Chapter Text
✧₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧
I wake to the sound of wolves.
Not the distant howl of the wild kind, but the familiar rhythm of ours—a low, echoing call that starts in the mountains and winds down into the valley like thunder through pine. Volkovna is stirring, and the pack stirs with it.
I slip from my bed and drift to the open window, the cool Alaskan air kissing my skin. It smells like pine, damp earth, and sea salt carried in from the nearby coast. The sun hasn’t fully risen—just a pale gold glow brushing over the snow-dusted peaks of the Chugach Mountains, casting long shadows across our city below.
And at the top of it all stands the Volkovna manor, our home and stronghold. Gray stone and dark timber, gabled towers and jagged rooftops cutting into the morning sky like the bones of some ancient beast. My father, Roman Volkovna, built it with his own hands—brick by brick, blood by blood.
The estate itself stretches across acres, equipped with sweeping halls carved in old Russian motifs, roaring fireplaces, and windows that frame the Alaskan wild like paintings. Gardens of hardy evergreens and frozen ponds flank the grounds, a training yard littered with claw marks and the scent of our pack’s power.
My alarm chimes softly, a sharp break in the quiet, snapping me out of my thoughts. School. Right.
I turn away from the window and tug on a black sweater and my favorite pair of jeans—soft from wear, ripped at the knee—and boots, as always. In the bathroom, I brush my teeth, dab on a bit of blush and mascara—just enough to accent the sharpness of my gray eyes—and let my dark hair fall loose around my shoulders.
I bound down the wide staircase, the scent of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee guiding me to the kitchen. Mom stands at the stove, her blonde hair glowing in the morning light, her hands deft as she flips pancakes. Her blue eyes flick to me, warm and knowing. “Morning, baby,” she says, her voice a sweet hymn.
“Morning,” I call back, as I reach the bottom. Koda’s already there, of course, leaning one hip against the counter like he owns the place, plucking bacon straight from the pan before she can even finish cooking it.
“Koda!” Mom scolds, swatting his hand with a spatula, a smile tugging at her lips.
He grins, unrepentant, and I laugh, the sound bright in the warm air. Kian, my twin, stumbles in, his dark hair a complete mess, yet still somehow pulling it off. He yawns as big as ever as he grabs a mug from one of the cabinets, “Coffee,” he mutters, gray eyes half-open.
“Make me one too,” I say, handing him a mug from the dishwasher. He takes it with a nod, pouring us both steaming coffee, the rich scent curling around us.
Reina bursts in just then, her dark braid swinging from side to side. “Pancakes ready?” she asks, tossing her backpack down.
I slide into the chair beside her, and Mom plates our bacon and pancakes. Kian hands me my coffee, and I immediately take a sip from it, “Thanks.”
Kian nods, taking a sip of his coffee as well, the steam curling around his face as we all dive into breakfast. The kitchen hums, plates clinking, voices overlapping in that familiar, chaotic chatter. I savor the crispy bacon, the fluffy pancakes dripping with sweet syrup, and glance up at Mom. “Dad still out?” I ask.
She nods, her blue eyes calm. “Patrolling with the others. But he’ll be back by the time you guys get out of school.”
“Cool,” I say, just as Koda, ever the opportunist, swipes another strip of bacon from Mom’s plate, dodging her playful glare with a sly grin. Reina continues to shovel pancakes into her mouth, muttering through a full bite, “This math test is gonna kill me.” Her green eyes flashing with frustration, but there’s a spark of determination there too.
We finish our breakfast in record time, a well-practiced dance. And Kian stands first, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice gruff but warm, leaning down to kiss Mom’s cheek.
I grab my backpack, we all do, and we mirror Kian’s goodbye, each one of us circling Mom for our morning kisses. Koda plants a quick one, Reina adds in a hug, and I give her a quick peck on the cheek.
“Have a great day,” she calls, her voice a gentle tone as Kian opens the door, fishing his keys from his pocket with a jingle.
“We’ll try,” Reina shoots back, her words dripping with sarcasm, a smirk tugging at her lips as she adjusts her braid.
We pile out into the crisp Alaskan air, and scramble into Kian’s rugged black truck. Kian slides behind the wheel, cool and in charge, while I claim shotgun.
Koda throws himself into the back, limbs everywhere, sprawling out like he owns it. Reina climbs in after him and immediately shoves his shoulder. “Move over, you giant! I need room!”
Koda snorts, nudging her right back. “Chill, little alpha. You’re tiny, you fit anywhere.” His grin is pure provocation, and Reina’s green eyes narrow like twin daggers.
“Tiny? I’ll show you tiny,” she mutters, jabbing him in the ribs. Koda retaliates with a punch to her arm—and just like that, it’s on. A full-blown scuffle erupts in the backseat, all flailing limbs and growled threats.
Kian exhales a tired sigh as he turns the key, the truck’s engine rumbling to life, drowning out the bickering in the back. “Both of you, knock it off. I’m driving here, not babysitting.” His tone is dry, but I catch a glimpse of a smirk as he pulls down the winding drive, the dark pines and mountains of snow blurring past.
I lean back in my seat, a grin spreading across my face. “Admit it, Kian, you love to boss them around. It’s your thing.”
He shoots me a look, gray eyes mirroring mine, and mutters, “Like they ever listen though.”
Koda’s knee then slams into the back of my seat, clearly still fighting with Reina, proving Kian’s point perfectly. So I whip around, reaching over the headrest, and grab both of their heads, yanking their hair without mercy. They both yelp in unison, clawing at my hands. “It was cute for five seconds,” I growl. “Now cut it out.”
I let them go with a final shove, forcing them to opposite corners like unruly puppies. Reina huffs, smoothing her dark hair, clearly pissed off that I ruined the braid she worked on this morning. “You didn’t have to pull that hard, Ro. Damn.”
Koda rubs his head, frowning at me too. “Yeah, we were just messing around.”
I settle back into my seat, not caring about their pissy moods in the slightest. “Then maybe don’t kick my seat with your yeti feet.”
Kian laughs under his breath as he navigates the frosty roads. “And that’s why you’re the babysitter.” I roll my eyes at him, but a small smile still manages to tug at my mouth.
We finally turn onto Dimitri’s street, and I watch Koda’s entire demeanor shift as we get closer to the house. He immediately perks up in the backseat, leaning forward between the front seats with that mischievous glint in his eye I know all too well. His fingers reach for the truck’s touchscreen, already scrolling through the bluetooth settings.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn, batting his hand away from the screen. “No country music, Koda. I’m serious—put that crap on and I’ll throw your phone out the window.”
He pulls back just long enough to flash me that infuriating grin of his, the one that says he’s about to do exactly what I told him not to. “Relax, Ro. Jesus. I made the perfect playlist just for you guys.”
Before I can stop him, he’s already connected his phone. A twangy banjo riff immediately floods through the speakers, accompanied by some crooning voice singing about dirt roads and pickup trucks.
Reina’s reaction is immediate and theatrical. She claps both hands over her ears and throws her head back against the seat. “Oh my god, Koda! You’re actually the worst! Turn it off before my ears start bleeding!”
“You have no taste,” Koda shoots back, but he’s laughing, clearly enjoying our torture.
I’m already reaching for the screen to disconnect his phone when he catches my wrist, his grip firm but playful. “Not so fast, Princess.” His eyes narrow in mock warning.
That nickname. God, I hate that nickname.
“What have I told you about calling me that?!” I unbuckle my seatbelt and twist in my seat, lunging between the gap to grab a fistful of his dark hair. He yelps and immediately retaliates, his hand shooting out to yank on my own hair in return.
“Children! Literal children!” Kian’s voice rises above the chaos, exasperated but with that edge of amusement he can never quite hide. The truck swerves slightly as he tries to keep control while his twin sister and little brother wrestle like wolf pups in his vehicle.
Meanwhile, Reina has her phone out, recording the whole thing with a delighted grin plastered across her face. “God, I love it when you two fight. This is going in the group chat for sure.”
“Reina, don’t you dare—” I start, but Koda’s got a handful of my hair and I’m too busy trying to pry his fingers loose.
The truck lurches to an abrupt stop, and Kian reaches back with one long arm, grabbing me by the back of my sweater and physically hauling me back into the front seat. “Knock it off. Both of you. I’m serious!”
His alpha tone cuts through the chaos—not quite a command, but enough to make both Koda and me freeze mid-struggle. I huff, smoothing down my now-disheveled hair, while Koda slouches back with his arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Before either of us can start round two, the back door swings open, and Dimitri’s face appears, his eyebrows raised in amused judgment as he takes in the scene. “Morning, puppies,” he drawls, his smirk knowing and just a little smug. “What’d I miss? World War Three?”
Koda immediately brightens, his sour mood evaporating as he shoves over to make room. “Dimitri! My man! Tell your best friend she has terrible taste in music.”
“Koda was playing country,” I explain flatly, as if that’s all the justification needed.
Dimitri climbs in, tossing his backpack onto the floor between his feet, and lets out a low whistle. “Ah. Yeah, that explains the violence.” He settles into his seat, his presence somehow managing to lighten the energy even more. “You know better than to inflict that on Ro, dude. She’s got standards.”
“Thank you,” I say, shooting Koda a triumphant look.
Reina leans forward from the opposite side, her smirk sharp as a blade. “He’s a lost cause, Dimitri. Honestly. Good luck trying to fix that.”
Dimitri chuckles, reaching over to mess up Koda’s hair in that brotherly way that somehow never starts another fight when he does it. “Oh, I know. Trust me, I’ve tried.” He shoots me a wink, and I can’t help but crack a smile.
Kian shifts the truck back into drive, and we roll forward, the conversation flowing easier now, bouncing between the five of us like a rhythm we’ve perfected over years of being packed into this same truck, driving these same roads. Koda tells some ridiculous story about nearly shifting during gym yesterday because some sophomore challenged him to a race. Dimitri chirps in with commentary. Reina scrolls through her phone, occasionally interjecting with sharp one-liners that make us all laugh.
I lean back in my seat, watching the familiar landscape blur past—the snow-dusted pines, the mountains rising like ancient guardians in the distance, the sky still holding onto that soft morning light.
And I can’t help but marvel at my family. My pack. The people who know me better than anyone.
We’re chaotic and messy and sometimes we fight over stupid things like music and backseat space, but we’re bound together by something deeper than blood. We’re born of the same legacy, shaped by the same land, running through life like we own the world.
Because in Volkovna, we do.
✧₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧
By the time we pull into the parking lot of Volkovna High, the lot is already half full. The school itself is built low and long, dark stone and cedar beams blending into the edge of the surrounding forest. A single wolf statue stands at the front steps—stone-gray, snarling, with eyes that always seem to follow you. One of my father’s little touches.
As soon as we step out of the truck, heads turn, conversations quiet, and eyes follow. It’s not that we’re trying to draw attention—we just do. We’re the Volkovna kids, the Alpha’s blood, the Pack’s legacy. And every wolf here, from freshman to senior, knows it. Smells it.
Most of the students here are wolves—shapeshifters from families my father brought over, or descendants of those who found their way to Volkovna over the years. They’re all strong, fast, and loyal, but none of them are alphas. That’s us.
We’re the only ones born with the command in our blood, the ones everyone else follows. Our name, the Volkovna name, runs like iron in this town, and our dad? He’s practically a living legend around here.
They nod to us as we pass—some out of respect, some out of fear. A few hold our gaze a little too long, trying to size us up, testing boundaries they’ll never cross. One kid—a new omega, I think—nearly trips over his own backpack trying to move out of our way.
We head over to the lockers, and Dimitri strides up next to me, hands in his jacket pockets, his gait easy and unbothered. He’s not an alpha, but you’d never guess it by the way he moves, by the way he walks beside us and doesn’t flinch.
“Feels weird today,” he murmurs, eyes scanning the crowd.
Koda stretches his arms behind him, cracking his knuckles and yawning like the world’s just a little too slow for his liking. “That’s just envy in the air, bro. Smells like desperation to me.”
Reina gives a short laugh, rolling her eyes. “More like wet dog and bad coffee.”
We pass a group of juniors loitering near the trophy case, the conversation around them dying mid-sentence. One girl—tiny, freshman maybe—dips her head low when we pass, a subtle submission that doesn’t go unnoticed.
Reina clocks it, sharp as ever, and flashes a fang of a smile. “Cute,” she murmurs under her breath.
Our lockers are all lined up along the same stretch of the east wing, a row carved out just for us at some point during freshman year—probably because the principal figured it was better that way.
I spin my combination and pop my locker open, the scent of vanilla and cedar drifting from my jacket inside. Kian does the same beside me, taking out his Physics textbook—the one class he’s vowed to make his bitch this year, after having failed it multiple times. “Let’s just get through today,” he says, eyes scanning the halls like he’s already anticipating a problem. “And no one punch anyone unless they start it first.”
“Damn, there go all my plans,” Koda mutters.
✧₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧
The day bleeds by in that same rhythm it always does. Class to class, hallway to hallway. Teachers who’ve learned not to push us. Students who know when to look away. There’s a constant undercurrent of unspoken rules dictating how others interact with us.
By the time seventh period rolls around, I’m already halfway through mentally reciting the Pushkin piece we’re supposed to annotate. Russian Lit is my favorite class—not just because of the content, but because it’s familiar. An echo of the old country, of stories whispered across firelight and blood.
I slide into my usual seat by the window, curling one leg beneath me, letting my gaze wander out across the tree line beyond the school. The windows are fogged just enough to blur the sharpness of the pines.
Mr. Lermontov, ancient in the way only certain wolves can be, is scribbling a passage across the whiteboard in neat Cyrillic. He hums ‘Bayu Bayushki Bayu’ under his breath—a Russian lullaby mom used to sing to us when we were pups. It’s peaceful, almost meditative.
Then the door opens up again.
I glance up, more out of habit than anything else, expecting a latecomer or someone from admin. But instead, it’s neither of those things, it’s just . . . a boy. A new face. Tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a too-thin hoodie. Dark, unruly hair falls over his forehead, and he moves with an easy confidence, like he doesn’t know we can smell his blood.
Because he’s human.
I can smell it on him immediately—clean, raw, and painfully mortal. No Pack signature. No wolf beneath the skin. Just blood, breath, and a heartbeat.
My first instinct is to dismiss him—he’s just another transfer kid who doesn’t realize he’s walking into a school built on teeth and dominance. And when he turns around, when he looks around the room like he’s trying to find somewhere to sit—
Green eyes.
They find mine across the chatter of the class, and the world tilts.
A shiver races down my spine, warm and electric, as if every nerve of mine has been set on fire. I’m frozen, caught in between something primal and something ancient. My senses lock onto his every move—the tilt of his head, the curve of his jaw, the quiet rhythm of his breathing. My vision narrows until all I can see is him.
Holy shit.
I think I just imprinted.
A wordless bond snaps into place, vast and infinite. My instincts howl in quiet submission, my wolf lunging forward to claim him, to make him mine.
Mr. Lermontov clears his throat, oblivious to the hurricane detonating in my chest. “Class, we have a new student joining us today. Luca Bennett.”
Luca.
Of course his name has to sound like a curse wrapped in velvet.
He nods at the teacher, offering a polite smile that belongs in a different world—one without bloodlines or instincts or hierarchies, one without fangs just waiting to tear into flesh.
Mr. Lermontov scans the room, “There are a few open seats. Take your pick.”
My heart lurches.
There’s one in front of me.
No. No, no, no.
I watch, frozen, praying to the ancestors I don’t believe in that he chooses one—any one—across the room.
And thank the moon, he does.
He makes his way to the far side of the classroom and slides into a seat near the wall. My lungs release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, but it doesn’t help. My chest is still too tight, still too full. I feel my hands trembling beneath the desk.
What the hell just happened?
Why me?
Imprinting is rare—beyond rare. The last recorded imprint was in the 1600s, passed down in bloodline lore and cautionary whispers. It’s supposed to be sacred, guided by the moon, by fate, by lineage. Not this. Not some random human boy in a public school classroom who doesn’t even know what I am.
He doesn’t belong here, doesn’t know what we are. And yet, every instinct in me is screaming that he’s mine—mine to protect, mine to keep close, mine in a way I can’t explain or escape.
Mr. Lermontov starts the lesson, his voice a muffled sound as he reads from Pushkin, but I can’t focus on any of it. How can I when the classroom feels like it’s tilting sideways?
My wolf paces, insistent, completely drawn to him, but my mind screams at it—humans don’t belong in our world, not like this. I stare at the desk, heart pounding, trying to breathe, to focus, as Luca settles in, oblivious to the storm he’s ignited in me.
And I know, without a doubt, this boy will either define me . . .
Or destroy me.
✧₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧