Laundry. Always laundry.
The basket dug into my hip as I moved down the hall of the pack house, the scent of soap clinging to my skin. Every female in the pack had chores—strict lists handed down by Alpha Lucas himself. If you failed, there was punishment. Brutal and public.
I never failed.
Not because I was perfect, but because I couldn’t afford to.
My parents made sure of it. Not only did I have to finish my own list, but they forced me to do Lyra’s as well. My twin sister. Their favorite. Their shining star.
We might share the same moss-green eyes and dark hair, but that was where the resemblance ended. Lyra was everything I wasn’t—outgoing, charming, quick to laugh. She painted her lips red, curled her hair, and walked like she owned every gaze that fell on her. I kept my hair pinned back, my lips bare, my chin low. She was the adored daughter. I was the burden.
They told everyone it was my fault she never got her wolf. My fault that she would never shift, never run under the moon, never feel the bond of the pack in her blood. My mother whispered it to neighbors with crocodile tears. My father, Beta Maverick, repeated it like gospel to anyone who would listen. *“If only Kira hadn’t been born, Lyra would have been stronger.”*
Lyra herself never missed a chance to remind me. Her smiles were daggers, her words dipped in venom. *“Don’t stare too hard at the warriors, sister,”* she’d whisper with mock concern. *“They only look at you because they can’t have me.”*
I swallowed hard at the memory as I nudged open the heavy door to the warriors’ quarters.
The air inside was thick with the scent of sweat, steel, and damp leather. A few warriors glanced up from sharpening blades and unlacing boots. Conversations died. I felt it immediately—the weight of their eyes.
They tried to hide it, coughing, shifting, pretending to focus on their weapons as I set folded stacks of freshly washed clothes on their bunks. But hunger has a smell, and it curled through the air stronger than the soap on my hands.
My heart picked up speed. I kept my head down, eyes on the fabric, desperate to finish.
And then I made the mistake of glancing up.
Darin.
My father’s best friend. A beta like him. His gaze was nothing like the others. Where they darted quick and guilty, his lingered—slow, deliberate, stripping me bare. His lips curved, the ghost of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
It wasn’t affection. It wasn’t admiration.
It was hunger.
Hunger so sharp I felt it rake across my skin like claws. His eyes traveled over me with the patience of a predator deciding where to bite first. Not a man looking at a packmate. Not a friend of my father’s. But a wolf staring at prey.
Heat flushed up my neck. Shame burned in my chest. I gripped the basket tighter, my knuckles white.
He didn’t look away.
If my father—if Beta Maverick—caught him, there would be blood. My father might despise me, but he guarded his honor like a blade. Still, that never stopped Darin. Never stopped any of them.
I tore my gaze from his and nearly stumbled as I hurried for the door. My breath came fast, heart hammering against my ribs. The basket felt heavier, my arms weaker, every step dragged down by the weight of being seen.
I couldn’t stand it.
Not the laundry. Not the stares. Not this life where I was both invisible and yet never unseen.
I made it just outside the warriors’ door before my legs gave out. My back pressed against the cool wood-paneled wall, and I dragged in shaky breaths. The basket slid to the floor with a soft thump, my hands trembling as I pressed them to my chest.
Safe. For now.
At least, until the door creaked behind me.
Their voices spilled out, low at first, then sharper as they laughed among themselves. I froze, every muscle tightening.
“She’s more beautiful than Lyra,” Darin’s voice rumbled, smooth and unashamed.
The air left my lungs in a sharp gasp I barely smothered.
Another warrior hissed, “Careful. Don’t say that so loud. Beta Maverick would tear you apart if he caught you drooling over his own daughter.”
Darin only laughed, deep and careless. “Maverick doesn’t give a damn. Not really. He just doesn’t want the other females hearing it. Causes drama. Trouble. Better to keep things quiet.”
My pulse hammered in my ears. I gripped the wall as if I could vanish into it.
Another voice joined, sharper, tinged with cruel amusement. “Quiet, maybe, but soft. Didn’t you see the way she trembled? I bet she’d fight, but only a little. Just enough to make it fun.”
The room erupted in laughter.
Ugly. Hungry. Male voices gnawed at the edges of me like teeth.
My vision blurred, throat burning as bile rose. I snatched the basket up in both hands and bolted down the hall. My skirts tangled around my legs, but I didn’t stop until I stumbled into the laundry room, slamming the door shut behind me.
Only then did I let the tears sting my eyes. I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth to smother the sound, my chest heaving as I fought to stay silent.
Always silent.
