I sit in my chambers, a glass of rich red wine cradled in my hand, swirling lazily as the fire crackles in the hearth. The warmth of the flames dances across my skin while the scent of oak and wine fills my nostrils. My thoughts are still, my muscles relaxed, but that peace is shattered when I hear it

A series of howls, wild and unfamiliar, breaking the stillness of the night. They are not my pack. No, they do not carry my scent. These are strangers, intruders, and they are far too close to my territory. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as the primitive part of my brain recognizes the threat.

My heart pounds with a mix of irritation and instinct. I am the alpha here, and this land is mine. I have marked every inch of it, left my scent for all to know. No one encroaches on what is mine without consequence. With a deep, satisfied breath, I set my glass down and stand, my fingers flexing in anticipation. The cool stone beneath my feet grounds me as I prepare for action.

I’ll deal with them

Without hesitation, I shift, my bones cracking and reforming as I move from the shape of a woman to that of a wolf. The transition is natural, swift, and effortless. In my wolf form, I stand tall and imposing, my fur dark as midnight, eyes gleaming with the ferocity of my bloodline. My claws sink into the stone floor as I stretch muscles that have lain dormant all day.

I leave the safety of my castle and step into the cool night air, my paws sinking into the soft earth beneath me. The crisp night air carries the scent of pine and damp soil as I move with purpose, each step a declaration that I am the one who rules here.

The scent of intruders is strong now, filling my nose with the stench of their arrogance and the metallic tang of blood. As I reach the edge of the forest, I stop, lifting my snout to the air, sniffing. I find them. Several males, their scent thick with dominance, but there is something else in the air, something I wasn’t expecting.

A faint scent of an omega, fragile, panicked, and tinged with the undeniable heat that rolls from her body like a wave. The scent makes my mouth water and my instincts roar to protect, to claim.

The omega’s scent is... strange. It’s not one I recognize. The little wolf is a rare one, a white wolf. I’ve seen them only a few times in my life. Too pure, too beautiful, too different from the others. And yet, her scent is tainted, mixed with blood. She's wounded. My protective instincts flare even stronger at this realization.

I stalk forward, eyes narrowing as I spot them in the clearing. The males are circling the omega, as if they think they can take her. The omega is small, her white fur standing out against the darkness like a beacon, though bloodstained and torn from their claws. She’s struggling, weak, trying to fight them off. But they are larger, stronger. The sight of her defiance despite her injuries stirs something deep within me.