The Shadow of the Crimson Alpha

I drag my aching body through the pantry, finishing the final preparations for the guest suites. Blood has dried and crusted on my bicep from the Luna's claws, a stiff, aching reminder of the target painted on my back. I push the pain aside, focusing on the tasks. I had Judd order fresh floral bouquets for every room, arranging them carefully on the nightstands to make the spaces feel alive. In the guest Alpha's sprawling suite, I leave a heavy glass bottle of expensive champagne resting in a silver bucket of ice. If Luna Helena makes good on her silent threats in the hallway and tomorrow brings my death, I want my final act to be something that brings another person a sliver of joy.

It hits one-thirty in the morning by the time I finally collapse onto my lumpy, thin mattress. My muscles scream in protest with every movement. The day has been a waking nightmare, draining every ounce of my strength. Nix whimpers in the dark corners of my mind.

"Shift," she begs, her voice fragile and weak. "Please, Cal. I need you to shift."

"I cannot," I whisper into the dark, empty room. I have zero energy left in my bones. I keep promising her I will let her out, but I feel like I am breaking that promise with every passing hour. Sleep drags me under, filled with the sounds of my wolf crying in my head while my own tears soak into the rough pillowcase.

My alarm blares hours later, shattering the brief escape of sleep. Nix pushes against my consciousness, making me swear to hang on for just one more miserable day. I drag myself out of bed and stumble toward the cracked mirror above the sink to get ready for a life I despise.

I freeze. My reflection stares back, but something is wrong.

The dull, lifeless strands of my hair are gone. Over the course of a single night, my hair has turned an unbroken, shocking shade of silvery-white. It catches the dim bathroom light, shining with an unnatural, vibrant gleam. Panic grips my chest, tightening my throat. I cannot let anyone in the pack see this. I grab the heavy mass of silver, twisting it into a brutal, tight bun at the base of my skull, pinning it down until my scalp throbs. I jam my faded baseball cap over my head, pulling the brim down as low as it will go to hide the evidence.

Early afternoon brings the Crimson River delegation. They swarm the packhouse lobby, a terrifying wave of muscle, heavy ink, and jagged scars. They wear sharp black-and-white business suits or dark tactical security uniforms, looking more like an invading army than house guests. I keep my head down, hauling heavy glass pitchers of ice water and sweet tea into the sitting room. I try to blend into the shadows, making myself as small as possible.

"You there, omega," a sharp voice snaps.

I look up. A woman with striking green eyes and black hair pulled into a severe ponytail points right at me.

"Wine. Bring wine for everyone."

Luna Helena steps forward, her tone dripping with fake hospitality. "Beta Roanna. Of course. Right away." Helena shoots me a deadly glare, nodding her head toward the door.

I sprint to the cellar. I load a rolling service cart with two heavy cases of wine, crisp napkins, and crystal glasses, pushing it back into the sitting room. I pop the corks on three bottles of red and three of white, leaving the rest for them to open as they please. I back out of the room in silence and dive straight into the kitchen for dinner prep.

The rest of the day moves without disaster. The guests devour the dinner service, plates returning to the kitchen scraped clean. Late in the evening, I walk the quiet halls, knocking on each guest suite door to ensure everyone has what they need. A few guards ask for extra bags of chips or sodas, but overall, the visitors seem content with their accommodations.

The final door belongs to the Beta. I knock softly. Beta Roanna pulls the door open. She wears a faded blue t-shirt and dark jeans, looking vastly different from the intimidating enforcer barking orders in the sitting room. A massive tattoo of a rose intertwined with a dagger sprawls across her forearm. Her face is bare of makeup, making her look much younger, only a few years older than me. From inside the room, I hear a deep male voice—her mate—talking on the phone.

"Thanks for checking on us," Roanna says, offering a warm smile. "Everything is wonderful. The flowers are a beautiful touch. You have great taste."

I bow my head in a silent show of respect and pivot to walk away.

"Wait. What is under your hat?" she asks. Suspicion laces her tone, cutting through the friendly atmosphere.

My boots lock to the floorboards. The blood drains from my face. A cold knot twists in my stomach. I turn around slowly.

"I am sorry, ma'am?" I ask, my voice shaking.

"Your hat. Why is it pulled down so low? What are you trying to hide?" She steps out of the doorway, closing the distance between us. "Come closer."

I force my feet to move. I stop in front of her and reach up, my fingers trembling as I peel the cap off my head. I keep my eyes glued to the floor. The tight bun gives way, and my silver hair cascades down my back. It is unwashed, greasy, and visibly dirty. Heat rushes to my cheeks in a wave of embarrassment.

"Oh, I see," she breathes out, surprise coloring her voice. "Now, do not be disrespectful. Always look me in the eye when I speak to you."

I force my chin up. The harsh hallway light hits my face. She stares blankly, her eyes darting across my features as her brain tries to process the sight.

"What are you? A hybrid?"

"No, ma'am. The pack doctor ran tests, but he does not know why it happened. He thinks it must be a physical transformation related to my wolf getting ready to wake up." It is the lie the doctor told, and I stick to it. I cannot tell a stranger my wolf claims I am the Moon Goddess's daughter. That would guarantee a trip to a padded cell.

Roanna reaches out and grabs my chin. She pulls my face inches from hers, her green eyes narrowing as she inspects my skin. "And does this doctor know someone broke your nose recently? You still have dark bruises all over your face."

"He treats my injuries in the past," I deflect, keeping my answer vague. I refuse to implicate my abusers to a visiting Beta.

"Who is at the door, Roanna?" her mate calls out from inside the room.

"Just the omega assigned to us, Silas. What is your name again?" she asks me.

"It is Calliope, ma'am, but please call me Cal. I am not an omega, though. I am just a servant."

"Her name is Cal," Roanna calls over her shoulder. "She picked out my beautiful flowers."

She keeps her tight grip on my chin, her brow furrowing as she sizes me up. The intense scrutiny makes my skin crawl, making me hyper-aware of every flaw and bruise on my face.

"That is nice," Silas replies. "Ask her if I can get some bubbly water in the refrigerator."

"No problem, ma'am," I say, sharing a brief, tense smile with her at the term 'bubbly water'. "I will bring it shortly and leave it at the door."

"Thank you." Roanna drops her hand from my face. Her expression hardens into a stark warning. "And Cal. If those bruises are not healed by tomorrow morning, find some powder to cover them. Alpha Gaelen Thorne does not tolerate seeing injuries like that."

"Y-yes, ma'am."

I bolt for the stockroom. I grab four chilled bottles of San Pellegrino, rush back to drop them at her door, and run away as fast as my legs will carry me. My mind spins in chaotic circles. Will their Alpha kill me for being a weak, bruised servant? Will Roanna tell Alpha Kaelen about my strange silver hair?

My terror regarding the visiting Alpha is overshadowed when Alpha Kaelen intercepts me in the hallway later that night. His face is twisted in a cruel sneer. I failed to stock a specific brand of mints in one of the guard's rooms. A minor mistake, an oversight of an exhausted mind. But for Kaelen, it is an open invitation for violence.

He grabs me by the throat and drags me down the concrete steps into the damp, windowless basement. He forces me against the cold wall. The heavy leather whip cracks through the stagnant air, slicing into my back with brutal force. Flesh tears instantly. Blood splatters across the gray concrete floor. I bite my tongue to keep from screaming, tasting hot copper in my mouth. He strikes me over and over, the leather biting deep into muscle, ripping the skin from my spine and shoulders. He leaves deep, jagged gashes that burn like white-hot fire. He beats me relentlessly until his arm grows heavy and tired, leaving my back a raw, shredded, bleeding mess of ruined tissue.

By morning, Nix has failed to heal the catastrophic damage. The deep, vicious wounds remain open, raw, and oozing clear fluid and blood. I drag my shaking body out of bed, digging through my meager belongings to find the loosest clothing I own. I pull on a baggy black t-shirt and thin shorts with a stretched-out waistband. Every breath I draw is sheer agony. The cotton fabric sticks to the raw meat of my back, peeling it back every time I shift my weight.

I force myself to endure the morning chores. Cooking heavy meals over the hot stove, hauling metal breakfast trays down the long corridors, leaning over to aggressively scrub the dining tables. Every movement causes the fragile, fresh scabs to stretch and rip open. Hot, fresh blood trickles down my spine. The back of my black shirt grows damp, heavy, and sticky with my own blood, plastering the fabric to my open wounds.

Beta Roanna crosses paths with me in the corridor. She makes direct eye contact. Her gaze drops to the dark, wet blood soaking through the back of my black shirt. Her jaw tightens, a muscle feathering in her cheek, but she remains silent.

Despite the agonizing pain tearing through our body, Nix bounces around in my mind all morning, humming with weird energy.

"The Beta is so nice!" Nix cheers. "I cannot wait to meet the Alpha and Luna!"

"Nix, come on," I groan mentally, lifting a heavy stack of porcelain plates. "We are not going to meet the Alpha and Luna. We are going to melt into the wallpaper and pretend we do not exist."

"Pshh. I want to meet them."

"Okay, well I hate to break it to you, but you are going to be disappointed."

Macy rushes into the kitchen while I prep the lunch service.

"The Alpha has arrived," she says, grabbing a towel. "You need to make a plate for him too. But Cal... there is no Luna. He does not have a mate. And he is incredibly handsome."

I nod, ignoring the burning sting in my back. I do not care how handsome he is. I am going to be wallpaper. I do not want this man to notice me at all.

I carry the heavy food trays into the grand conference room. Alpha Gaelen Thorne is absent, but a large chair sits empty at the head of the long table. I set a steaming plate of food at his designated spot. The Crimson River wolves nod their heads, offering quiet, polite thanks as I lay plates in front of them. Their pristine manners betray their lethal, intimidating features. No one from the Iron Moon pack speaks a single word to me. I collect the empty breakfast trays and slip out of the room. Macy offers to clean the dishes so I can focus on the massive dinner and party prep.

The heat of the kitchen suffocates me. My back throbs a relentless, burning rhythm. I need a minute to collect myself before starting the dinner rush.

I push open the heavy back door and step out onto the concrete stoop. The cool breeze washes over my sweaty, bruised face. I look out toward the edge of the tree line. In the distance, a man stands alone, smoking. I do not recognize him. It has to be the Alpha from Crimson River.

He is too far away for me to make out his facial features. All I can see is a tall, imposing figure clad in a sharp black suit, his dark hair catching the afternoon light. The wind shifts, carrying his cigarette smoke directly toward me.

I brace myself for the harsh, acrid stench of tobacco.

Instead, a rich, intoxicating aroma wraps around me. Heavy, roasted coffee beans mixed with the decadent, sweet bite of dark chocolate. It hits my senses like a physical weight, warm and unexpectedly delicious.

I blink, staring at the distant, imposing figure. This lethal, terrifying Alpha is a mocha drinker? The scent is so rich and sweet, pulling me in and making my mouth water. It is the absolute last thing I expected to smell coming from a man who commands an army of heavily tattooed wolves.

Despite the agonizing pain ripping through my back, a spark of pure, curious amusement flares in my chest, cutting through the darkness of my day. I shake my head, a soft laugh escaping my lips at the ridiculous, comforting image of the big, bad Crimson River Alpha sipping on a sweet mochaccino in his tailored black suit.