient pulse of the wolf within, she remained in human skin—an outcast in her own kind. But her spirit, fierce as a storm-churned sea, refused to bend. Her grandmother's death, cruel and senseless, had planted a fire in her chest that refused to die. She would find the one responsible. She would make them pay.

The morning sun bled orange across the misty horizon as Akira stepped out onto the frost-covered path leading to the School of Wolves. Her breath came out in pale puffs, but the cold did not faze her. Her boots crunched against the gravel, each step a promise. Today, she would begin her training—not just to understand her species, but to prove that even without powers, she was still a force to be reckoned with.

She was just tightening the straps of her worn leather bag when, out of nowhere, a sharp sting exploded across her cheek. The crack of the slap echoed through the morning air. Her head snapped to the side, strands of raven-black hair falling into her eyes. Stunned, she blinked, slowly turning her face toward the source.