"Strip."
The word came like a slap across the face—cold, commanding, and casually cruel.
The voice? Even colder. Like winter steel. The kind of voice that expected obedience just because it existed.
I stood there—dirt on my face, blood on my boots, legs bound like some wild animal—facing the five most powerful bastards in the entire werewolf world.
Five alphas. One from each region.
And me? Just a so-called defective male, dragged in by some idiot warrior who thought I smelled strange.
"No fucking way."
That's what I should've said. Instead, I just stared. My heart was hammering like a war drum, but I didn't blink. I didn't bow. I didn't move. If they wanted a show, they were going to have to work for it.
The room was silent—tense with something I couldn't name. It wasn't just dominance or power. It was curiosity. Hunger. Suspicion. The kind of tension that made your skin crawl because you knew something bad was coming.
I could taste it in the air.
The smug bastard leaning against the doorframe tilted his head, nose twitching. "I smell it. Her pheromones."
His voice was velvet-smooth and annoyingly amused.
"Never smelled anything like that on a male before. Has to be female pheromones, right?"
He was grinning. Like this was some kind of game.
The others weren't grinning. They were watching me. Eyes sharp. Calculating. Some with disbelief, others with... interest. Too much interest.
I hated it.
My whole life, I'd been told I was different. That I was broken. A premature, malformed pup with weird parts and monthly bleeding that wasn't supposed to happen to any normal wolf. Grandpa—my Grandpa—called it a defect. Said I was born too early, not fully formed. Told me to wrap my chest tight, to hide the strange swell of flesh growing there.
I did. Always.
I believed him.
Hell, why wouldn't I?
I'd never seen a female before. No one had. None of us had.
Because they were all dead.
Wiped out before I ever drew my first breath.
They taught us the story in school like it was gospel. A dark fairytale with no happy ending.
Eighteen years ago, the last Alpha King received a prophecy:
"A she-wolf will rise in blood and ruin. She will bring the werewolf race to its knees."
So, in a fit of fear and madness, the Alpha King issued the ultimate command.
A mind-linked order—one so powerful that no male wolf could resist.
"Kill every female."
Wives. Daughters. Sisters. Mothers.
Slaughtered.
Even newborns and babes in the womb.
Massacre.
And then... silence.
The order faded. The fog lifted.
And the males realized what they'd done.
Too late.
Grief turned into rage. The five most powerful alphas joined forces. They overthrew the king who had doomed their race and split the world into five regions, each taking a throne. Not wanting to let another wolf to have absolute power.
They searched for survivors.
Not one.
They found none. Lucky they already had heirs which the thrones were passed down to their sons —Desmond of Central, Michael of East, Karl of West, Jake of North, and Travis of South— after their rule ended and felt it right to pass down their thrones.
"I said strip," the cold voice repeated. He stepped forward now, and I knew instantly—he was Desmond. Central Alpha. His presence was a weight that pressed down on my bones. Eyes like a glacier. Hair black as night. Controlled. Ruthless.
And currently staring at me like I was a puzzle he didn't want to solve, but would burn the world to understand.
I swallowed. Hard. "You can go to hell," I muttered, voice low and laced with venom. "I'm not a circus act."
One of them chuckled—the lounging one. Blond, arrogant, and beautiful like sin itself. Probably Michael. Or Travis. He stretched like a lazy lion on a couch that cost more than my entire cabin.
"I'll help her. Come here, little wolf," he said, crooking a finger. "I'll undress you myself."
Absolutely the fuck not.
I stiffened. My skin crawled. My wrapped chest ached from the tight binds underneath my shirt. The scent of old blood still clung to me—I'd started bleeding the morning they caught me. Bad timing. Always is, right?
I should've stayed home.
But no.
I'd gone to that stupid full-moon ceremony like an idiot, thinking no one would notice. Grapa had warned me not to risk it. Said my scent was "off" when I bled. That the others might start asking questions.
He was right.
They did.
And now I was here.
They stared at me like I was a ghost. Or worse—like a legend.
But legends don't come wrapped in dirty shirts, bleeding through their pants, and shaking from exhaustion.
I was no legend.
Just a terrified wolf with too many secrets and not enough time.
"You think I'm female?" I laughed. Bitter. Loud. "Is that why you've got me tied up like some toy? You think me"—I nodded toward my pitiful self—"mean something?"
"You mean everything," Desmond said quietly.
My mouth went dry.
"You're extinct," the blond one said, eyes dancing with something dark. "And somehow, standing right here in front of us."
"I'm not a fucking museum piece," I snapped.
"Then prove it." Desmond stepped closer. "Strip. Let us see."
I stared at him. Rage and panic warred inside me. No one had seen me without clothes since I was a child. Not since Grandpa stopped bathing me and made me swear—swear—to never let anyone see. To hide everything.
Because the truth could kill me.
Because being defective meant being weak. Hated. Used.
And now these men wanted to see if I was the last of a kind they helped destroy.
I lifted my chin. "Why? So you can laugh? Or breed me like some kind of broodmare if I happen to be a female?"
"No." That was Jake, I think—the quiet one with eyes like a storm. "So we know what we're dealing with."
"You're dealing with a defective wolf," I hissed. "That's it. End of story."
"You smell like moonlight and blood which by the way I hope those buffoons didn't hurt you badly," Travis murmured. "Nothing about you is just a wolf."
"Look, sweetheart," Karl finally spoke, his tone more amused than hostile, "you either show us, or we show ourselves. Trust me, we're not shy."
I felt heat crawl up my spine. Not the good kind.
"I will kill every single one of you," I said sweetly, "if you lay a hand on me."
Blondie grinned. "Promise?"
Asshole.
My heart was hammering now, but my face didn't betray it. If I showed fear, they'd circle me like vultures.
But then I thought of Grandpa.
Was he safe? Had they found him too? Hurt him for apparently hiding a female?
I swallowed. No. He was smart. He had escape tunnels, hiding spots, friends in old places. He'd be okay.
I had to believe that.
Because if I didn't…
I was going to lose what little control I had left.
I looked at the five alphas—my enemies, my judges, my maybe-future captors—and I made a choice.
Not submission. Not obedience. Strategy.
"Fine," I said, slowly. "I'll strip."
The tension in the room shifted—coiled tighter, like a spring about to snap.
"But only if you all turn around," I added, voice cold. "No peeking."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
"I'm defective, remember?" I said with a saccharine smile. "You might catch something."
To my surprise, Desmond nodded. "Turn around."
"What?!" Travis protested. "You trust her?"
"She's unarmed. Let her reveal what she is on her own terms," Desmond said.
The others exchanged glances, but one by one, they obeyed.
I exhaled. A small victory, maybe.