Chapter 2 - Summoned
The sharp tug in my mind made me wince, Alpha Lucas’s command echoing through the bond like a lash.
All females to the den. Now.
The words left a sting behind, a weight that pressed into my chest until I exhaled hard through my nose. Of course. I set down the crate of dried beans I’d been stacking, brushing the dust from my hands. My nails were cracked, my palms rough from the endless labor that wasn’t even mine to begin with.
Lyra’s chores were mine again—food inventory, pantry stocking, the endless cycle of work she never touched. My parents insisted I cover for her, always. She was too delicate, too precious to dirty her hands. Lyra was the shining jewel of our family, while I was the dull stone no one wanted to claim.
I bit back the frustration burning in my throat. No point fighting it. No one ever listened when I tried. Every time I argued, it only ended the same way—more chores, more punishments, more silence where there should have been warmth.
The den loomed ahead as I entered the wide corridor, its walls carved in thick stone and timber beams that carried the weight of centuries. It was the heart of the pack house, echoing with power and tradition. My stomach twisted as I stepped inside.
A chill slid down my spine.
Every female was already there, lined up in neat rows across the broad floor. The air was heavy with their scents—lavender soap clinging to skin, sharp perfume that bit the nose, and beneath it all the faint tang of sweat and wolf musk. It was too sweet, too cloying, and I resisted the urge to wrinkle my nose.
I slipped quickly to the side, tucking myself at the edge of the rows, away from Lyra and her circle of eager sycophants. Away from the ones who sneered at me when no one was looking. They shifted their weight from hip to hip, tilting their chins in practiced movements, lips glossed and parted in coy smiles. They had mastered the art of using their bodies to get what they wanted.
I didn’t want to be like that.
I wanted to be strong. I wanted to be more. I wanted to be me, without having to beg for scraps of affection.
At the front, Alpha Lucas stood tall. His posture was flawless, every line of him radiating control. In his hand was a sheet of paper, crumpled slightly at the edges from his grip. On either side of him stood my father—Beta Maverick—and Darin. Both men flanked him like shadows, their expressions carved into masks of power.
My father’s shoulders were stiff, his jaw clenched tight as if to keep words caged inside. Darin’s gaze, however, wandered the room, slow and assessing. When it landed squarely on me, the corner of his mouth twitched in something between amusement and hunger.
I dropped my eyes instantly, heat rushing to my cheeks.
The silence was suffocating. The shuffle of a few stragglers hurrying into line was the only sound. Then Alpha Lucas’s voice filled the den—deep, resonant, and unyielding.
“The annual Alpha Gathering will take place next week,” he declared, his tone like iron striking stone. “This year will be different. The Elders have decreed that every pack must present all of-age females before the Council. No exceptions.”
A ripple of whispers stirred through the room, soft but sharp as blades. My stomach dropped into a cold pit.
Lucas’s eyes swept the crowd, his presence pressing down like a storm. “We are wolves. We are family. We thrive not as individuals but as one. Our duty is to each other, to the pack, and to the blood that binds us. Without loyalty, there is weakness. Without unity, there is failure. And without honor, there is nothing.”
Honor. Duty. Family.
The words rattled around in my head like hollow bones. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. What did Lucas know about honor, when he looked the other way every time my parents shoved their shame onto me? What did he know about family, when he let their cruelty carve me hollow?
But I kept my face blank, my head low. I had no choice. I wasn’t eighteen yet. Until then, I had to fall in line.
Lucas unfolded the paper in his hands, his jaw tightening. For the briefest second, anger flashed across his face before he smoothed it away. A growl rumbled from his chest, low and dangerous, silencing the whispers.
“Elder Thora has issued a list,” he said, his voice sharp and deliberate. “By name.”
The room held its breath.
He began to read, each syllable like a hammer striking stone.
“Abigale. Carry. Ella. Gia. Jackie. Mara. Tessa. Willow.”
The names echoed off the stone walls, each one landing with a weight that made the air heavier.
“Kira.”
He stumbled. His lips curled around my name like it was bitter on his tongue, like spitting poison.
My cheeks burned hot as dozens of eyes flicked toward me. Whispers stirred. I stared at the floor, forcing myself not to shrink under their scrutiny. My throat closed, but I didn’t move.
“Lyra. Aleria. Rina. Solene. Veyra.”
My sister. My mother. Even they hadn’t escaped.
Each name was a nail driven into the silence. My chest grew tighter with every strike, my lungs aching as if I couldn’t draw in enough air.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Lyra shift. Her lips twisted into a satisfied smirk, as though my humiliation was the sweetest wine she’d ever tasted. My mother’s jaw locked, her fury a storm she could barely cage. And Darin—Darin’s eyes slid back to me, that same mocking amusement tugging at his mouth. He looked like he relished every second of it.
The Gathering was coming.
And for the first time in my life, I would not be invisible.
Whether I wanted to be or not.