The Blind Alpha

A howl split the air, low and resonant.

The bucket slipped from my hand, the crank spinning out of control. My heart raced as the sound echoed, filling every corner of the pack lands.

It wasn’t just any howl. This one was deep, raw, and electric.

Wolves froze mid-step. Conversations died. Even the wind seemed to hush.

“That’s him,” someone whispered.

I didn’t have to ask who. Everyone knew.

Our alpha. Our monster.

No one saw him unless he wanted to be seen, and even then, you didn’t look. Not into his eyes.

The stories said you wouldn’t live to talk about it if you did.

The howl faded, leaving the air thick, pressing down like an unseen hand.

A flicker of something sparked in my chest, sharp and unsteady, like the first strike of a match. It wasn’t fear, though I should’ve been afraid.

It wasn’t anger, though the pack had given me plenty of reasons to be.

For something more. For something I couldn’t name.

I turned back to the well, tightening my grip on the crank. The day was long, like all the others before it. My muscles ached from hauling grain and water, my skin roughened from the ceaseless labor assigned to me. That was the way of things—mortals served. If you couldn’t shift, you worked.

I wasn’t the only one. Other mortals existed within the pack, but they were younger. Still hopeful.

I’d passed hopeful years ago.

At twenty-one, I was an anomaly. No one whispered about my potential anymore. I was past the threshold, past the time of promise, past the age when wolves found their form.

But something inside me refused to let go.

The night air wrapped around me as I made my way toward the creek. It was my only sanctuary—where I could strip away the filth and, for a moment, forget that I didn’t belong.

The communal baths were never an option. Not for someone like me. Weakness was blood in the water, and I had enough wounds that hadn’t healed.

The creek was safer. The cold bite of the water was harsh, but honest. It didn’t mock me, didn’t question why I was still here, still waiting for a shift that would never come.

Here, beneath the moon’s watchful gaze, I could exist without their judgment.

Just for a little while.

The water burned against my skin as I stepped in, shocking the tension from my muscles. I let it steal the heat of the day, washing away dirt, sweat, and the invisible weight of servitude.

Then—

A snap of a twig.

I stilled, my breath caught in my throat.

Slowly, I lifted my head, scanning the tree line. Shadows stretched long beneath the moon. Silent.

Still, the feeling remained. The weight of unseen eyes pressing in. Watching. Waiting.

“Hello?” My voice carried over the water, barely above a whisper.

No answer.

A shiver danced along my spine as I forced myself to move, finishing rinsing off before climbing onto the bank. My fingers trembled as I redressed, stealing glances toward the darkened woods. Whoever—or whatever—had been there was gone now.

At least, I hoped so.

The walk back to the pack house felt longer than usual. My boots scuffed against the worn wooden steps as I pushed the door open. The warmth of the common room wrapped around me, thick with the scent of burning wood and damp bodies, but it did little to chase away the lingering chill clinging to my skin.

I kept my head down as I wove through the space. No one paid me any mind. They never did.

The mortal quarters were in the far corner of the house, tucked away like an afterthought. The room stretched wide, lined with cots, barely separated by personal belongings—threadbare blankets, small wooden trunks, the occasional candle flickering low.

I made my way to my own cot near the back, sinking onto the thin mattress. Exhaustion dragged at my limbs, but sleep refused to come. My mind circled back to the howl, the way it had crawled beneath my skin, stirring something deep inside me.

Something I didn’t understand.

Something awakening.

My stomach tensed, a deep warmth unfurling in my core, curling, pulsing.

My breath caught as I shifted against the blankets, my body suddenly restless, aching with something I couldn’t name. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing it away, but the sensation lingered, teasing the edges of my awareness before fading into nothingness.

Gone as quickly as it came.

I exhaled, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding.

What was that?

A dream? A trick of exhaustion? Or was it something more?

I didn’t have an answer, but I knew one thing for certain. Alpha Theron’s howl wasn’t just a call to the pack. It was a signal.

And somehow, impossibly, it had reached me, too.

I rolled onto my side, pressing my fingers into my stomach as if I could hold onto whatever stirred inside me. But the warmth had vanished, leaving only a whisper of its presence behind.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed.

And that whatever had begun tonight—it wasn’t done yet.

When I woke, the room was bathed in golden light. I sat up, my feet finding the cold floor as my mind tried to process what had happened.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was a byproduct of the stress and fatigue, a side effect of living in a body that wasn’t quite what it was meant to be.

Still, as I rubbed my eyes, something about the feeling wouldn’t let go. I couldn’t explain it, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t just a passing moment.

I shook my head and dressed quickly, trying to shake off the lingering confusion.

There was work to do, and no time to indulge in questions. The pack would be up soon, and the day would begin.

The heat in my belly might have faded, but the unanswered feeling gnawed at me, and I couldn’t help but wonder, as I stepped outside into the crisp morning air, if maybe that sensation was a sign.

A sign of something coming. Something that had to do with me. Something that had to do with the wolves.

They made sure they were never around to face the disappointment. There were plenty of jobs within the pack lands, but they chose one that kept them constantly moving—traveling for the alpha and his army, always on the road, always away. They never returned for long, and when they did, they never sought me out.

I was an afterthought.

Easier to leave behind.

Their disappointment was etched deep into their silence.

I had no siblings, no extended family, no one to lean on but the wolves—and they were too busy with their own lives to care about a mortal standing at the bottom of their hierarchy.

So, I was alone.

But there was one thing I held onto, something that kept me from drowning in the despair that always threatened to rise: the other mortals around me. Despite everything, despite the years of work and toil, I found moments of solace in them.

The conversations between the boys and girls who still held onto their humanity, just as I did, were my small escape from the world of wolves that always seemed to loom over me.

A girl no older than sixteen stood beside me most days, passing a heavy bag of grain to another. Her name was Lina, and though she hadn’t shifted yet, I could see the faint shimmer of anticipation in her eyes.

She was barely old enough to understand the full weight of what that change meant, but she was already eagerly awaiting it.

“Hey, Selene,” she said as we worked. “How do you think it’ll feel when we shift? Do you think we’ll be able to hear everything, like the stories say?”

Her curiosity was genuine, her words not born from mocking but from that deep, unrelenting hope.

Her questions were the kind of questions I used to ask when I was her age—before I learned that hope could be a dangerous thing when you had nothing to base it on.

“I don’t know,” I answered quietly, forcing a smile. “Maybe…maybe it’s like everything coming alive inside you. But I think it’s different for everyone.”

Lina looked at me for a long moment, her brow furrowed as if she was trying to understand.

“You think maybe...you’ll be able to shift soon?”

The question stung.

I had no answer for her—no good answer, at least.

“I’m not sure,” I said, my voice steady. “But I think when it happens for you, you’ll know. Just like you know when it’s your time to do something else.”

She nodded, her expression still thoughtful, but she didn’t press.

It wasn’t her fault that I couldn’t shift.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

As we continued working through the day, more of the mortals drifted into the barn, chatting with one another while they worked.

They talked about their dreams of shifting, their families, their expectations for what the future would hold once their wolves came to the surface.

They spoke of hunting, of pack runs, of standing tall with the wolves, of becoming one with the strength that came with the shift.

And though I couldn’t bring myself to join in their conversations about the changes they so eagerly awaited, I didn’t mind listening.

For a moment, the weight of my loneliness didn’t seem so heavy.

They still saw me, treated me like one of them, even if I wasn’t.

Even if I was the odd one out, the one who didn’t belong in their world.

But I couldn’t help the ache that settled deep inside me as I watched them.

I was supposed to be one of them, too.

As the day wore on, I found a small moment of peace when I was left alone in the barn, sweeping up the last of the hay.

The others had all gone off to gather water or tend to the supplies, leaving me with the quiet.

It was then that I allowed myself a moment of rawness, letting the weight of everything wash over me.

I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t shifted.

Why I was still here, stuck in the human world, in a place I didn’t belong.

But deep down, I could feel the stirring inside me—the same pull I felt earlier, the one that burned in my belly, just out of reach.

It was still there, waiting.

And I wasn’t sure if it was a sign that maybe my time was finally coming, or if it was just another cruel reminder that I would never be enough.

But somehow, in the company of the other mortals, I kept going, kept moving forward, because it was all I could do.