Page 19 of Alpha Unbound

When I push open the main doors, the scent of old whiskey and polished wood hits first, rich and thick with years of smoke, sweat, and power. The foyer stretches wide and open, floors worn smooth by generations of boots and claws. High beams crisscross overhead, dark with age and low enough to make you feel watched. The fire crackling in the hearth at the far end does little to warm the chill that lives in these walls.

And under it all—pack. The scent is everywhere. Familiar. Expectant. Heavy.

It pulls a memory out of me, sharp and sudden. I was seventeen the last time I sat in this room before I left for the military—before I’d earned my place as anything more than the Rawlings heir. I remember standing in front of the elders, fists clenched at my sides, refusing to bow. My father watched from the shadows, silent as always. He didn’t stop them when they called me soft. Didn’t stop them when they said a real Alpha wouldn’t run off to serve a human chain of command. He just watched. And when I walked out that door, I swore I’d never come back unless I had something worth saying.

Now I’m back. And the silence still carries weight. But this time, it’s mine to break.

Three of the elders are already waiting—Alaric, Bram, and Eddard. All gray wolves, all older than me, and none of them good at hiding their disapproval.

"You’re late," Alaric says without looking up from the hearth.

I ignore that and walk to the bar instead. Pour a shot of smooth single malt. Down it. Then I turn.

"You called this meeting. You can wait until I’ve had a damn drink.”

Alaric’s jaw tightens, a twitch of annoyance barely hidden beneath his usual stoicism. Bram squirms in his seat like he’s weighing whether it’s worth the trouble to comment. Eddard’s eyebrow lifts higher, a slow, deliberate expression that says he’s amused—but only just. They’re not used to being challenged. Not like this.

Eddard raises an eyebrow, but Bram just grunts.

"The McKinley girl’s making trouble," Bram says. "Again."

"She delivered preserves and didn’t flinch," I say. "That’s not trouble. That’s someone knowing her worth and refusing to bow."

"She trespassed," Alaric snaps. "And two of ours gave her what she deserved. A red—especially one with McKinley blood—doesn’t get to strut through Rawlings land like she’s earned the right. They did what needed doing. We should be rewarding them, not questioning their loyalty."

I set the glass down hard enough that it cracks.

"No, what makes us look weak is two wolves intimidating a woman on a delivery run like they're pack enforcers and not glorified bullies."

The silence that follows is thick.

"You planning to do something about it?" Eddard asks. "Because if you don’t..."

"I do." I cut him off. "I will."

They expect me to make a show. Blood. Humiliation.

My hands flex at my sides, fists clenching and releasing. I pace once—sharp, deliberate—then plant my boots and stare them down. Their eyes are on me even when they pretend not to be. Waiting. Wanting proof, I’ll play the same tired game.

But I didn’t come back to echo the old way.

I came to rewrite it. And the first rule is this—no one mistakes restraint for weakness. Not anymore. I didn’t come back here to flex muscle. I came back to lead. And sometimes leadership means knowing when not to bare your teeth.

I have another idea.

I leave without another word and head out behind the house, past the line of pine trees where light doesn’t quite reach, and the air turns colder. The shed sits at the edge of the wild, leaning with age and memory. More claw marks than structure. It’s where we’ve all changed for the run since we were old enough to stop crawling. I remember shifting here for the first time with my father watching. He didn’t say a word then, either. He simply nodded once, as if I had done what was expected.

The run will start here. It always does.

I strip down, fold my clothes with automatic precision, and place them in the bin just inside the door. My boots hit the floor last.

Then I step out into the clearing and let it rise.

The mist coils up fast, lightning snapping in the dark edges of it, the air thick with the taste of copper and change. The earth exhales, and I go with it.

No pain. No fear. Just the wolf.

My paws hit the earth, solid and sure. My coat ripples silver in the moonlight that slips between the trees. The forest accepts me in a way the council never will.

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