Alpha's Fated Fury

Nadia's POV

"Where do you think you're sneaking off to?"

The harsh shove sent me sprawling across the kitchen floor, my cheek smacking against the cold stone. I bit my lip to keep from crying out—showing pain only encouraged them.

Victoria loomed over me, her shadow stretching across the floor like a dark omen. Her perfect features twisted into something ugly as she signaled to Fiona, whose thick ginger hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail.

"Hold her still," Victoria commanded.

Fiona's meaty hands gripped my shoulders, pinning me in place. I didn't struggle. Experience had taught me that resistance only made things worse.

"Look what we have here," Victoria cooed, circling the pot of stew I'd spent hours preparing for tonight's dinner. "Smells decent for once. Did you actually try today, little traitor?"

My stomach knotted as she dipped her finger into the pot, tasting it with exaggerated pleasure. "Not bad. Shame no one will get to enjoy it."

With a theatrical sweep of her arm, she knocked the pot from the stove. The crash echoed through the kitchen as my heart sank. Hours of work splattered across the floor—meat, vegetables, and broth painting the stones in a grotesque mosaic.

"Oops," Victoria giggled, stepping deliberately through the mess, her boots tracking stew across the clean parts of the floor. "Better clean this up before the head cook returns. And I expect a fresh pot ready in an hour."

Fiona released me with a hard shove. "Next time, remember to bow when we enter a room, lowest omega."

They left, laughing and whispering, their voices fading down the corridor. Only then did I allow myself to slump against the wall, tears streaming silently down my face.

This was my life—twenty years old and treated worse than the pack's hunting dogs. All because my father, Gregory Harlow, once the pack's respected Beta, had betrayed everyone eight years ago. His treachery had cost Camilla Pierce—our Luna and Jaxon's mother—her life when she stepped between me and a fatal blow meant as revenge against my father.

I still remembered her last words to me: "Find your mate, Nadia. They will protect you when I cannot."

The pack's punishment had been swift. My father was exiled, and I was sentenced to servitude until I could transform—if I ever could. Many whispered I was a no-wolf omega, destined to remain trapped in human form forever.

I gathered a rag and began mopping up the spilled stew, my muscles aching from a day that had started before dawn. The head cook would return soon, and if the kitchen wasn't spotless and a new stew wasn't simmering, I'd lose my meager rations for the third day this week.

As I worked, I calculated how much time I had before sunset. Tonight was the full moon—perhaps my last chance. At twenty, I was well past the age when most wolves first transformed. If I couldn't call my wolf tonight, I might never break free from this life.

The kitchen door banged open just as I finished scrubbing the last stain from the floor. I scrambled to my feet, expecting the head cook's wrath, but instead found myself face-to-face with Jaxon Pierce.

Time froze as our eyes met. Even disheveled from training, sweat glistening on his skin, he was breathtaking—jet black hair falling in waves across his forehead, intense blue eyes that once held warmth when they looked at me.

A lifetime ago, we'd been inseparable. I still remembered him teaching me to skip stones across the lake, his patient hands guiding mine, his laughter when I finally succeeded. Now those same hands clenched into fists at the sight of me.

I dropped my gaze and stepped back, pressing against the counter.

"Black mamba," he growled, using the nickname he'd given me years ago—comparing me to a venomous snake, cold and deadly.

"I'm sorry," I whispered automatically, though I wasn't sure what I was apologizing for this time. Existing, probably.

"Sorry?" He advanced, each step deliberate. "Eight years, and that's still all you have to say?"

I flinched as his hand shot out, but instead of striking me, he gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. The hatred in his eyes burned hotter than any physical blow.

"My mother died protecting you," he spat. "She should be here. You should be gone."

"I know," I whispered, tears threatening again. "I wish—"

"Don't tell me what you wish," he cut me off. "Your wishes mean nothing. Your father's blood runs in your veins. Treachery is your inheritance."

His fingers tightened, and I couldn't help the small whimper that escaped me. Something flickered in his eyes—a moment of hesitation, perhaps remembering the children we once were—before hardening again.

"The Alpha Council meets tomorrow," he said, his voice lower now. "They'll decide if you're to be exiled since you've failed to transform. Maybe then we'll all be free of the reminder of what we lost."

He released me with a shove that sent me stumbling against the stove. Pain flared as my arm brushed the hot metal, but I bit back my cry.

"Get out of my sight," he ordered.

I fled, clutching my burned arm, knowing the head cook would punish me for abandoning my duties but unable to remain under Jaxon's hateful gaze another second.

The compound was busy as pack members prepared for the full moon celebration. No one noticed the lowest omega slipping between buildings, head down, making her way to the forgotten storage shed at the edge of the territory.

The shed was my sanctuary—the one place no one bothered to look for me. Inside, moonlight filtered through cracks in the wooden walls, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. I sank onto the pile of old blankets I'd hidden here over the years, examining the angry red burn on my arm.

Exile. The word echoed in my mind. Without a pack, without protection, rogues would find me within days. A death sentence delivered with bureaucratic tidiness.

Tonight was my last chance.

The full moon would rise soon. I could feel its pull already, a restless energy humming beneath my skin. I settled into a cross-legged position, wincing as the movement pulled at my burned skin.

"Please," I whispered to the fading daylight. "Moon Goddess, if you can hear me, please let me find my wolf tonight."

I closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing as I'd seen others do before their first shift. In, out. In, out. Searching for that spark of otherness that everyone said dwelled within.

Minutes passed. Nothing happened.

Desperation clawed at me. "Please," I begged again, louder this time. "I can't survive exile. I need my wolf."

The first ray of moonlight broke through the clouds, streaming through a crack in the roof to touch my face. With it came a searing pain that tore through my chest like lightning.

I gasped, doubling over as my bones seemed to liquefy. Another wave hit, and I bit through my lip trying not to scream. The taste of blood filled my mouth as my spine contorted, vertebrae cracking and reshaping.

"Breathe," a voice whispered in my mind. "No matter what, keep breathing."

I sucked in air between spasms, my vision blurring as sweat poured down my face. My skin felt too tight, my muscles stretching and tearing as they reformed.

"Who—" I tried to ask, but another crack silenced me as my jaw dislocated.

"I'm Nova," the voice answered anyway. "Your wolf. I've always been here, waiting."

The pain intensified until I was certain I would die. My heart raced so fast I feared it would burst. Black spots danced across my vision as I fought to remain conscious.

"Stay with me," Nova urged. "We're almost there."

With one final, excruciating twist, something inside me settled into place. The pain receded like a tide, leaving me gasping on the shed floor, my body trembling but somehow stronger.

"We did it," Nova's voice was clearer now, filled with pride. "We shifted."

I blinked, realizing I could see every detail of the shed with perfect clarity despite the darkness. Scents I'd never noticed before flooded my awareness—old wood, mice that had nested in the corner, the lingering traces of rain from days ago.

And something else—a scent so intoxicating it made my newly awakened senses spin. Earth and vanilla, power and protection, all wrapped in a masculine essence that called to something primal within me.

"Mate," Nova whispered, excitement vibrating through our shared consciousness. "He's close. Can you smell him?"

I struggled to my feet, surprised to find myself still in human form despite the transformation I'd just undergone. But I felt different—stronger, more aware, connected to Nova in a way I couldn't explain.

"Go to him," Nova urged. "Find our mate."

The first light of dawn filtered through the cracks in the shed walls. A new day—perhaps my first day of freedom.

"Find our mate," Nova repeated, her excitement infectious.

For the first time in eight years, I felt hope unfurling in my chest like a fragile flower reaching for the sun.