The Blue Moon Pack's village looked peaceful beneath the silver wash of dawn, but for Hermena, peace had always been an illusion.
She rose before the others, sweeping the dusty wooden floors of the grocery hut that kept the pack alive through harsh winters. The smell of dried herbs and old grain clung to the air, and the rough wicker baskets scratched against her palms as she worked. To the pack, she was only an Omega—weak, invisible, disposable. But Hermena had learned long ago that invisibility could be its own kind of power.
Her hands moved with practiced silence, though her mind wandered far from the suffocating walls of the hut. She dreamed of freedom, of a life where her worth wasn't measured by how quickly she obeyed. But dreams were dangerous things for an Omega. Dreams got crushed.
The door creaked open, and a sharp voice cut through the quiet.
"Hermena, you're still here? Don't dawdle. The Alpha will want his supplies soon."
It was Mara, one of the higher-ranked she-wolves, her lips curled in disdain. Hermena lowered her gaze immediately, gripping the broom tighter to keep from trembling.
"Yes, Mara," she murmured, the words tasting like ash.
Mara smirked, satisfied, and swept out as quickly as she had entered.
When the room was empty again, Hermena exhaled shakily. Her chest ached with the weight of her silence. No one noticed how much she endured. No one cared.
Yet that morning, as she stacked the last of the bread loaves, something shifted. A shiver traveled down her spine, unexplainable, like the brush of unseen eyes. She stilled, her ears straining for the sound that didn't belong.
The forest beyond the village was quiet—too quiet. Even the birds seemed to hold their breath.
Hermena shook her head, trying to dismiss the unease. But deep in her chest, her wolf stirred restlessly, whispering the same word again and again: Change.
She finished her duties and stepped outside, letting the crisp morning air cool her flushed skin. The pack grounds were already coming alive. Warriors sparred in the dirt courtyard, their snarls echoing like thunder. Children chased one another in circles, their laughter high and wild. From the outside, the Blue Moon Pack looked strong, proud, united.
But Hermena knew better. She saw the cracks no one wanted to admit were spreading. Food was scarce, tempers were shorter, and whispers of an enemy pack—the Arrival Pack—slipped like smoke through every conversation. Their Alpha, Adrian, was ruthless, and rumor said he had set his sights on Blue Moon's lands.
Hermena hugged her arms around herself. She had no say in wars or politics; Omegas never did. But the thought of bloodshed made her stomach turn.
Her wolf shifted uneasily inside her again. This time, it wasn't just a whisper. It was a pull. A warning.
"Hermena!"
She flinched at the sound of her name. A tall warrior, Joran, sneered down at her as he passed. "Stop daydreaming and move out of the way. Useless as always."
He didn't even wait for her response before shoving past. The sting of his words burned hotter than the scrape of his shoulder against hers.
Hermena swallowed the lump in her throat, fighting the urge to scream, to bare her teeth, to show them she was more than the weakling they believed her to be. But she stayed silent, like she always did.
Still… deep in her bones, she felt it: her silence wouldn't last forever.
Not when the world itself seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break.
Then it came.
A scent—dark, intoxicating, unlike anything she had ever known—drifted on the wind. It sank into her lungs, thick and heavy, until her heart stuttered. Her wolf clawed violently at her chest. Mate.
Hermena's breath hitched. Her eyes darted toward the treeline. For the briefest moment, she swore she saw them—two glowing eyes watching from the shadows. Not gold like her pack. Darker. Hungrier.
She blinked, and they were gone.
But the scent remained, curling through her veins like a dangerous promise.
And deep inside, Hermena knew: nothing in her world would ever be the same again.