Ileana's P.O.V.
"We've witnessed a surge of strays over this past month," Cal informs me as we traverse the path leading to the kennels situated at the rear of the shelter. The jingling of keys attached to the belt loop on his jeans provides a rhythmic accompaniment to our steps. He sports a navy t-shirt adorned with the word "STAFF" on the back, while I proudly wear the "VOLUNTEER" shirt.
"Another one arrived last night," he adds, adjusting his slightly worn baseball cap atop his head. "My new glasses prescription is pending, so my vision's not the best, but it seems to be a small fella. The vet hasn't had the chance to assess it yet."
"That's why I'm here," I respond, grinning. I remove the hair tie from my wrist and knot my long auburn hair into a bun, ensuring it stays away from my face during the examination.
"We're glad to have you back, Ileana," the wrinkles on his old face have deepened while I was away but his kind brown eyes remain the same. They show nothing but sincerity as he speaks. Being around him evokes a sense of belonging; I've been lending my time to the shelter since I was 16. Initially part of a youth task force, I now serve as a volunteer vet tech. My passion for this work is undeniable, and it also grants me invaluable experience. Besides the shelter, I also volunteer at the pack hospital, but that's not something I can put on a resume for a human job.
"How's school treating you?" he inquires.
"It's been a rough semester," I reply, letting out an exhausted laugh. The winter term concluded today, and immediately after the three-hour drive home, I headed here, despite the late hour of 8:30 p.m. I didn't even pause to greet my family; I put the shelter's urgency above all else. While I've been away at school, I've been seeing the pleas via email for additional volunteers to cover shifts.
"Alright, this way. I placed it in a quarantine room, just to be safe," Cal points out as we halt in front of a door. He takes the key ring from his belt loop, navigating the pieces of metal until he finds the right one. "Here we go," he utters as he twists the knob. Beyond the door lies a small room measuring about six feet in length and four feet in width. Aside from a cot sporting some fuzzy blankets, a tennis ball, and a tiny pup blinking up at us, the room remains vacant. The pup wags its tail vigorously upon seeing me, and I quickly realize that this isn't a dog.
"He likes you already," Cal chuckles. "That'll change when you have to stick a thermometer up his ass to take his temperature." The puppy yelps as Cal says this.
"I'll take him to one of the examination rooms," I announce briskly, lifting the pup into my arms.
"We could easily do it here if you prefer. I can hold him while you work," Cal offers.
"Thank you, Cal, but I'd rather use the exam room. My equipment is all there."
"Understood. Just let me know if you need any assistance. I'll be mopping the lobby before locking up for the night," he says, walking away. We part and as I hurry toward the exam room, I feel a surge of anger propelling my steps.
Upon closing the door to the exam room, I draw down the window blinds. Placing the pup on the metal examination table, I turn around to rummage through the cabinets. I find a white sheet, and toss it in his direction."What are you doing here?" I growl out.
As I finally pivot back around, the pup has transformed into a little boy. Brown hair, green eyes, clad only in the white sheet, he flashes a toothless grin.
"Lele!" he exclaims, his tiny arms enveloping my waist. I'm torn between returning the embrace or scolding him. Opting for both, I crouch to his level, squeezing him tightly, and then gently grasp his shoulders to hold him at arm's length.
"You're not supposed to be here, Connor," I say firmly.
"I know, but Mom and Dad said you wouldn't be home until after my bedtime, so I skipped school and waited here all day for you," he proudly confesses. Seeing the freckles across his nose crinkle as he smiles, I almost forget to be upset with him due to his sheer cuteness.
"You know the Alpha's rules, Connor. Shifting into your wolf form around townies is prohibited. The shelter workers might have seen you change! Any activity that risks exposing our kind is dangerous. We can't handle that alongside everything else that's unfolding."
My brother gazes down at his bare feet, consumed by guilt. He understands what I'm alluding to. The past month has kept us on high alert, following reports from our border agents that several wolves from the Northern kingdom ventured close to the boundary line. While the King of the North won't set foot on our territory, rumors circulate that he's dispatched members of his royal court to execute his schemes; although the nature of their intent remains unknown to us, it can't be good. From the time we are wolf-pups, we're warned about the North King's cruelty. Those who defy him face punishment involving the injection of silver into their veins to suppress their ability to shift, followed by exposure to the elements outside his castle—stripped of their fur, they succumb to the freezing temperatures of his icy realm. I remember when I was seven, the corpse of an ambassador from our pack, who had embarked on a diplomatic mission to the north, was returned to our Alpha in a box after being subject to this torture. The ambassador left behind twin daughters, both in my class at school, who remain selectively mute to this day as a result of the trauma.
I gaze at my younger brother, still staring at his feet, and gently lift his chin with my index finger. "Alright, let's get you home. I'll give you a piggyback ride since you're barefoot."
This elicits an exuberant smile from him. He hops onto my back, the sheet now a toga, and we exit the examination room. I softly close the door to ensure no audible click. While I know all the staff and volunteers have gone home, except for Cal, the possibility of being seen walking out with a child that no one saw come in remains risky. As we pass the kennels, some dogs bark, prompting me to toss them treats from my pocket to maintain their silence. As I launch the last treat, the sensation of being watched washes over me. I pause, glancing over my shoulder down the elongated corridor of kennels, but no one appears to be present. I attempt to shake off the feeling, but it lingers.
"Go, horsey, go!" my brother playfully encourages, kicking my sides. His action jolts me from my thoughts. We head toward the nearest exit, and once outside, I exhale a sigh of relief—the paranoia that had enveloped me in the kennels had become almost stifling. The situation with the King of the North is clearly putting me on edge.
As we traverse the town's sidewalks on our journey home, I catch sight of some of our pack's warriors, masquerading as ordinary townspeople so as not to draw attention from the human inhabitants (the townies), patrolling the streets.
"Lele, are you afraid of the King of the North?" my brother inquires, his head resting sleepily against my back.
"No, Connor. He's like the Big Bad Wolf from your bed time stories. He thinks he scary but he's just a fool wearing someone's grandmother's clothes," I respond.
My brother lets out a little laugh as I feel his head loll against my back, and I assume he's drifted into slumber. I'm happy he sleeps rather than presses further with the questions because the truth is that the Alpha King of the North isn't at all like the Big Bad Wolf.
The King of the North doesn't kill your grandmother out of hunger. He does it because he wants to, simply because he can.
And yes, I am scared of him.
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Author's Note,
Early readers, comment a random word for me to use in the next chapter. Thanks for being here! You matter to me <3
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The Alpha King of the North
Werewolf"Cross the border before I catch you, and you're free," Romulus' frosty eyes darken as his words cut through the air. "You won't follow me past it?" I feel one eyebrow quirk upwards in disbelief as the words pass through my lips. "I can't," he grind...
