Beneath the Alpha’s Nose, Chapter 1

There is only one thing I know about loyalty: it never survives a closed door and a whispered deal.

The filigree of the ornate doorknob is worn smooth where centuries of Delacroix wolves have come and gone. Under my fingertips are carvings depicting a pack of wolves sprinting beneath a too-bright moon, their flanks lean, their mouths open for a kill. I almost grin. The old wolves love their drama.

But, the tense voices inside catch my attention. The conversation pushes and pulls with all the force of a pack wrestling a kill.

I lean in, careful not to nudge the edge of the partially opened door further.

Through the keyhole I see my father’s grim face. Torchlight slices the hall, spill-over highlighting the dust floating in the air. Shadow pools in the corners. The ceiling feels lower than usual, the beams hanging heavy.

I recognize my sister’s voice. Leila is righteously indignant, the way only older sisters get. “You can’t just make that call for Ariana without her consent. I don’t care how many votes you’ve got. It’s not right!”

It’s not just my imagination, then. I can’t call this room safe. I can’t even call it mine.

After a pause our father, the family’s Alpha, speaks next. “This isn’t for you to challenge. It’s council business. And it’s settled.”

Council business?

Council means blood and territory. Council means someone’s life about to change, and not because they asked for it. But Father never calls a council without informing all concerned parties. Not ever.

“Rules are rules,” my father continues, “as sure as the moon will rise full tonight.”

The moon is full and rules are rules, but apparently tonight, something is different. This is about me and I’m not in there…

I press up to the keyhole, steadying my breath the way they taught pups to do before their first shift. I focus on how the stone bites cold through my shirt. Anything to stay calm. The full moon amplifies everything, and I’m not about to lose control and start tearing at the walls, no matter how much the animal inside me claws to get out.

Beyond the obvious scents, there’s a thread of something else winding through the air: anticipation, pride, maybe even relief. But underneath, the dry, metallic undertone of fear. Not panic—the Delacroix never panic. But fear, all the same. I file that away.

Leila’s voice again, lower now but still clear: “Have you even heard the rumors about him? The stuff he’s done? They say he broke his last mate. Nobody speaks her name because nobody knows if she’s alive.”

There it is. The cold pit in my stomach gets heavier. I wrap one hand around the other wrist, nails digging into skin, and listen.

My father answers, “It’s too late for this. The bond’s agreed, and the Banes bring us the eastern ridge. It’s security for everyone. That’s how you survive.”

“Security at the cost of what?”

I hear the silence after. I hear the math, the calculations, the resignation. And then, finally, the truth.

“Isaac Banes asked for Ariana specifically. He could’ve picked any wolf in the territory, Leila. This is an honor.”

Leila’s laugh is sharp and ugly. “Tell that to the wolves he’s broken. Tell it to the ones who can still hear.”

Isaac Banes…. The name is a blunt object. The Alpha of the North. Every pack has a Banes story. He’s methodical, he’s brutal, and he always wins. They say his wolves don’t smile. They say you run from his gaze or you drop your eyes. I’ve heard half a dozen stories, not one of them good.

And now Father’s calling it an honor? How does he propose to honor me by handing me over to someone like that?

My hands shake. The more I hear, the hotter that animal rage gets, the harder it is to keep it locked down. My canines itch in my mouth. I want to run. To fight. I want to burst in and flip the table and see what happens.

But inside, the conversation edges toward conclusion. Nathan, my father’s lieutenant, rumbles, “The next full moon. That’s the public announcement. Two moons from now, Banes will come for her and that’s it. Done.”

Two moons. Not even eight weeks.

The growl in my chest is impossible to swallow. It’s a warning, meant for prey. Or for traitors. I try to drag it back down, but it vibrates out of me anyway, soft and angry. Inside the hall, voices stop. Every wolf in there is listening now, scenting the air for her.

Leila, undoubtedly sensing me at the door, tries to distract. She is a good sister. “She’s more than a pawn on the trading board.”

Father turns back to the table. “She’ll be safe, and so will our lands. That’s more than most.”

I feel my nails shifting, the start of a transformation. I grit my teeth and force a slow, deliberate exhale. The beast within wants out, but I won’t give it the satisfaction or them the spectacle.

I move to my left, trying to see who else is in the room, who else I need to hate. Through the gap I see the elders: their faces set, their postures resigned, eyes turned away. I count three, four, five hands gesturing at nothing, old wolves trying to wring sense out of what they’ve decided. One elder, the oldest, leans in, voice so thin I have to hold my breath to catch it: “The Banes blood will make strong pups. Our strength will double in a generation.”

That does it. The nausea hits hard. “Pups.” Not even children. Just assets. That’s how they see me. Not as a wolf who might run under her own moon. Just womb and bloodline.That’s what I’ve become.

I retreat, feeling the shift coming on, no longer able to stop it. No longer caring to.

I take the front steps of my father’s mansion two at a time, my hands clenched into fists. The animal inside has stopped pacing; something colder has taken its place.

They won’t change their minds. I won’t get to argue. I won’t get to bargain. My life is worth exactly as much as the extra acres and the peace of the new border, and not one bit more.

Have they forgotten our Delacroix blood? We’re not meant for leashes. The idea of behaving just because someone stronger says so? Not going to happen. Our family will nod, smile, shake hands. Then, the second it’s turned to our advantage, we’ll twist the terms and walk away with whatever we want. That’s how it’s always been.

So, if Father thinks I’ll just sit and wait for my future to be handed to me, he’s wrong. I just need to make the current deal less attractive, less worth the effort. And then he’ll let go.

I’m at the fence before I know it. Beyond the spear-topped iron bars, the world is a churning, quicksilver blur—moonlit grass, meadows stippled with frost, the dark treeline hunched on its haunches and waiting.

I could stay. Let them see me obedient. Let them think I’ll let him touch me. But they’ve forgotten we’re Delacroix—we don’t kneel. I’ll make this deal rot in their hands before I let it bury me.

My hands won’t unclench. My ribs feel pulled in by wire. The transformation is already happening, and the thought of it used to terrify me, but now it’s a better option than standing here and letting them decide my fate.

The old pack stories say that a child’s First Moon—their first shift—is a beautiful thing, a ceremonial shedding of childhood, but that’s because none of the old wolves remember how much shifting hurts. They’re all used to it.

The agony hits mid-step: tendons snarl and bones grind and stretch, my jaw aches, my nails peel back and regrow sharper, blacker, more useful. I bare my teeth—new and old and all wrong—and double over, pain and fury writhing together until all I can do is want to bite something, anything, everything.

My skin prickles all over, like a thousand needles pressed in at once, then the world splits in half and I’m not sure if I screamed. Maybe I did. Maybe I howled. My eyes burn, then clear, and suddenly the night is so bright it’s blinding. The fence isn’t a barrier anymore. I leap it with my powerful hind legs. The cold bites but it’s nothing compared to the heat in my muscles.

I bolt for the trees, moving fast, aiming for the spot only my uncle knows about. The ground blurs underneath, every inch mapped in memory. If anyone’s going to cage me, they’ll have to catch me first.

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