Chapter 1: Hot Springs
The air in the training grounds tasted like sweat and damp earth.Hana let the wooden practice knife drop from her fingers into the mud. It landed with a dull thud that nobody noticed over the grunts and clashes of the others. She took a careful step backward, then another, melting into the treeline with the effortless silence she never bothered to employ during pack meetings.Screw drills.Screw defensive stances. The afternoon sun was a pale gold coin in the sky, and the hot spring up in the crags was calling her name.
The hike was a familiar, winding ascent through pine and sharp granite. By the time the sulfur-tinged steam reached her nose, the faint ache in her muscles from the bit of training she’d actually done had begun to whisper.She pushed through a final curtain of thick ferns.
The clearing was a private bowl of warmth, mist hanging in the cool air. Mineral-rich water, clear and perfect, bubbled gently over smooth, dark stones. It was pack land, technically, but forgotten by most at this hour.
She shrugged out of her thin tank top and leggings, leaving them in a heap on a dry rock. The air pebbled her skin for a moment before she slipped into the hot, embracing water. A sigh leaked from her lips as the heat unspooled the knots along her spine.Heaven.This was worth a thousand boring drills.
She leaned back, letting her shimmering blonde-white hair float around her like a halo, her green eyes closed. The world narrowed to the sound of her own breathing and the gentle pulse of the spring.A branch snapped.
Her eyes flew open.A figure stood at the edge of the clearing, silhouetted against the bright sky. She didn’t need to see the details to know the towering build, the way he held himself with an authority that seemed to warp the air around him.Lucien.He didn’t move. He just stared, his expression a granite mask.Hana didn’t flinch. She didn’t cover herself. Instead, she sank a little deeper, letting the water lap at her collarbones, and offered a slow, wicked smile.
“Alpha,” she called out, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet.“Decided to skip protocol review? I’m impressed.”
“Your trainer reported you missing,” Lucien’s voice was low, a controlled rumble that vibrated in the hollow of her chest. He stepped forward, the light finally hitting the sharp planes of his face, the jet-black hair, those icy blue eyes currently fixed on her with chilling intensity.
“And you personally had to hunt me down? I’m flattered.” She traced a finger across the surface of the water.“Want to join me?It’s great for tension. You look… tense.”
His jaw tightened.“You left your post.Again. You flout every rule placed before you.Dress like a distraction at formal gatherings, disrupt rituals with your laughter. Do you have any concept of duty?Of respect?”
She tilted her head. The mist beaded on her pale lashes.“I have a concept of boredom.Your rules are boring. Your drills are boring.This,” she gestured around the serene clearing, “is not boring. I’m not hurting anyone.”
“You’re setting an example.”
“A fantastic one. Live a little.”
“You are a member of this pack, Hana. You do not live for yourself alone.”
She laughed then, a bright, musical sound that seemed alien in the face of his severity. “Sounds grim.”
He took another step, stopping at the very edge of the pool. His shadow fell over her. From this angle, he looked even more immense, a mountain of disciplined muscle and simmering frustration. Her wolf, a usually playful and irreverent creature, stirred inside her, not in fear, but in sharp, sudden awareness.A prickling alertness.
“You are the Beta’s daughter.Your behavior reflects on him. On the entire pack structure.”
“My father stopped being able to tell me what to do when I was sixteen,” she said, her smile not faltering. “What makes you think you can?”
For a long moment, he was silent. His gaze, however, dropped from her eyes for a fraction of a second.It was a mistake. She saw it—the fleeting, involuntary track of his look across the water, over her bare shoulders, the line of her throat.It was gone instantly, replaced by a colder, harder glare.
But she’d seen it.Her smile turned feline.Knowing.“Is that all, Alpha? Or did you just come to admire the view?”
A low growl escaped him, purely animal. The sound skittered down her spine, not unpleasantly.“Get out.Get dressed. You will return to the training grounds and complete double the drills.”
“Or what?” she challenged, her voice dropping to a taunting murmur.
“Or I will drag you back myself.”
The image flashed in her mind: his powerful hands breaking the water, closing on her skin. The heat in the pool suddenly felt less geologic and more visceral.Her pulse kicked, a traitorous rhythm against her ribs.
She held his stare, the game teetering on a new, dangerous edge. The air crackled, thick with steam and unsaid things. His control was a palpable force, but she’d just seen a hairline fracture in it.A fracture she’d put there.
Slowly, deliberately, she rose from the water.Water cascaded down her body in rivulets. She made no hurried move, no attempt to hide.She saw his muscles lock, his breath catch. His wolf was in his eyes now, the blue blazing with something far hotter than ice.
She walked past him, the cool air a shock on her wet skin.She picked up her clothes, taking her time. She could feel his gaze burning into her back.“Double drills,” he repeated, his voice strangled.
She pulled her tank top on, the damp fabric clinging. She glanced over her shoulder, her green eyes gleaming with triumphant mischief. “You know, Lucien, for an Alpha, you spend an awful lot of time looking at things that offend you.”
She didn’t wait for a response. She stepped into her leggings, gathered her shoes, and walked barefoot back toward the path, leaving him standing alone in the steam, the water still churning from where she had risen.
She stepped into her leggings, gathered her shoes, and walked barefoot back toward the path, leaving him standing alone in the steam, the water still churning from where she had risen.
The walk back to the training grounds was cooler, the shade of the pines a sharp contrast to the spring’s humid embrace. Her skin still hummed, not from the heat, but from the look in his eyes. That frozen, furious crack in his control. It was better than any victory she could remember.
The grounds were quieter now, the afternoon session winding down. A few dedicated wolves were still running obstacle courses or sparring in the dirt rings. Her trainer, Markus, a burly wolf with a permanent frown, spotted her immediately. He pointed a thick finger toward a stack of wooden weapons and an empty practice circle.
“Double drills. Alpha’s orders,” he grunted, then turned his back, dismissing her.
Hana rolled her eyes so hard she saw her own brain. She sauntered over to the equipment. A worn practice sword, a few dull knives, a grappling dummy slumped on a post like a depressed scarecrow.
She picked up the sword. It felt clumsy and dead in her hand. The idea of swinging it over and over, practicing the same defensive parry Lucien had mandated last week, made her soul feel limp. She gave the dummy a half-hearted poke in the stomach. It swayed.
For about ten minutes, she moved around the circle. She didn’t drill. She played. She balanced the sword on her finger, tossed a knife in the air and caught it behind her back, used the dummy’s arm to pretend she was waltzing. She made up a little song under her breath about stuffy Alphas and the virtues of thermal springs.
Markus glanced over once, saw her moving in the circle, and turned away, satisfied by the motion.
Finally, bored of her own improv, she dropped the sword into the dirt with a definitive thud. She wiped her perfectly clean hands on her leggings and called out, her voice bright and carrying.
“All done! Double drills, completed. My muscles are so educated.”
Markus turned, his brow furrowed. “That wasn’t half the time, girl.”
“I’m a fast learner,” she chirped, already walking backward toward the path that led to the main lodge. “The Alpha didn’t specify a duration, he specified an amount. And I feel doubled. See you tomorrow!”
She didn’t wait for his protest. She spun on her heel and broke into a light jog, the promise of the pack kitchen pulling her forward. The confrontation at the spring had burned more energy than she’d thought. She was starving.
The main lodge’s kitchen was a cavern of warmth and noise, always stocked. She pushed through the swinging doors and was greeted by the rich, savory smell of tonight’s stew simmering in a vast pot. No one else was around; the dinner rush was hours away.
She grabbed a bowl from a shelf and ladled it dangerously full. A hunk of crusty bread, still warm from the oven, completed the prize. She didn’t bother with the dining hall. She hopped up onto a clean stretch of stainless steel countertop, legs swinging, and dove in.
The first blissful bite was still in her mouth, the tender meat and herbs flooding her senses, when the kitchen door swung open again.
The atmosphere didn’t change. It shattered.
Lucien filled the doorway. He had changed, but the rigid set of his shoulders was the same. He’d clearly gone straight from the springs to his own rounds, and now here he was. His ice-blue eyes scanned the room and landed on her, perched on the counter like a pleased bird, cheeks full of stew.
He didn’t speak. He just stared. The silence was heavier, more dangerous, than any growl.
Hana swallowed, slowly. She tore off a piece of bread, her gaze not leaving his. “Kitchen’s open,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by the food. “Help yourself. The stew’s good today. Not boring at all.”
He took one step inside. Then another. The door swung shut behind him with a soft, final click. The only sounds were the burble of the stew pot and the faint, steady tap of his boots on the tile floor as he walked toward her. He stopped a few feet away, close enough that she could see the dampness still at the tips of his black hair, smell the clean, sharp scent of him underlain with the faintest trace of sulfur from the springs.
“Markus says you completed your drills.” His voice was quiet. A razor wrapped in velvet.
“I did,” she said, taking another bite, watching him over the rim of her bowl.
“He says you were… inventive.”
“I’m a creative person.”
“You mocked my order.” It wasn’t a question. It was a cold, flat fact.
She set the bowl down beside her. The game in the clearing had been fun. This felt different. The kitchen was too enclosed. His presence was too focused, a laser point aimed directly at her defiance. The playful thrill curdled slightly, mixing with a sharper, more electric current of awareness.
“I complied,” she countered, tilting her head. “You said double drills. I did… movements… twice. If your orders are vague, that’s a leadership problem, not a compliance problem.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. He lifted a hand, and for a wild second, she thought he might reach for her. Instead, he braced it on the countertop beside her hip, leaning in slightly. He didn’t touch her, but he caged her in. The heat from his body radiated toward her, replacing the kitchen’s warmth with something far more concentrated.
“You are trying my patience, Hana.” His voice dropped, becoming almost intimate. It scraped against her skin. “You think this is a game. You think your father’s status is a shield. It is not.”
Her heart was pounding now, a hard, swift drum against her ribs. Her wolf was wide awake, bristling, but not with fear. With a challenging, eager tension. She refused to lean back, to give him an inch.
“What are you going to do about it, Lucien?” she whispered, the taunt leaving her lips before she could think better of it. “Lock me up? Make me chop wood? You’ve tried all the boring punishments. They don’t stick.”
His eyes flashed, the blue darkening like a deep winter sky just before a storm. His gaze fell to her mouth, then back to her eyes. The memory of the spring was between them, thick as the steam had been.
“Maybe,” he said, his voice so low she felt it in her bones, “I need to try a different approach.”
The kitchen door burst open. Liam, a young pack scout, rushed in, skidding to a halt as he took in the scene—his Alpha cornering the Beta’s daughter on the kitchen counter. He flushed, stammering.
“Alpha—forgive the intrusion. The southern patrol—they’ve reported a scent. Rogue wolf. Strong. Just inside our perimeter.”
The spell broke. Lucien straightened up instantly, all the intense, personal focus shifting into something cold, hard, and operational. The Alpha was back, fully present. He gave Hana one last, searing look—a promise that this was not over—before turning to the scout.
“Details. Now.”
He strode from the kitchen, Liam trailing behind him, already rattling off coordinates. The door swung shut.
Hana sat on the counter, her legs still dangling. The stew was cooling in the bowl beside her. Her appetite was gone, replaced by a vibrating, restless energy. She touched her lips, still feeling the ghost of his stare.
A rogue wolf. Trouble. Real trouble.
A slow, new smile spread across her face. This was suddenly much more interesting than hot springs or dull drills. She hopped down, leaving the half-eaten stew behind. She had a feeling things were about to get very, very un-boring.
She had a feeling things were about to get very, very un-boring.
The lodge transformed into a hive of controlled chaos. Alarmed voices clipped through the halls. Warriors, who minutes before had been lounging or mending gear, now moved with sharp purpose towards the armory. The scent of worry was thin but present, cutting through the usual smells of pine and hearth-smoke.
Hana wove through the sudden activity, a ghost of indifference. She heard the fragments: “...fresh track...” “...powerful, angry...” “...Alpha is leading the sweep at dusk...”
Dusk. That gave her a few hours.
The idea bloomed fully formed, a perfect, glowing flower of payback. That searing look in the kitchen, the way he’d caged her in—it demanded a response. Not a tantrum. Not a shouted insult. Something clever. Something that would hit him right in that impeccable, rigid dignity.
His quarters were in the most secure wing of the lodge, but security was designed to keep threats out, not incorrigible betas in. She knew the patterns. Knew when the patrols shifted. Knew that Marcus, who usually stood guard there, would be in the war room right now, getting briefed on the rogue.
She took a circuitous route, avoiding the main thoroughfares. A little-used servant’s passage, a narrow staircase behind the laundry, a stretch of hallway lined with dusty storage rooms. Her heart beat a quick, thrilling rhythm against her ribs. This was better than a hot spring. This was a game with real stakes.
The door to his private study and adjacent living space was heavy oak, banded with iron. Locked, of course. She pulled a hairpin from her shimmering braid. Her father, in a vain attempt to curb her wanderings years ago, had hired a locksmith tutor. For securing your own treasures, darling, he’d said. She’d learned how to break in far more effectively than she’d learned how to lock up.
The mechanism was simple, well-made but not paranoid. A soft click echoed in the silent hall. She slipped inside, closing the world out behind her.
The room smelled like him. Crisp linen, old books, cedar, and underneath it all that unique scent of dominant wolf—cold air and lightning. It was intensely personal. A neat desk dominated one side, reports in perfect stacks, pens aligned. A sitting area by a cold fireplace held two austere chairs. A single bookshelf, organized not by color but by some system only he understood. No personal effects. No photographs. It was the room of a general, not a man.
It made the mischief taste even sweeter.
She went to the adjoining bedchamber. The bed was made with military precision, the dark grey blankets taut enough to bounce a coin. The wardrobe held a row of identical black shirts and trousers. Sterile. Orderly. Oppressively serious.
Her prank needed to be a splash of color on a monochrome canvas. It needed to be absurd. It needed to scream Hana was here.
A grin spread across her face. The bathroom. Everyone’s most vulnerable place.
His bathroom was just as sparse: stone tiles, a large walk-in shower, a single shelf for necessities. She rustled through her pockets. She’d pilfered supplies on her way through the quiet kitchen, after ditching her stew.
First, the shampoo. She emptied half the bottle of his clear, unscented cleanser down the drain and replaced it with a thick, vibrant pink bubble bath solution that smelled like synthetic strawberries and candy. She gave the bottle a good shake.
Next, the towels. The stack of plain white ones sat on a shelf. From another pocket, she produced a small, potent fabric dye sheet in a neon, electric lime green. She ran the corner of it under the tap in the sink until the water ran faintly green, then carefully dabbed the damp, dyed corner onto the center of every folded towel. Just a small, inexplicable stain. The sort of thing that would infuriate a man of fastidious habit.
The masterpiece was the toilet. She carefully lined the entire rim under the seat with a thin, transparent strip of plastic wrap, pulling it taut and smoothing it down. A simple, juvenile trick, but profoundly effective in its humiliation.
She stepped back to survey her work. It was good. It was petty. It was perfect.
Her final touch. On his stark, clean desk in the study, she placed a single item from her other pocket: a small, plastic, grinning wolf figurine, the kind found in a child’s prize machine. She stood it right in the center of his most important-looking report.
She took one last look around her handiwork, a quiet laugh bubbling in her throat. Payback time. Let him come home from chasing monsters and find his sanctuary turned silly. Let him think of her, of this, when he was supposed to be thinking of borders and threats.
She slipped out as quietly as she’d entered, relocking the door with a soft snick. The hallway was still empty. The distant murmur of pack preparation was a dull rumble.
As she vanished back into the shadowed passageway, she wondered which would be more fun: imagining his face when he discovered it all, or watching the icy, controlled fury he’d try to mask when he saw her next. The rogue wolf was a problem for the Alpha.
But she was becoming a problem for the man.
The prank fizzed in her veins like champagne as she slipped back into the common areas of the lodge, adopting an air of bored innocence. The energy in the pack had shifted, sharpened.Warriors moved with a grim focus, checking weapons and communications gear. The scent of ozone and pine—activated wolves—was strong.
She lounged in the great hall, pretending to scroll through her phone, listening.“Lucien’s taking a small team. Direct engagement only if necessary.He wants to assess.” That was Marcus, his voice a low gravelly hum.
“The scent was… agitated.Not just passing through,” another responded.
Hana watched from beneath her lashes as Lucien emerged from the war room.He was a different man now. The one who had caged her in the kitchen was buried under ten feet of command. His movements were economical, purposeful as he accepted a satchel of gear. His ice-blue eyes swept the room, missing nothing.They passed over her, a brief, dismissive scan that should have felt like nothing. It felt like a brand.“Kael, you’re with me. Ronan, Sasha, you’re on the western flank.Silent running.We observe. Understood?” His voice carried, not loud, but absolute.A chorus of “Yes, Alpha” echoed.
He led them out, a dark stream flowing from the lodge into the gathering twilight. Hana waited a beat, two.The lodge settled into a quieter, watchful tension. The fun was outside now, with the real danger.Her little bathroom stunt felt suddenly… small.Childish.
She found herself drifting to the large west-facing windows, peering into the deep blues and purples of the forest. She couldn’t see them.Of course she couldn’t. Lucien was a ghost when he wanted to be.An hour bled away.The night grew fully dark. Reports trickled in via radio to the communications desk—terse, coded updates.No contact yet.Scent trail cold. Moving north.Boredom, that old enemy, gnawed at her again. The thrill of her rebellion had faded, leaving a restless hollow. She paced, the quiet lodge suddenly feeling like a cage. Her wolf, usually so content to lounge and mock, was prickling, pacing the same track inside her mind.
She ended up on the back porch, the cold night air biting through her thin top.The forest was a wall of black. Somewhere out there, Lucien was hunting a real threat.And she was here, having plastic-wrapped a toilet.
A sound shattered the quiet—not from the forest, but from the side of the lodge.A heavy, wet thump. Then a low, pained whimper.Her head snapped toward the noise. All senses sharpened.That was a wolf.One of theirs.
She moved without thinking, leaping off the porch and rounding the corner.The light from a security lamp pooled on the gravel, illuminating a nightmare.
Ronan. He was in human form, naked and shivering, propped against the lodge’s stone foundation. A brutal, deep gash ran from his collarbone down his torso, weeping dark blood that looked black in the yellow light.His face was ashen.
“Ronan!” Hana dropped to her knees beside him, her hands fluttering, unsure where to touch. The smell of blood and raw meat was overpowering.“What happened? Where’s Lucien?”
“Ambush,” Ronan gasped, his eyes wide with shock and pain. “It was… a trap.The rogue… not alone.There were two. They split us.” He tried to push himself up, winced, and fell back with a groan. “The Alpha… he ordered a retreat.Kael and Sasha are covering him.He’s… he’s coming in hot. They’re on his tail.”
A cold that had nothing to do with the night air seeped into Hana’s bones.Lucien was being pursued.Back to the lodge.
“Get inside, warn the others,” Ronan gritted out.But it was too late. A snarl ripped through the darkness, too close, followed by the sound of snapping branches. Two massive wolves burst from the treeline, eyes blazing with feral amber light. One was huge, mangy-furred, with saliva dripping from its jaws. The other was sleeker, moving with a terrifying, silent grace.They weren’t just rogues.They looked… tactical.
They ignored Ronan and Hana, their gazes fixed on the tree line behind them, waiting for their prey to emerge.Hana’s mind went blank, then crystal clear. They were laying a trap right here, at the den’s doorstep.Lucien would run straight into them.
She heard it then—the swift, hard rhythm of a wolf running flat out.Coming closer.
The two rogue wolves tensed, haunches coiling.Move.Now.Hana didn’t shift. She was fast, but not a fighter.She was a distraction.A problem.
She scrambled to her feet, grabbed a heavy clay flowerpot from beside the porch steps, and with a running heave, launched it not at the wolves, but at the large picture window of the main hall. It was a stupid, loud, brash move.The pot exploded through the glass with a deafening crash.
The two rogue wolves flinched, their focus broken for one critical second. Their heads whipped toward the violent sound.In that splinter of time, Lucien exploded from the forest.
He was in wolf form—a giant, midnight-black beast, muscles powering beneath his fur. He wasn’t fleeing.He was charging.He must have heard the crash, understood the diversion. He changed his trajectory mid-stride, angling away from the waiting jaws of the larger rogue and plowing into the sleeker one with the full, brutal force of his momentum.
The impact was a sickening crunch of bodies.Snarls, the sharp rip of claws finding purchase, filled the night.
The larger rogue lunged at Lucien’s exposed flank.
“Hey!” Hana screamed, her voice raw.She had nothing left to throw. She kicked a spray of gravel at its eyes.It wasn’t enough, but it was another second.Another flicker of divided attention.
That was all Lucien needed. He shook off the sleeker wolf, whirled, and met the larger rogue’s lunge with a crushing snap of his own jaws. He caught the rogue’s foreleg, and the sound of breaking bone was a dry, awful snap.
A howl of pain erupted.The sleek rogue, bleeding from its shoulder, gave a sharp yelp. The two of them melted back into the shadows of the forest, their coordinated hunt broken.
Lucien didn’t give chase. He stood panting, his sides heaving, dark fur matted with blood—his own or theirs, it was impossible to tell. His piercing blue eyes, still locked on the tree line, slowly turned. They found Hana, standing frozen in the spill of light, her chest heaving, hands clenched at her sides.He shifted. It wasn’t a smooth, cinematic change. It was a hard, painful-looking dissolution of form, leaving him kneeling on the gravel, human, naked, and bleeding from three deep slashes across his ribcage. The authority was still there, etched into the grim lines of his face, but tempered by pain and the residual fury of the fight.Pack members poured out of the shattered doorway, others from side entrances. Voices rose—urgent, medical.Someone rushed to Ronan. Someone else moved toward Lucien with a blanket and a medic kit.Lucien ignored them all.His gaze held Hana’s. It wasn’t gratitude.It wasn’t anger. It was a raw, scorching assessment.She had never seen that look on him before. It stripped away the pretense, the roles, the game. In that moment, she wasn’t the Beta’s bratty daughter.She was the variable he hadn’t accounted for. The one who’d shattered a window and changed the equation of an ambush.
He stood, shrugging off the helping hands, wrapping the blanket around his waist.The blood streaked his torso. He took a step toward her, his footfall crunching on the broken glass from the window she’d destroyed.
The pack fell silent, watching.He stopped in front of her. The night smelled of blood, broken greenery, and his exertion.
“You,” he said, his voice hoarse from the fight, quiet enough for only her to hear.“My study. Now.”
He turned and walked inside, not checking to see if she followed.He knew she would.The game was over. Something else had begun.