People think the world is made only of humans.
They believe in cities, rules, logic. In predictable days and quiet nights. In coffee shops, deadlines, and marriages that end in courtrooms. They don't know that shadows breathe. That monsters walk beside them in plain sight, wearing tailored suits, charming smiles, and the scent of something not quite right.
I've lived in that hidden world my whole life.
There are three dominant bloodlines among us: werewolves, vampires, and humans. We coexist—barely. The world is divided by territories, drawn in secret and protected with blood.
Vampires rule the night. Cold-blooded, ruthless, and solitary, they don't bother with packs or alliances. They live alone, move like mist, and kill without sound. You'll rarely see them. And if you do, it's probably the last thing you'll ever see.
Of the three, I am a werewolf.
Werewolves, we're different.
We're warm-blooded. Territorial. We live in packs, and everything we are is tied to loyalty, instinct, and the moon. Each pack is led by an Alpha—strong, commanding, and born to lead. Beside every Alpha is a Beta, their second-in-command. And below them, the Deltas, our warriors, and the Omegas, soft-spoken, gentle, and rare.
But what most don't realize is this:
Omegas aren't weak.
They're sacred.
Because in our world, Alphas are fated to be with Omegas. The bond between them is deeper than love, it's destiny. A divine thread spun by the Moon Goddess herself.
Betas don't have fated mates.
They aren't bound by destiny. But they can marry, most do, often with other Betas or someone of a lower rank. It's a choice, not a calling. A life built, not written in the stars.
I was never meant to be part of that story.
I'm not an Omega.
I'm a Beta, loyal, strong, born to protect, but never to be chosen.
And yet…
He chose me.
For a moment, he made me believe the stories were wrong. That fate could be rewritten. That desire could be stronger than destiny.
It was never supposed to happen.
We were never supposed to cross that line. Not him, the Alpha. Not me, the Beta. Not when we both knew how the story ends.
And yet, that night, he came to my door.
Everything changed.
From that day on, my life was chaos.
***
Flashback.
It had been five years.
Five years since the last time I heard her voice. Since I smelled the lavender on her wrists. Since I sat on the kitchen stool, watching her hum while she chopped herbs for tea.
I hated this day.
Every year, it hollowed me out.
So I stayed in my room. Curtains drawn. Lights off. Wrapped in the silence like a blanket that barely warmed me. I didn't cry. I never did. I just stared at the ceiling and counted every crack I already knew by heart.
Until I heard a knock.
I didn't move.
The door creaked open anyway. He never waited for permission on this day.
Leon Hart.
Of course it was him.
He'd come every year on this date, never asking, never speaking much. Just there. Solid. Steady. The only constant I had left.
He didn't say anything when he sat beside me on the bed. Didn't try to talk.
Just his presence. Just his warmth.
After a long pause, he leaned back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. I did the same. Shoulder to shoulder. Breathing in sync.
"It's getting easier, isn't it?" he asked softly, not looking at me.
I nodded. "Not really."
His hand found mine.
And I let him.
Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. The air felt thick with things neither of us dared to name. Grief. Comfort. Something else.
When he finally turned toward me, I saw it in his eyes, that ache. The one he always hid from everyone else. But not from me.
He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered.
Then… he kissed me.
It wasn't urgent. It wasn't lustful.
It was quiet. Warm. Gentle.
And I should've stopped him.
But I didn't want to be alone.
Maybe it was the weight of the day. Maybe it was all the years of almost.
Or maybe I was just tired of pretending I didn't want him too.
So I kissed him back.
And once that line was crossed, there was no going back.
Our clothes fell away in the dark, but it wasn't about heat or hunger. It was about needing—to feel, to hold, to forget the pain for just one night.
There was no going back.
The first kiss was soft, uncertain. Not the kind of kiss that demands, but one that asks permission.
I didn't pull away.
His hand came up to cradle my cheek, rough palm against my skin, grounding me in the moment. I closed my eyes, and when our foreheads touched, something in me cracked open.
"Are you sure?" he whispered, voice rough. "We don't have to, if you're not okay."
I nodded once. Silent, but steady.
Leon searched my face, as if waiting for something to shift. But I didn't move.
Instead, I touched his jaw, thumb brushing gently along his skin. That was enough.
Neither of us spoke after that. There were no declarations. No confessions. Just quiet breaths and the unspoken weight of everything we'd carried for too long.
When he pulled me into his arms, I didn't resist. I let my body sink into his. Let the warmth of him drown out the cold that had settled in my chest since morning.
His touch was careful, reverent. And when we finally came together, there was a stillness in the air, something sacred and fragile.
He leaned closer, his voice barely audible against my ear. "Does it hurt?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
My fingers curled into the sheets instead.
He paused. Waited. His hand brushed a strand of hair from my face.
"Tell me if it does. I'll stop."
But I didn't ask him to. I held onto him, eyes shut, letting the moment carry me.
Later, his voice came again, quieter, almost nervous.
"Is it… okay?" Another beat. "Do you feel good?"
I turned my face into his chest, cheeks burning. I didn't answer.
Leon exhaled slowly, and I felt him kiss the top of my head. He didn't press further.
When it was over, we lay in silence. Limbs tangled. Breath slowing. The air was warm, and quiet. Not heavy, just full.
His arm was draped loosely around my waist, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against my hip. I rested my cheek against his bare shoulder, eyes half closed, heart slowly finding its rhythm again.
Leon broke the silence first, his voice barely more than a murmur.
"What are you going to do next?"
I blinked, not expecting the question. "Next?"
"Yeah," he said softly. "Now that things are… different. Are you thinking of working somewhere?"
I hesitated, then gave a small nod. "I was planning to look. I don't really have a plan, but... something outside, maybe. Away from the packhouse for a bit."
He hummed quietly. "If you're still free, you know the ranch always needs hands."
I turned slightly to look at him. "You're serious?"
Leon glanced down at me, his lips tugging into a faint smile. "Why not? You've been riding since you were ten. Dad still swears you're the only one who could break that red stallion."
I chuckled under my breath. "I still have the scar to prove it."
He shifted, propping one arm behind his head, still watching me. "You know the ranch better than most. You've been helping me with it since we were teenagers. Besides, we trust you more than half the idiots who come through looking for work."
It was true. The ranch wasn't just a family business—it was the lifeblood of our pack, the largest in North America. Sprawling fields, thousands of horses and cattle, barns that stretched beyond the treelines. Generations had built it. Most of our pack worked there, directly or indirectly. And Leon, now that he had graduated, had stepped fully into managing it beside his father.
And me?
I wasn't a blood relative.
But I was his Beta.
Not because of politics.
Not because of legacy.
But because since we were kids, I had been the one at his side. Every training session. Every meeting. Every patrol.
He led, and I followed.
And sometimes, I led, and he followed. That was the rhythm of us.
"I'll think about it," I murmured.
He didn't say anything more after that.
His hand found mine again in the quiet, fingers lacing through mine beneath the covers.
And for a few moments longer, we stayed in that stillness, our hearts full of things we couldn't name, and our bodies heavy with truths we wouldn't dare speak.
Because even then...
I think part of me knew.
But peace never lasts.
Because the next day…
he met her.
***