Page 2 of Runt of the Pack
“Ready my jet,” I command the betas, my voice deathly quiet. They bow and swiftly depart. “Enrico, you remain in charge during my absence,” I tell my enforcer.
He bows low. “Of course, Alpha. I will not fail you. However...” his words drift into silence.
I frown. “Well?” I utter impatiently. “Speak.”
He swallows hard. “I don’t think you should go alone, my Alpha,” he finally says. “At least allow me to set up a team. They could—”
“That is out of the question,” I dismiss.
“But, Alpha Vladimir...”
“This is something I must do on my own,” I say, my tone leaving no room for discussion.
I stride out of the room, visions of Grisha’s dying screams already flashing through my mind. He will pay in blood and fear for betraying my family and harming my brother. And his death by my hand will prove to Gavriil that despite the rift between us, blood runs thicker than water.
As I prepare for departure, rage and icy purpose fill me.
“I’m coming for you, Grisha,” I vow under my breath.
2
ANYA
Sestroretsk, Russia.
The biting wind whips through my threadbare coat as I move across the long driveway, canvas clutched tightly in my grasp. Ahead, Yulia Lebedev’s imposing doors loom like a beacon, promising shelter from the icy gusts.
It’s been five months, and I still can’t believe my luck, that the eccentric former art curator would stumble upon one of my paintings in a quaint shop in town. Luckier still, that she has steadily commissioned me for her grand hotel projects ever since. Thanks to her, my wintry landscapes now grace the walls of prestigious hotels like the Ritz and Hyatt in Moscow. Deep down, I can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment at how my art is simply reduced to mere decor. However, with the harsh winter months upon us, securing food and warmth remains my sole priority.
I press the ornate doorbell, its melodic chime echoing inside the manor. Rubbing my numb fingers, I wait for the housekeeper to answer.
The massive door soon swings open, revealing Yulia Lebedev herself rather than a servant. She’s a woman in her mid-sixties, tall and rail-thin, with an elaborate bouffant of platinum blonde hair. Her shrewd grey eyes fix on me as she waves a beringed hand.
“Anya! Come in, come in!” she says. “Let’s get you out of this dreadful chill.”
Yulia ushers me inside, her long ostrich feather coat swirling dramatically around her as she closes out the winter air. Bold styles suit her imperious temperament.
“Good day, Yulia,” I greet her dutifully. With great care, I unwrap the layers of brown paper protecting my latest piece, a moonlit snowscape rendered in icy silvers and blues.
Yulia’s keen eyes widen as she takes in the painting. “Magnificent as always, my dear! Now come, let’s get you warmed up with some tea...”
She links her arm through mine and steers us further into the manor’s warmth, nattering on about her grand plans for my work. I simply nod along, allowing her to claim the conversation as I soak up the respite from the elements.
We lounge in an opulent parlor, and soon, the bitter cold outside seems a distant dream. Yulia’s eyes widen as she takes in the painting. “The colors are so vibrant, even with your limited winter palette. Such light captured on the snow beneath that majestic pine...”
She looks up at me, smiling. “However do you stand out there in the cold long enough to envision such scenes, my girl?” Shaking her head in wonder, she motions for me to follow further inside, out of the bitter wind still gusting through the open door. “Oh, but I know better than to steal an artist’s secrets.” She offers me a warm, teasing expression.
Setting down the small porcelain cup, I force a smile, clamping down on my aggrieved wolf within, howling at the loss of yet another painting. But Yulia is right. I do have a secret, and carefully keep it hidden. My wolf is the sole reason vivid nature scenes like this one flow from my brush, rather than what dull human memory alone could provide.
In the midnight hours, I prowl across isolated forest paths on four steady paws rather than two legs, white fur shielding the tender skin from winter’s worst. With a wolf’s sharp sight, I commit to perfect memory snow-laden boughs gleaming radiant under the full moon’s glow.
My inner wolf sets free during these secret runs. The time spent with her gives me the strength to stand tall and face those who would look down on a solitary outcast like myself.
I trail behind Yulia as she sweeps into a grandiose office at the end of the hall. Her features turn somber as she halts behind the impressive desk. “Have you heard about the storm coming?” she asks, her hand gently resting on the golden handle of a drawer.
I shake my head.
“It’s going to hit tonight, after midnight. They’re saying it could be the worst one in years.” Her voice drops to a cautious whisper. “I know your dacha is rather secluded. Will you be safe, my dear?”
