Chapter 2 - Dylan
The impact vibrates through my knuckles, pain blossoming sharp and sweet. I welcome it, throwing another punch into the reinforced bag. Left hook. Right cross. Uppercut. Each hit lands with precision born from thousands of hours of training.
"Jesus, Zaleska. That bag owes you money or something?" James asks from the doorway of the training facility, his voice carrying the casual authority of the Alpha's second-in-command.
I don't pause. "Just staying sharp."
"You know the definition of 'rest day,' right?" James leans against the wall, arms crossed. "It typically involves actual rest."
I throw a final combination before steadying the bag. "I'll rest when the borders are secure."
"They are secure. Your rotation ended at midnight. Jenkins reported nothing unusual all night."
I grab a towel, wiping sweat from my face and neck. "Connor wouldn’t know an intruder if they introduced themself.”
James sighs. "Always the optimist."
My lips twist into something that isn't quite a smile. My optimism died with my brother.
I unwrap the tape from my hands, revealing reddened knuckles. They'll heal before noon—one benefit of being a werewolf. The physical pain always fades too quickly. The other kind lingers.
"The Alpha wants to see you," James says, straightening. "After you shower, preferably."
"Problem?"
"Not everything is a problem, dude. Take a shower."
I grunt in response, gathering my things.
James watches me with that look—the one that's become too familiar these past six months. Concern mixed with wariness, like I'm a weapon that might misfire. By all accounts, he’s laid-back, relaxed, friendly. I wouldn’t really know.
Since I started working for the Alpha’s inner circle, I’ve avoided their social gatherings like the plague.
In the locker room, I stand under scalding water, letting it pound against tense muscles. Steam rises around me, but it can't wash away the images that surface when I close my eyes.
"Dylan, check this out!" Ethan's voice echoes in my memory, his lanky teenage frame hunched over an engine part. His eyes—so like our mother's—are bright with enthusiasm. "I think I fixed the timing issue on the Jeep."
I lean against the garage doorframe, coffee in hand. A weekend morning, a rare moment of normalcy. "Without breaking anything else this time?"
He rolls his eyes, grease smudged across his cheek. "That was one time. And the radiator was already cracked."
"Sure it was." I hide my smile behind my mug. At eighteen, taking responsibility for a six-year-old after our parents’ deaths hadn't been in my plans. Now, with him sixteen and me twenty-eight, our dynamic has evolved—less parent and child, more brothers who've weathered too much together.
"You working tonight?" Ethan asks, wiping his hands on a shop rag.
"Uh-huh. Should be back by midnight."
"Cool. I'm helping Luna with the younger kids' tracking lessons tomorrow. She says I have a knack for teaching."
Pride wells in my chest—unexpected, powerful. "You do. You've got patience. Unlike some of us."
He grins, that bright, open expression that somehow survived everything. "You've got plenty of patience. You wouldn’t have tolerated me this long otherwise.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” I toss him a clean rag. "Wash up. Breakfast is getting cold."
The memory dissolves, replaced by another—the one that follows me into sleep, that waits in the shadows of every quiet moment.
Blood. So much blood. The smell of gunpowder and silver. Ethan's broken body in my arms, his chest barely moving, silver poisoning spreading through veins too young to fight it.
"Stay with me, buddy. Please. I can't do this without you." My voice cracks, hands pressing desperately against the wound in his side where the silver bullet entered.
His eyes flutter open, clouded with pain. Amber and gold and—and fading. Fading fast.
"Did—did I get any of them?" Blood bubbles at the corner of his mouth.
"You fought like a true wolf." Tears blur my vision. "The bravest wolf I've ever known."
"Dyl—" His fingers grip mine with surprising strength. He wheezes, an awful, crackling sound. "I'm scared."
"I'm right here. I won't leave you. Never."
His final breath leaves in a soft exhale, and something inside me shatters beyond repair.
I slam my fist against the shower wall, tiles cracking under the impact. Blood mingles with water, swirling down the drain. The pain brings me back to the present, away from that night six months ago when human extremists took everything I had left.
Dressed in clean clothes, I head toward the Alpha's office in the main pack house. Morning has fully arrived, bringing with it the bustle of pack life. I acknowledge greetings with short nods, not slowing my stride. Everyone knows to give me space these days.
Nic's office door is open, but I knock anyway—a courtesy to the man whose employment has kept me from going completely feral in the aftermath.
"Come in, Dylan." His voice is steady, authoritative, without being domineering. It's why he makes a good Alpha.
The office smells of coffee and old books.
Nic sits behind a desk piled with reports and territory maps, looking more like a professor than a pack leader in his button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms marked with old battle scars.
Luna's influence, the casual style. His mate has softened some of his edges.
"Thomas said you wanted to see me."
Nic gestures to the chair opposite his desk. "Sit. Coffee?"
I remain standing. "I'm good."
He studies me for a moment, then shrugs. "Your patrol reports from yesterday were... comprehensive."
"Just thorough."
"Eight pages on a routine border check is beyond thorough. It's obsessive."
I shift my weight, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. "I noticed some unusual scents near the eastern ridge. Could be nothing. Could be someone testing our defenses."
"Or it could be hikers from the campground five miles away." Nic leans back in his chair. "The League is gone, Dylan. Their leader is in prison. The remnants scattered after we exposed their operation."
"Scattered doesn't mean defeated." The words come out sharper than intended. "They still have supporters. People who believe we're monsters."
"Some people will always fear what they don't understand." Nic's expression softens slightly. "But not all humans are League members. Not all of them are enemies."
I clench my jaw. "Tell that to Ethan. His ghost will appreciate it.”
The name hangs between us. Nic doesn't flinch from it, doesn't offer platitudes. Instead, he lets the silence stretch, allowing my brother's memory the respect it deserves.
"Your lottery is tomorrow," he finally says, changing the subject.
"I'm aware."
"Having second thoughts?"
I cross my arms. "No. It's tradition. Shows commitment to the pack."
Nic's eyebrow raises slightly. "There are other ways to show commitment besides letting the elders potentially mate you to someone at random."
"It worked for you. And James. And Thomas." I keep my tone neutral. "Besides, the odds of getting someone completely incompatible are low. The elders' system factors in compatibility."
"True." Nic taps his fingers on the desk. "But you're not James. Or me."
The implication is clear. I'm not stable like they were. Not ready for a mate. The anger that simmers constantly beneath my skin flares.
"I can handle it," I say flatly. "Unless you're planning to forbid my participation."
Nic shakes his head. "It's your choice. I just want to make sure it's for the right reasons."
"Which are?"
"Starting a future. Not punishing yourself for the past."
I look away, unable to hold his gaze. Nic sees too much—a side effect of fighting beside someone, of watching them shatter and try to rebuild themselves with jagged pieces.
"Is that all?" I ask.
Nic sighs. "One more thing. The security team rotation. You've been working double shifts for weeks. I need you to scale back."
"We're understaffed."
"We're adequately staffed. You're overworked." His tone shifts to Alpha authority. "This isn't a request, Dylan. Take the next two days off. After the lottery, we'll revisit the schedule."
I want to argue, but I know it's pointless. When Nic uses that tone, even Thomas backs down.
"Fine."
"Good." Nic's expression softens again. "You're one of our best, Dylan. But even the strongest wolves need rest."
I nod stiffly and turn to leave.
"Oh, and Dylan?" Nic calls after me. "Try not to terrorize any more medical volunteers today. Luna says Sera is still fuming about your little... discussion... yesterday."
Heat rises up my neck. "She was treating a human trespasser who had no business on our territory."
"She was treating an injured hiker who got lost. Part of our agreement with local authorities. We help hikers who wander off trail, they keep the rangers from exploring too deep into our territory."
"He was taking photos. Of our woods. Our pack land."
"Of birds, according to the camera we checked and returned. The man's an ornithologist."
I scoff. "Convenient cover."
"Not everyone is a spy, Dylan." Nic's voice holds a note of tired patience. "Go. Rest. Try not to pick any fights before the lottery."
I leave without another word, irritation prickling under my skin. Nobody seems to understand the threats still lurking at our borders. Six months of relative peace have made them complacent. Even Nic, who lost pack members in the attack, who almost lost his mate, seems willing to lower his guard.
Outside, spring sunlight warms the air. Silvercreek bustles with morning activity—cubs playing near the community center, pack members heading to work assignments, a hunting party preparing to depart. Normal life continuing as if nothing could disrupt it again.
I walk toward my cabin on the northern edge of pack territory, deliberately avoiding the main paths. Two days off. The thought makes my skin crawl. Inactivity means thinking and thinking means remembering.