Two years ago,
Bloodvale Pack,
The night of Elara's sixteenth birthday was supposed to be a hinge point - the moment she transitioned from a child of the pack to a young woman, ready to embrace the latent Alpha blood that simmered beneath her skin. Instead, it became the night the hinge tore loose, opening a gaping chasm of despair.
The air inside the Alpha house was already cold, the hearth having long since died down, leaving behind only the ghost of warmth and the faint, acrid scent of ash.
Elara sat curled on the expensive rug, the silk thread rough against her knees, carefully unwrapping a gift which had a small carved wooden wolf. It was meant for her late mother - a pitiful, hopeful gesture for a day that had been universally ignored by everyone in her life, especially the man whose blood she shared.
Then came the signal: the front door of the Alpha house slammed against the inner wall with a sickening, violent crack.
It wasn't just noise; it was the sound of her father, Alpha Vane, arriving, drenched in cheap liquor and weaponized misery. She instinctively froze, the blood icing in her veins. She didn't need to see him to know the specific, toxic blend and reason of his rage tonight.
He staggered into the main hall. His shadow, tall and monstrous, danced and distorted across the high, vaulted ceiling under the weak, flickering light of the electric lamp. He was no longer the feared Alpha who commanded respect and obedience; he was a ragged, pathetic husk, kept animate only by his perpetual saturation in guilt and gin.
"You."
The single word was a guttural, venomous rasp, a sound ripped from a tormented soul. His eyes, vacant, bloodshot, and perpetually red-rimmed, settled on Elara. His entire focus narrowed to her, seated quietly on the floor, still clutching the meaningless gift.
He didn't walk towards her with the controlled, predatory grace of a wolf; he stumbled, his movements jerky, closing the distance with terrifying, unpredictable speed. She didn't have time to flinch, much less run.
The first blow caught her jaw - a heavy, flat-handed slap delivered with the full, desperate force of his despair.
It snapped her head back so violently that she saw a brief, blinding flash of white light behind her eyelids, followed by a searing, radiating pain that traveled from her jawbone down into her neck. She didn't dare cry out. She had been rigorously trained by years of observation: noise only served to further ignite the consuming and uncontrollable wildfire of his rage.
"Ten years," he slurred, his voice thick, wet, and accusatory.
He grabbed her by the thin, cotton collar of her simple tunic, the material digging painfully into her throat. He hauled her upward, lifting her until the tips of her toes barely brushed the expensive woven rug. She was suspended by his fury, dangling.
"Ten years since the both of you went to the river, and she's still gone. Ten years of waking up and seeing your face instead of hers."
He violently slammed her backward against the cold, unyielding stone of the chimney. The impact drove the air from her lungs in a choked, wheezing gasp that was closer to a sob than a cry. She tasted blood where her teeth had cut the inside of her cheek.
"You took her to the forbidden crossing for fun," he continued, his voice dropping to a harsh, gravelly whisper, a sound more terrifying than a shout.
"And you came back alone. You - the one with the high Alpha blood, the overwhelming strength of your grandfather - you survived, and little Lyra didn't. You selfish worthless mistake. You're nothing but a monument to my failure."
Tears finally tracked down Elara's dirt-streaked face. They were not shed for the bruising pain, but for the agonizing sting of his words, which found their target in the dark core of her soul. The memory of the churning, cold water, of Lyra's small, frantic hand slipping from her grasp, was an ever-present, agonizing scar.
"It was an accident, Father," Elara finally managed to choke out, her voice barely a thread. "I tried to save her... I swear I tried to..."
"Lies!" He backhanded her again, the force greater this time, sending a ringing vibration through her whole skull.
"You always were the selfish one. The dark one and curse from the prophecy! May you reek of the rogue filth you'll become. You're an embarrassment to this name! A stain on the legacy of the Vane Alpha line!"
He released her abruptly, and she crumpled instantly to the floor, coughing violently, trying to draw a clean breath into her damaged lungs. He stood over her, breathing heavily, the monstrous shadow once again swallowing her. His words, delivered with chilling finality, were the systematic destruction of any familial bond.
"You want a birthday wish, girl? I wish you had died instead. I wish the river had taken you and left my sweet Lyra. Get lost! I don't want to see your face in this pack ever again. You are nothing to me. You're worse than an Omega. You hear me? You are a worthless to me! This pack will celebrate the day your heart stops beating!"
The raw, unfiltered hatred in his vacant eyes was the executioner's final blow. It didn't just hurt her body; it systematically destroyed the last, desperate shred of Elara's hope.
She scrambled backward, using the momentum to push herself to her feet, ignoring the blood and the gasps from the few servants who had been drawn to the violence.
She ran out the back gate and into the biting chill of the early spring night. The cold air was a painful shock against her face, but it was cleaner than the poisoned air of her home.
She ran with the single-minded focus of an animal fleeing a trap, her feet acting on a cruel, subconscious instinct.
Her legs carried her along the rough, uneven path leading directly to the Ironwood Bridge.
It was a towering, ominous structure built over the roaring, deep chasm river that marked the absolute edge of the Thorne Pack territory - the very river that had taken Lyra Vane and sentenced Elara to this unbearable existence.
Elara finally stumbled to a stop at the bridge's guardrail, her hands immediately gripping the cold, rusting metal.
Below, the water churned black and unforgiving, sounding like a vast, hungry beast. The mist rising from the gorge was cold and seductive against her raw skin.
Get lost. I wish you had died instead. You're worse than an Omega!
His voice was no longer a memory; it was a physical presence, wrapping around her throat and squeezing. Why should she continue this existence? She was nothing but a curse, a shame, a painful, constant reminder of loss. The crushing weight of her father's wish was the only truth left in her life, and it demanded satisfaction.
Closing her eyes, Elara leaned over the rail. The terrifying wind whipped her long, jet-black hair around her face, momentarily blinding her. She could feel the spray of the river on her skin - cold, enticing, and promising a final, silent peace.
It would be so easy. Just one step...
She imagined the fall, the final absolute release, and the forgiveness of the dark water.
The thought of no more pain, no more shame, no more hatred, was a lure too strong to ignore. Her muscles tensed, ready to push off. She was ready to obey her father's command. She was ready to finally die for the sister she couldn't save.
She pushed off the rail, committing her weight to the empty air...