Chapter 1 : Devastation

The night was dark. It seemed even nature herself was restless. The trees rustled in gusts of wind and clouds covered the stars, leaving only the spotlight beam of the moon to illuminate the night outside. If it were raining, maybe there would be some relief from the tension, but there was no rain. No early autumn thunderstorms would promise relief from the drought that plagued this year.

When the front doors burst open, Amelia was startled, leaping to her feet.

"Get out of the way," one man yelled, shoving aside a younger member of the pack.

"Somebody call a healer," Lucas, the Beta, called.

Amelia was rushing alongside the men carrying her father, Logan, on a stretcher in an instant.

"What the hell happened?" she demanded, nearly snarling at the men. Her canines flashed in the unnaturally blinding light of the compound.

"There was an incident while we were hunting," Lucas answered, somehow maintaining composure even as he heaved her father down the hallway.

"I can see that," Amelia snapped. "I'm asking for details."

"Healer! Now!" Lucas ordered as they turned down the hallway to the Med Wing, ignoring Amelia.

The hallway was sterile, unwelcoming. More blinding white light flooded the hallway, causing a creeping sensation of dread to fall across the group. There was a trail of blood marking their path from the front doors of the compound.

Two women in scrubs appeared in one of the doorways, motioning for their Alpha to be brought inside. Amelia watched as his limp form bobbled on top of the stretcher. She'd never seen him this way before.

He'd always been strong, unyielding. He had a soft side, the way he reminded her about how she took after her mother, and let her cry to him when life got rough. Sometimes, when things were really going well, he was silly with her, joking about little animals he saw in the forest, or teasing the other members of the pack.

This was something entirely new.

Amelia hated it. She hated seeing him so weak, so helpless. She watched the men lower the stretcher onto the table to avoid moving his now-fragile form more than they had to. The healers set to work immediately, working feverishly over their leader.

Lucas appeared in the doorway, his broad chest and full form blocking Amelia's view. He grasped her shoulders gently, voice lowering. When he spoke, his voice was raspy, almost hoarse.

"There was an incident with a pack of rogues. It seems their blades were coated in something to prevent your father from healing. He's in the best possible hands now. You shouldn't watch this," he told her softly.

Amelia could feel the strength in her legs falter. Lucas was right, she didn't want to remember her father this way, whether he made it through this or not.

She felt like her ears were ringing as she plodded down the hallway. The world moved in slow motion around her, a flurry of activity moving in the opposite direction she was. Drips and smudges of her father's blood led her back the way she had come. Dirty boot prints coated the foyer floor, the dust mixing with blood and leaving dark, syrupy puddles in the entryway.

Continuing past it, she tried not to get sick. She didn't think blood usually made her so ill, but she was getting nauseous at the sight of it all. How much of it was her father's? She had noticed various cuts and bruises on some of the other men that were a part of the group.

It didn't matter whose blood it was. That blood, the lifeblood of the pack she would someday lead, meant more than anything at this moment. It was a symbol of something bigger, a spilling of the very thing that kept this pack together.

Amelia didn't make it to her room. She barely made it ten more steps down the hallway. She ducked into a little alcove, collapsing into a large chair tucked by a window. There was a time she spent many rainy afternoons reading here, but those days were long past.

The tears fell freely down her cheeks. The silent sobs that racked her body did nothing to help her roiling stomach. She wondered if vomiting would bring her any relief at this point.

In a matter of moments, her world had been flipped on its head. This morning, her father had asked her to take the truck into town for an oil change. She had whined about it, telling him someone else could do it.

Now, she wished she'd just taken it.

A wave of shame washed over her. She shouldn't be doubting him. He was the strongest man she'd ever known. Their pack was huge, he had to have an incredible amount of power to hold together that many shifters. She should have more faith that he would be okay.

But she saw him there on the stretcher. She saw the terror in the eyes of the healers that they tried to quickly hide. She smelled the coppery scent of too much blood loss. His chest rose and fell shallowly, his breaths barely filling his lungs.

Was there something wrong with being realistic? Shouldn't she be preparing herself for the worst? She would become the Alpha if something happened to him. He had told her for years to be prepared for anything. Her whole life had been leading to a moment like this, and yet something felt incredibly wrong about the entire situation.

She still had a month before her first shift.

Amelia was twenty, for now, just waiting for her twenty-first birthday when she would finally shift for the first time. Her father was supposed to be there to help her navigate the change. Logan had trained her for her entire life on the intricacies of pack politics, but even he had admitted that there was no preparing for shifting.

There were several sets of footsteps coming down the hallway. Amelia held her breath, hoping whoever it was would simply pass by her. She couldn't stand the thought of having to look anyone else in the eye, much less speak to someone. No, she wanted to steep in her sorrow.

Two of the older members of her pack walked by at a brisk pace. She recognized them as being a part of her father's hunting party, ones that she had grinned and waved goodbye to this morning. Their high spirits were long gone, instead dragging feet and patched wounds took the place of their confident attitudes.

The third set of footsteps slowed, stopping just before her alcove. The two older members kept traipsing down the hall. When they were gone, the footsteps shuffled closer.

"Amelia," Lucas called.

Amelia said nothing, not even daring to let loose the breath she had been holding.

"I know you're there," Lucas added.

"What do you want?" she demanded, trying to find that hard edged tone of authority her father so often used.

Lucas appeared, stepping into the alcove. He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of her. Tears streamed down her red cheeks, her eyes swollen and puffy.

Amelia hated the look of pity that he gave her.

Lucas knelt down in front of her chair, placing a hand reassuringly on her knee. The pit in Amelia's stomach yawned open, dread threatening to swallow her whole. There was something mournful in his dark blue eyes that told her everything she needed to know. Lucas opened his mouth to tell her anyway.

"We were ambushed. We were just packing up the trucks with the bounty from the hunt. We let our guard down. He was the first to hear the rustling and went to investigate. Before Jackson and I could follow him for backup, there were four guys on him."

Jackson. One of the older men who had passed her by earlier. Her father's best friend. Amelia allowed the thoughts to register and pass through, wanting desperately for all of this to just go away. Let it be a dream. Let it be a nightmare.

"There were twelve of them in total. There were only four of us. It was one hell of a fight. Amelia, I need you to know that your father went down fighting for us. Fighting for all of us. The fact that we got away is a testament to his skill as a fighter," Lucas said in an attempt to comfort her.

It didn't help. She knew where this was going. She knew where this story ended from the way she could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

The world went still. Amelia knew then if she had reached out her hand, she could have held this moment in her palm. She could have examined it from every angle. Nothing would make this make sense. Her father, her invincible hero, would be okay. Some miracle would bring him back to life, force breath back into his lungs and life into his body. There was no need for more words.

"I think you need to prepare yourself to say goodbye. The healers have done all that they can. He's not going to make it."

The words felt like ice water. It felt like shackles or closing doors or all the breath being sucked out of Amelia's lungs. And yet, it felt like something she already knew. She knew from the moment Lucas had appeared at her side that this was the only outcome.

Was this a death sentence for her as well? It felt like it. The grief that struck Amelia through the chest might as well have been the same knife that took her father's life. The pain was that physical, that real, that deep.

"I can go with you if you like. Or just help you get down there. I think it's important we move quickly though," Lucas murmured, an offer and a warning in one.

Amelia nodded and stood, steeling herself. She gritted her teeth together, determined to appear strong in the face of this tragedy. She would allow herself to crumble privately.

Lucas slipped an arm around her, supporting her as they made their way back to the Med Wing. She almost felt guilty, realizing there was a slight limp to his right leg, but she didn't trust her own legs to fully support her. The two of them made a pitiful pair as they hurried to the room where her father lay.

He had been tucked into a bed of black linens, the room smelling strongly of salves and rubbing alcohol. A chair sat next to the bedside, and Lucas lowered her into it.

He hovered there, his presence like an angel of death, just in the doorway. Logan's breath rasped past his lips, a rattling sound that felt like his spirit pulling free of his body. Amelia leaned over him, whispering a few last words, and then began the last rite prayer to the Goddess that she learned so long ago.

What was she going to do without him now?