I lost a mudflap, blew out two taillights, and the bastard even tore a gash in one of my airbags. Four years ago, a quick call would’ve had a mechanic out to fix the chaos in no time. Not anymore. Seven hours it took for one to reach me. Seven.

He had to haul ass up from Joplin, Missouri. And naturally, dispatch, in all their infinite wisdom, asked me to check my fuel filter. A fuel filter. I glared at my coms tablet for a good ten minutes, wondering how those desk jockeys can be so utterly clueless. Do they even know the difference between a tire and a fuel system? I doubt it. All they do is click away on their keyboards, blissfully ignorant of what it’s like out here.

By the time the mechanic showed, it was nearly four in the morning. Then it took another three hours to patch up the trailer. So, when I finally got to sleep, it was already past seven. And now, at eleven in the morning, I’m dog-tired with 812 miles still ahead to reach Galveston, Texas, by tomorrow. Perfect.

I lay on my back, seriously debating whether to just go back to sleep, when my phone started ringing. Steve’s name flashed on the caller ID. Great.

“Hello, Steve,” I mumbled, my voice a mix of groggy and irritated.

“Morning, Lyra!” His voice was annoyingly cheerful.

“What do you need?” I asked, impatience lacing every word.

“I heard you had a nasty blowout last night. Just calling to check on you,” he replied.

Steve’s a decent guy, much better than the last two idiots who were supposedly fleet managers. He actually gives a damn about his drivers, and so far, he’s done a solid job getting me the loads I want.

“Yeah… The damn tire took out an airbag. I’m delayed, exhausted, and not in the mood for bullshit.” I didn’t bother hiding the venom in my tone. I was beyond tired—I was a wolf on the edge.

“About that,” he continued, still calm, “I need you to bring the load back to Des Moines. There’s been a change in plans.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear, letting out a low growl that would’ve impressed my old Luna. “Steve… You’ve got to be kidding me. This load was supposed to pay big, and I need that money.” I could already feel the dream of owning my own Peterbilt 389 Legacy Edition slipping away.

“This isn’t my call, Lyra. It’s coming from higher up. They want you back at the terminal.”

A spike of anxiety shot through me at those words. Biting my lip, I tried to keep my voice steady. “Am I getting fired?”

“I don’t know. Something’s up, but they’re keeping me in the dark too,” he said, his tone taking on a grim edge.

“When do I need to be back?” I asked, the nerves creeping in.

“The sooner, the better. I know you’re running on fumes, but they’re demanding you get here ASAP.”

“Fine,” I huffed, “I’m getting up now.”

“Great, I’ll see you when you get here.”

“Yeah… see you when I get there,” I muttered, my voice dead as I ended the call.

Dragging myself out of bed, I threw on a tank top and thigh-high shorts, not bothering to care how disheveled I looked. A quick brush through my tangled silver hair, and I was ready to go. I clambered over the camp fridge—my Luna's thoughtful gift that took up way too much space between the seats—and dropped into the driver’s seat. Glancing at my coms tablet, I marked myself on duty, ticking off the pre-trip inspection box. The routine was automatic, almost mindless.

Pulling on my hiking boots, I shoved the door open and hopped out. The morning air bit at my skin, but I ignored it, rounding the front of the truck and flipping the hood latches. I crouched low, coiling my body before springing up, grabbing onto the winged ornament perched atop the hood. With my feet braced against the bumper, I leaned back, using every ounce of my five-foot-nothing frame to wrestle the hood open.

Once it was up, I slid off the bumper and made my way to the side of the massive fifteen-liter red top Cummins engine. Oil, coolant, washer fluid—check, check, check. I knew the old Peterbilt 579 like the back of my hand; there weren’t any leaks or issues. There never were. I kept this rig in pristine condition.

With the engine checked, I heaved the hood shut, locking it in place before doing a walk-around. My eyes scanned the chains and straps securing the load of crates on the flatbed, adjusting a few bungees that had loosened during the night. Everything needed to be perfect—no room for error.

I climbed back into the cab, glancing at the coms tablet to confirm the pre-trip was logged. As expected, it showed I’d hit the minimum time required. Sliding my seat forward, I pressed the clutch, released the brakes, and slipped the gear shift into first. The rig rumbled to life, rolling forward as I eased off the clutch.

The radio flicked on with a tap, filling the cab with the familiar beats of my playlist as I floated through the gears. I merged onto I-35 southbound, leaving the old rest area where the blowout had screwed up my night. By the time I hit the rough interstate, I was cruising in thirteenth gear at seventy miles an hour. The first exit loomed, and I began to downshift, the jake brake roaring as it slowed the rig to a crawl.

I paused at the intersection, checking for traffic before making a wide, sweeping left turn over the overpass. I hit the on-ramp for I-35 north and started grabbing gears again. Back up to speed, I set the cruise control and leaned back, trying to shake off the nagging anxiety about what was waiting for me at the terminal.

Three hours later, I rolled into the main terminal. The massive parking lot in front of the terminal’s hotel stretched out before me. The company used to be a big name in flatbedding, but three years ago, it almost went under thanks to the economic collapse. SkyTeam Aerospace Foundation swooped in, bought them out, and repurposed the operation to move equipment and goods for the war effort. My Alpha and Luna had pulled strings to get me this job. They said it would be good for me, a way to get out on my own. I hadn’t been thrilled at first, but now, I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

I found a spot and executed a flawless forty-five-degree angle maneuver, sliding my forty-eight-foot, ten-two split axle flatbed into the space before straightening out the tractor. Popping the brakes, I logged off duty, killed the engine, and climbed out. For a Monday, the terminal parking lot was packed. Something was definitely going on.

Crossing the street to the headquarters building, I pushed open the door to the downstairs restaurant, catching a whiff of grease and grilled meat. The cooks were bustling in the back, and I gave them a quick wave.

“Lyra! Back already? Weren’t you heading to Galveston?” one of the ladies called out, her voice echoing over the clatter of pans. I’d been here just last night, grabbing one of their famous burgers.

“Yeah, well, plans changed,” I shouted back, waving her off as I headed for the stairs leading up to the offices.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

I took the steps two at a time, reaching the top quickly and heading straight for the reception desk that guarded the entrance to the offices. Sherman, the old man who manned the desk, was shuffling through the company’s mail, his snow-white hair glowing under the harsh lights.

“Hey, Sherman,” I greeted, forcing some cheer into my voice despite my exhaustion. No way was I going to be short with him—he was in his eighties and still bending over backward to help us drivers.

“Hey, Lyra. What brings you back so soon?” he asked, his voice squeaky but warm.

“Can I see Steve? He called me back, but I have no idea why,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.

“Oh, of course.” Sherman got up slowly, making his way to the door with a slight shuffle. He opened it for me, and I slipped through, offering him a grateful smile.

I weaved through the maze of cubicles until I found Steve’s. He was a big guy, six feet tall, heavyset, with brown hair and a well-trimmed beard. Once a driver himself, he’d been pulled off the road due to some medical issues and had found a new love as a fleet manager.

“Alright, I’m here. Now what the hell is going on?” I demanded, hands on my hips, letting a bit of my Alpha tone slip through.

He spun around in his chair, eyes flashing gold with a jolt of fear before he realized it was just me. Damn, I didn’t mean to startle him. I was just pissed about losing that high-paying load.

“Sorry, Steve. Didn’t mean to scare you,” I apologized, trying to dial back my frustration.

“It’s okay, just maybe tone down the Alpha vibe a bit. I’ve already got a cranky leprechaun to deal with,” he said, nodding towards our operations manager, Charles. The man was even shorter than me and was perched on a stack of books to reach his keyboard.

“Still grouchy as ever, Charlie?” I asked, using the nickname everyone had for him.

“Don’t start with your jokes, Lyra. I’m not in the mood,” he grumbled, eyes glued to his screen.

“Aww, what’s wrong? Run out of gold?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“No… I’m losing my best fleet manager and ten of my best drivers…” he snapped back, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Oh… that’s not good,” I replied, the surprise genuine this time.

“Yeah, and now that you’re here, Steve, escort Lyra to the conference room next to the president’s office and stay with her,” Charlie ordered, his tone all business.

“Me?” Steve asked, pointing at himself in disbelief.

“Did I stutter?” Charlie shot back.

Steve gave me a wide-eyed look before standing up, towering over me. We walked together toward the conference room, the tension between us palpable.

“What was that about?” I asked, glancing up at him.

“No clue. He’s been grouchier than usual today. Something big’s going down, but like I said on the phone, everyone’s tight-lipped,” Steve replied, his voice low.

We reached the conference room, and Steve opened the door for me. I stepped in with him close behind, scanning the room to find ten others already seated around the table, deep in conversation. They paused briefly to wave at me before resuming their discussions.

Steve and I found two open seats toward the end of the table and sat down. A few minutes later, the door at the other end of the room opened, and my heart skipped a beat as my adopted uncle stepped in. The room fell silent. We all knew who he was—hell, I knew he technically owned the company—but I hadn’t expected to see him here.

Dr. H. M. Zaraki was an imposing figure, standing just over six feet tall with an air of authority that made everyone around him sit up straighter. He wasn’t just my Luna’s father—he was the owner of SkyTeam Aerospace Foundation and the most powerful being walking the Earth. I’d witnessed firsthand what he was capable of during the devastating battle that followed the Second Twilight Winter, when the world as we knew it changed, and magic surged back into existence.

Being the first of his kind, Dr. Zaraki had chosen to avoid the spotlight, preferring to focus on the supernatural world rather than stepping into the political arena. He could have been president of the newly named Free States of America, but he’d passed that burden onto the old Team SAF leader, Andrew Clark. The real question was, what was he doing here, and not back in Cedar Rapids? And yes, supernatural beings exist—and I’m one of them.

“Uncle Zaraki!” I blurted out, louder than I intended, before jumping up and hurrying over to him. Steve’s eyes widened like I’d just lost my mind.

“Lyra! I’m glad you made it back safely,” my uncle said, opening his arms for a hug.

I stepped into his embrace, feeling the tension drain out of me as he wrapped me in a tight hug. When he released me, I looked up at him with a grin, my earlier grouchiness forgotten.

“You’re not here to fire me, are you?” I asked, half-joking but with a sliver of real concern.

“Stars, no! Why would I fire my favorite little werewolf? Star would have my head,” he replied with a chuckle.

“Oh, good. Then why was I pulled off a great paying load to come back here?” I asked, the irritation creeping back into my voice.

“Ah, yes. Take a seat, and I’ll explain everything. Trust me, that load was nothing compared to what I’m about to offer you,” he said, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

I raised an eyebrow at him but turned to head back to my seat. As I did, I noticed everyone was staring at me. It suddenly hit me that the room was filled with supernaturals, each one watching me closely. I knew Steve was a werewolf, second or third rank, but I had no idea who the others were or where they ranked.

I sat back down next to Steve, who leaned over and whispered, “The president is your uncle?”

“Yeah, why?” I whispered back.

“It would’ve been nice to know I had the president’s niece in my fleet. Wait, that means…” he trailed off as I cut him off.

“That Star Zaraki is my Luna, yes,” I finished for him.

He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms as he gave me a scrutinizing look. I just grinned at him before turning my attention back to my uncle.

“And my niece will continue to be on your fleet, Steven Amarok,” my uncle announced, his voice carrying the weight of a command. “Would you please stand up and introduce yourself to your new fleet?”

Steve shot me another wide-eyed look, and I couldn’t help but chuckle as I elbowed him playfully. “Looks like someone got a promotion.”

Steve stood up, clearly nervous, and looked around the room. For a moment, he stared at the floor, but then he lifted his head and spoke. “Um… yes sir. Hello, everyone. I’m Steven Amarok. I’ve worked here for the past ten years, either as a driver or as a fleet manager. It’s nice to meet most of you. Some of you I already know. You can all call me Steve.”

“Hi, Steve,” the group responded in unison.

He quickly sat back down, shooting a glance at Dr. Zaraki. My uncle gave him a nod before turning his attention to the rest of us.

“Now that you know who your fleet manager is, it’s time I explain why you’re all here,” my uncle began, making his way to a large monitor mounted on the wall at the far end of the room. He clicked it on, and an image of a map appeared, highlighting a section of I-80 stretching from Omaha, Nebraska, all the way to San Francisco, California.

The map on the screen showed a pathway that had been virtually abandoned since the Second Twilight Winter. I-80, once a lifeline for commerce and travel, had become a treacherous no-man’s-land. The route was now a battleground, barricaded by the FS Army and Marines to prevent the invading forces from the west—those who had overrun California—from pushing further into the Free States. No one dared to travel that road anymore.

“As you all know, this route has been closed off for some time,” my uncle began, his voice steady and authoritative. “However, with the FS Military now stronger and the Chinese forces preoccupied with the European front, the military plans to use this route to break through enemy lines. You are being tasked as a special unit to transport their supplies along this route.”

A murmur swept through the room. The expressions on the faces around me ranged from concern to outright fear, with a few showing a spark of anticipation. I couldn’t blame them. This mission would be dangerous as hell. Biting my lower lip, I focused on my uncle’s every word.

“You’ve all been chosen because you’re the best at what you do, and because you’re supernaturals. This isn’t a mission a mere human can handle. It will require strength, instincts, and courage,” he continued, his gaze sweeping the room. “If you choose to accept this mission, you will receive a hundred-thousand-dollar bonus, plus twenty dollars per mile.”

My jaw dropped. A hundred grand? Plus mileage? I could buy my dream truck in no time with that kind of money. My mind raced as I stared at my uncle in disbelief. This was beyond anything I’d imagined.

“Since this is a service to your country, your pay will be tax-free,” my uncle added, his voice calm but with an edge that demanded attention. “You will be assigned brand-new trucks, built specifically for this mission. You’ll operate independently from the rest of the company.”

No taxes? Brand-new trucks? Holy Luna, he was piling on the incentives. What else could he possibly offer?

“You won’t be required to run logs, stop at weigh stations, or deal with law enforcement. You will be exempt from all regulations governing the commerce industry,” he continued, sweetening the pot even more.

My mind was spinning. No more regulations, a mountain of cash, no taxes, and a huge bonus? This was the chance of a lifetime, and I knew I couldn’t pass it up. I was so lost in the possibilities that I almost missed what he said next.

“Your fleet leader will be Lyra Acosta, my niece,” he announced, his voice cutting through my thoughts like a knife.

My world screeched to a halt. I snapped my head up, staring at him in shock as every eye in the room turned to me. My mouth opened and closed as I tried to process what he’d just said.

“ME!” I finally blurted out, the word escaping before I could even think.