LOGINThank you so much for the love you guys have been showing this story. Today, this story has crossed 500 reads, which might be nothing for others, but for me, it is the first milestone in the Blind Alpha and his unwanted mate journey. A special thanks to Elizabeth Jimenez, Kelly Carter, and Lisa Scholl for their invaluable support in the form of comments and gems. Your contributions have truly made a difference and become a source of encouragement for me.
June I wake up before the world does. There is no sound outside my room. No footsteps. No voices. Not even the soft hum of movement that usually lives inside buildings full of people. Just quiet and the faint awareness of my own body reminding me that I pushed it too far. I groan and roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. Everything hurts. Not sharp pain. Not the kind that makes you panic. This is the deep, familiar ache that settles into muscle and bone after a night of violence. My shoulders feel heavy. My ribs protest when I breathe too deep. My legs feel like I ran miles, which I did, in a way. I lift an arm and sniff. Blood. Dirt. Sweat. Yeah. I need a real shower. The kind where you scrub until your skin feels new again. A smirk pulls at my mouth before I can stop it. I remember the screams. The way their confidence cracked when they realized they were not hunting prey. The way fear changed their faces when death looked back at them wearing my skin. I exhale sl
JuneAcademy?The word keeps echoing in my head as I stand there, staring at concrete walls and metal gates like they might answer me back. What the hell is an academy supposed to mean in a place like this?Before I can ask, the main doors open.Two guys walk out, and the air changes instantly.They look like they stepped straight out of an action movie, broad shoulders stretching their black shirts, arms thick with muscle. Not flashy. Not loud. Just massive in a way that makes my instincts pay attention. I have fought some tough people in my life. Men who thought size alone made them dangerous. Standing here, I realize those fights were warm-ups.These guys are something else.“I didn’t sign up for any of this,” I say, stepping closer to Alexei. “I am not here to be part of your cult or whatever this is.”He opens his mouth, but someone else beats him to it.“I told you,” one of the Barbie girls says, flicking her dyed hair back with practiced drama, “she doesn’t have what it takes t
JuneTrees close in around me, tall and quiet, their trunks dark against the sky. I press my back to one of them and slide down until I’m sitting in the leaves, knees bent, breath finally evening out. My bag rests at my side. My pulse hums, not frantic, just like I have been walking for a while.Night wraps around the woods like it belongs here. The dark does not scare me. It never has. There’s something about being outside when the world sleeps that loosens something in my chest. The air feels wider. Cleaner. Like I can take up space without asking permission.I tilt my head back and look up through the branches. A few stars peek through, shy but stubborn. I smile without meaning to. This, right here, feels like freedom. Like this is kind of place where I can belong.I’m not foolish enough to think the trouble is gone. Men like Hayden don’t fade away because they were embarrassed or hurt. They circle. They plan. I know that. I accept it.And yet, I’m not worried.There’s a strange ca
JuneThe apartment smells like old paint and dust when I close the door behind me. The lock sticks, like it always does, and I have to lean my shoulder into it until it clicks. One room. Cracked walls. A ceiling stain shaped like a cloud that never goes away no matter how many times the landlord promises to fix it. The heater rattles even when it is off. The window lets in more cold than light.It is home. Temporary. Mine.I drop my bag on the chair that has one leg shorter than the rest and kick my shoes off near the door. The floor is cold through my socks. The bulb above flickers when I turn it on, then settles into a dull yellow glow that makes everything look tired. That is fine. I am tired too.I move to the corner where my bed sits, pushed against the wall. The mattress sags in the middle, but it is clean. I sit on the edge and pull the small first aid box from under the bed. It rattles when I open it. Gauze. Thread. Alcohol wipes. A needle already threaded because I hate wasti
June I finish wiping the last table by the window, the one that always gets fingerprints no matter how many times I clean it. The café is quiet now, the kind of quiet that only comes after closing. Chairs are flipped upside down, lights dimmed to a soft yellow, the smell of coffee still hanging in the air like it refuses to leave.I like this part of the shift. No customers, no small talk, no pretending I am softer than I am. Just work and the quiet hum of the fridge in the back.I rinse the cloth, wring it out, and hang it where it belongs. Countertops are clean. Pastry case wiped down. Cups stacked just right so the morning crew will not complain. I double check the espresso machine, run water through it, wipe the steam wand until it shines. Everything ready for tomorrow, like the place can wake up without me.I check the clock above the register.Too late. Or close enough to it.If I do not leave now, I will miss it. I turn off the last light and head to the staff locker room.The
CalebI walk up the gravel path toward the main facility, boots crunching underfoot, jacket unzipped because I ran here without meaning to. Old habit. The building sits wide and solid against the treeline, steel and stone mixed with old pack symbols carved above the doors. Jake’s idea. Honor the past while preparing for whatever hell is coming next.A couple of trainers are already outside, running warmups with a group of young wolves. Some of them notice me and straighten like they’ve just spotted trouble.“Morning, Caleb,” one of them calls.I lift a hand and nod. That’s all they get. I’m not here to chat. I’m not here to inspire. I head straight for the entrance like I always do.Inside, the sounds hit me at once. Feet pounding mats. Commands being barked. The crack of fists against pads. Jake’s office is at the far end of the hall. I don’t knock. Never have.Lucas is already inside, leaning against the desk, arms crossed, eyes sharp as ever. Jake stands by the window with a table







