I sat in the driver’s seat, staring blankly out the windshield at the massive airships hovering above. Steve had woken me up again this morning, but instead of going through the motions and heading to the MCV, I opted to stay hidden in my truck. Sleep had evaded me last night, and now a heavy sense of melancholy clung to me, lingering after the dinner we all shared.
Being aboard the Crescent Moon again felt like coming home, and that familiar ache of longing gnawed at me. I hadn’t visited Star and Cayro during the holidays for this very reason. Seeing them, being in that place where I’d once found joy and solace, only made the distance between us more apparent. I’d avoided it, choosing instead to meet them at Zaraki Manor. There, surrounded by the grandeur of my uncle’s mansion, it was easier to keep the memories at bay. But here, on this ship, they washed over me like a tide, pulling me back to those times—learning to skyboard, competing for the first time, helping Star through her pregnancy, meeting the girls. For the first time in my life, I had found a family that loved me, truly loved me. And now, that family felt just out of reach.
A knock on the door jarred me from my thoughts. I rolled down the window to find Seth standing there, a plate of food in his hands. His soft smile was a stark contrast to the turmoil I felt inside.
“What’s up, Seth?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even.
“I noticed you were sitting out here alone. You didn’t look okay, so I made you a plate,” he said, his smile gentle, understanding.
“Thanks, but I’m not really hungry,” I replied, the weight in my chest making it hard to think about food.
“Want to talk about it?” he offered.
For a moment, I hesitated, then decided that maybe talking would help. I opened the door and slid over to the passenger seat, making room for him. He climbed in, placing the plate on my lap as he settled in beside me.
I glanced at him, taking in his familiar disheveled appearance. His black hair was a tousled mess, and a five o'clock shadow covered his usually clean-shaven face. He was smaller than the other males in the pack, always dressed in dark jeans, a shirt, and converses, giving him a look that hinted at some faint Asian or Hispanic heritage. But it was his eyes, usually sharp and icy blue, that held my attention—they were soft this morning, filled with concern.
“What’s bothering you, Alpha?” he asked, his voice gentle.
I eyed him for a moment before looking back at the Crescent Moon. “How could you tell something was wrong?” I asked, my gaze distant.
“Your body language,” he replied, studying me closely.
“What do you mean?” I pressed, still not fully understanding.
“Alpha, you’re curled up in your chair like you’re trying to disappear. And you’ve got barriers up in your mind,” he explained.
I frowned, puzzled. “How do you know I’ve got barriers up?”
“Lyra, we’re wolves. We share everything, even when we don’t mean to. The others can feel it. Normally, you’re an open book, but this morning you’ve shut everyone out. They’re worried.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, letting his words sink in. My pack, my family—they could feel my withdrawal, my retreat behind those mental barriers. And they were concerned because, for once, I wasn’t letting them in.
“I’m sorry, it’s nothing bad. Visiting the Crescent Moon last night brought back memories that made me... well, depressed,” I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended.
“Did something bad happen to you aboard the Crescent Moon?” Seth asked, his curiosity evident.
“No!” I exclaimed, a bit too quickly. “It’s not that. It’s just... I’m homesick. For the first time in my life, I finally felt like I belonged somewhere, like the people around me actually cared.”
“The General and the Colonel mean a lot to you, don’t they?” he asked, his tone softening.
I nodded, suddenly feeling exposed. Talking about it wasn’t bringing the relief I had hoped for; instead, it was leaving me feeling raw, as if my insides were being scraped clean.
“You know, this is the sixth pack I’ve joined in my lifetime,” Seth said, his gaze drifting toward the horizon.
I looked up at him, concerned. Most wolves only change packs once, maybe twice in their lives. Constantly changing packs was unheard of, unless something truly awful had happened.
“When I was a kid, both of my parents were killed during a challenge, leaving me an orphan. Usually, the alpha and luna would assign someone to raise a child of a fallen family or send them to their closest relative. But our pack was small, and my parents had just joined before I was born. We didn’t have any family nearby, or any that wanted to take me in. The luna tried to care for me, but with limited resources, they couldn’t handle the extra cost. So, I was transferred to a bigger pack. At first, things were okay, but then they changed, and I wasn’t wanted anymore. So, I was transferred again. By the time I was eighteen, I’d been transferred two more times, each for different reasons. None of it was my fault—I was just the unwanted orphan. My last pack was the worst. I fell in love with the alpha’s daughter, and she with me. She didn’t care about my rank. During my first challenge arena, the beta’s son challenged me for the right to mate with her. Being a higher rank, he demanded the challenge be to the death. I won, but at a horrible cost. During the challenge, our mating bond kicked in. The alpha killed his own daughter in front of me and the pack, severing my bonds to the pack. He wouldn’t allow his lineage to mix with a ‘bastard mutt’ like me,” Seth said, his voice low, still staring at the horizon.
“Oh my Luna… that’s... that’s horrible, Seth,” I whispered, the shock reverberating through me.
“I’ve been on the run ever since, with no home to look back on. That was the case until now, that is,” he said, turning to face me.
I raised an eyebrow, confused. “What do you mean, ‘until now’?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. It was a challenge coin, one I recognized—the 588th Night Witches and 102nd Airborne Division coin. I had one just like it in my go bag, a gift from Cayro a year ago. I looked at the coin, then back at Seth, trying to piece together what it meant.
“I don’t understand,” I admitted, my confusion deepening.
“General Zaraki spoke to me privately after dinner, along with Colonel Zaraki. They recognized my last name from a report done after the death of the alpha’s daughter. They’ve been helping Lord Lycotonu clean up the atrocities that have gone unchecked for years. You were the first case they looked into. Your father allowed alphas to get away with so much for so long. General Zaraki said that you were the reason they began the investigations. He said if there was an alpha who could give me a good home, it would be you—because if anyone could understand my past, it would be you,” Seth explained, his voice steady, but his words carrying the weight of his pain.
My jaw dropped as his words sank in. I had no idea I was the catalyst for such change, that my own struggles had set off a chain reaction that was reshaping the world of werewolves. I sat there, stunned, trying to process the magnitude of what he had just told me.
“I didn’t know they were doing that,” I finally managed to say, the weight of the revelation pressing down on me.
“I know. They kept it quiet from you,” Seth replied, his tone gentle but matter-of-fact.
“How do you know that?” I asked, suspicion creeping into my voice.
“The General told me,” he answered simply.
“Typical…” I grumbled under my breath, rolling my eyes.
Seth looked at me, his expression softening. “He wanted me to tell you something if we ever had this conversation.”
“And what’s that?” I demanded, a bit of impatience seeping through.
“That just because you don’t live with them anymore doesn’t mean you aren’t their family. They love you and only want the best for you. They want to see you grow and treat your newfound family the same way they showed you when you needed one. Whoever is a part of your family is also a part of theirs,” Seth relayed, his voice warm and sincere.
I closed my eyes, imagining Cayro saying those exact words. I knew he wouldn’t have said them directly to my face—he knew I wouldn’t have heard him. But he knew I’d listen if the message came from someone in need of support.
“Thank you, Seth,” I said quietly, feeling the sting of tears as they rolled down my cheeks.
“No, Lyra, thank you. If it hadn’t been for you and your family, I wouldn’t have found justice for my lost mate or peace. Now, I have a place that’s beginning to feel like home,” he said, his words laced with gratitude.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, confusion knitting my brows together.
Seth reached over and gently pressed his finger to the center of my forehead, closing his eyes. As his fingertip met my skin, I felt a soft gong resonate in my mind, and suddenly, his presence appeared there as a small, glowing dot of light. It felt almost like the bonding ritual. My eyes widened in shock as I looked at him. His eyes opened, glowing bright blue, a soft smile stretching across his face.
“You are my chosen Alpha now,” he said, happiness clear in his tone.
I blinked, utterly shocked and confused. “How the hell did you just bond with me without doing the ritual?” I asked, my mind reeling.
“The bonding magic can work both ways, Alpha. You don’t always have to perform the ritual to bond a member to the pack,” he explained, his knowing grin adding to the mystery before he opened the door and slid out of my truck, leaving me speechless.
I watched him walk off toward his truck, my mind spinning as I tried to wrap my head around everything we had just discussed. I looked down at the plate of food in my lap, absently picking up a piece of bacon and sticking it in my mouth. I was at a complete loss as to what to think now. As I munched on the bacon, I looked back up at the three airships hovering overhead and realized that I was home. Star and Cayro had given me everything I needed to be like them. A grin tugged at my lips as I gazed up at the Crescent Moon before grabbing my headset. It was time to head back to Des Moines.
Two hours later, I found myself walking around my rig, checking everything to make sure it was ready to roll. Mac had done a hell of a job with the repairs and upgrades. The FRS trailer was fixed, and the front of my truck now sported a massive bulldozer blade with a sleek black dragon painted on it. I watched as the others performed their pre-trip inspections. Kira was checking the securement on her trailer, which held two of the black JLTVs that the dragons had brought with us. We were leaving the other two behind for the unit.
Each trailer now had gun mounts attached to their decks, equipped with M240 machine guns and several ammo cans. Mac had raided the equipment meant for the 833rd so we’d be better armed. The dragons could either use their dragon forms or land on the trailer decks to man the machine guns. Mac had even set up a mount on my passenger door, so she could shoot from the cab if needed. But I had a feeling these upgrades were only temporary. I’d overheard her talking to Cayro about getting better equipment that would be more effective.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Climbing back into my cab, I pulled on my headset and keyed into the fleet channel, waiting patiently for everyone to signal they were ready. Mac climbed into the cab a few moments later, sliding her headset on as she gave me a thumbs-up and spoke into her mic.
“I’m green to go, Lyra,” Mac said, her smile wide as she settled into her seat.
Right on cue, Scuzball strutted onto my tablet screen, the now-familiar captain’s hat perched on his head. This time, though, it wasn’t just any hat—it was emblazoned with a new logo. The SkyTeam diamond was still there, but instead of the usual acronym, it now read “Dragon Fleet,” with a dragon curled beneath the name. He gave me a thumbs up and grinned, clearly enjoying his new role.
One by one, the names on my tablet turned green as I heard engines roar to life and brakes release. I nodded at Scuzball, signaling him to patch the Crescent Moon into our comms channel. With a quick flourish, the ship’s name appeared at the bottom of the list, glowing green—ready to embark.
“Crescent Moon, this is Dragon Fleet. All trucks are showing green to go,” I announced over the channel, my voice steady.
“Dragon Fleet Leader, we read you as green. Embark on your command,” a professional voice replied, crackling through the speakers.
“Dragon Fleet! Let’s make some noise!” I howled, slamming my truck into first gear and dumping the clutch as I floored the accelerator. The front driver steer tire lifted off the ground, and the rig lurched forward with a roar. Grabbing second gear, then splitting into high, I pushed the truck forward, listening to it announce to the world that we were hammering down and not stopping for anything. As if on cue, music blared through the comms channel—Legends Are Made by Sam Tinnesz scrolling across the bottom of my tablet.
A huge grin spread across my face as I kept grabbing gears, the speedometer climbing steadily. I could hear my fleet howling through the music as we merged onto the interstate. Scuzball had nailed it with the song choice—it was like the anthem of our journey, resonating deep within me and fueling my drive to keep pushing forward.
I glanced over at Mac, her grin mirroring mine as she jammed out to the music. I caught the next gear, letting my truck roar even louder. As Legends Are Made came to an end, Outlaw Ride by Tony Justice kicked in, pushing us forward with its gritty rhythm. I bounced my head slightly to the beat, catching fourteenth gear and watching the RPMs climb. The needle hit fifty miles per hour and kept climbing as I glanced at my driver-side mirror, seeing the cloud of dust we were kicking up.
“Mac, do you think the trucks can handle doing sixty-five miles per hour with the road the way it is?” I asked through my mic.
“I don’t see why not. We’ll get home faster, and I’m pretty sure the suspension can handle it,” she replied confidently.
“Dragon Fleet, you heard our mechanic. Hammer down—we’re doing sixty-five miles per hour. We’re not stopping,” I ordered, feeling the surge of adrenaline as everyone shouted their agreement.
As Outlaw Ride came to an end, Scuzball turned to look at me, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Stoneclaw has a song request. Would you be okay if I play his song?”
“Absolutely,” I replied, giving him a nod.
A moment later, the opening strains of The Warrior Song by Sean Householder filled the air—a military anthem with a marching beat that got my blood pumping. I could hear the dragons belting it out, along with Mac, turning our convoy into a rolling chorus of warriors.
For the next four hours, the fleet became a mobile jukebox, everyone pitching in with their song choices. Scuzball didn’t miss a beat, pulling tracks from databases around the world, creating a playlist that spanned genres and kept the energy high as we rolled through Nebraska. The camaraderie was palpable, the music binding us together as we powered through mile after mile.
As we approached York, Nebraska, a delta formation of the 588th Night Witches came screaming overhead, led by none other than Star herself. They were on a mission, heading straight for the downed overpass. I could just make out the structure from two miles away, looming on the horizon.
“Dragon Fleet, please come to a stop while we clear the path,” Cayro's voice ordered over the comms, cutting through the music like a knife.
Scuzball immediately silenced the tunes, and I began downshifting, listening as the fleet’s engine brakes roared to life. We rolled to a halt about a mile and a half from the overpass, my eyes tracking the Crescent Moon as it cruised overhead. The ship’s smaller laser cannons began to glow ominously, the faint whine of the electromagnetic coils charging cutting through the rumble of my engine. When those cannons fired, the crackling sound of the lasers streaking through the air filled my ears, followed by the sharp, metallic tang of ozone hitting my nose.
The damaged overpass exploded in a shower of debris, chunks of concrete flying in all directions. The eastbound path was now mostly cleared, save for a few larger pieces of debris. Nothing my rig couldn’t handle with the new bulldozer blade. I sat there, waiting for the all-clear, watching Scuzball as he held up a claw and patched me through to the Crescent Moon.
“Western Hell Hounds, this is Free States of America Army 102nd Airborne Division Commander General Zaraki. Cease and desist all attempts to attack any military movements. If you fail to comply, we will use excessive force,” Cayro’s voice echoed not just through my headset but also from the ship’s external intercoms.
It didn’t take long for an answer, though not the one Cayro was looking for. The ship’s shields flared as an RPG struck it, exploding harmlessly several meters from the port side. I could almost hear the sigh in Cayro’s voice as one of the laser cannons swiveled toward the source of the attack. The ensuing explosion was loud enough to rattle my teeth, even from this distance.
“Would you like to continue ignoring my peaceful request, or shall I demonstrate how serious I am for a second time?” Cayro’s tone was all steel, leaving no doubt about what would happen next if these idiots didn’t wise up. But whatever was going down, I didn’t catch it as Scuzball cut the feed and reconnected me back to the fleet’s main channel.
“Dragon Fleet, you are clear to continue,” the professional female voice chimed in, as cool and calm as ever.
Shifting my truck back into gear, I rolled forward, picking my way through the debris field. Anything too big to avoid got shoved aside by the blade, clearing the way for the rest of the convoy. As we passed under the Crescent Moon, I caught sight of the 588th’s members engaging in what looked like a very one-sided conversation with a few Hell Hounds, rifles at the ready. Star was in the thick of it, and I could only imagine the verbal smackdown she was delivering. Those outlaws had no idea who they were dealing with.
Clearing the last of the debris, I hammered down, the fleet falling into rhythm as we continued our journey. For the next hour and a half, the comms buzzed with chatter about the Crescent Moon’s show of force. Cayro’s reputation as a no-nonsense leader had only grown over the years, and today’s display had just added another chapter to the legend. He was the embodiment of the phrase, "Don’t mess with America’s boats," and heaven help anyone who tried.
As we approached the Omaha Gate, it swung open for us, triggering that inevitable comparison to a certain dinosaur-themed movie. Naturally, someone had to go there.
“Hey, this time we’re bringing dinosaurs back with us. At least we’re coming back as a complete convoy, unlike Dr. Malcolm’s team,” Tyler quipped, his voice full of playful mischief.
The dragons let out a collective groan over the comms, and I couldn’t help but chuckle as the shadow of the Crescent Moon passed over us, the ship turning south.
“Hey, Stoneclaw, you planning on stomping around Des Moines and roaring to terrorize the locals?” Azura teased, her voice light.
“I am a regal dragon; I don’t stomp around,” Stoneclaw replied with mock indignation.
“Tell that to my tower,” Icetail shot back.
“Your tower deserved it. If you didn’t leave your damn plastic blocks lying around for me to step on, I wouldn’t have smashed it the multiple times I have,” Stoneclaw grumbled.
I couldn’t help but grin as the playful banter filled the airwaves, that warm spot in my chest—first noticed back at the Ankeny yard—now growing even larger. I may have been a reluctant leader at first, but somewhere along the line, I’d gone and fallen in love with this chaotic, crazy family. The melancholy that had clouded my thoughts after last night’s dinner began to dissipate, replaced by a deep-seated happiness. Yes, I missed the old days aboard the Crescent Moon, but this? This was better. This was home.
Setting my cruise control at seventy, I leaned back in my seat, letting the chatter of my team wash over me. Everything was running smoothly as we barreled down the highway—until we blew past the weigh station just outside Des Moines without stopping. We’d been told we didn’t need to, so naturally, we kept rolling.
“Hey, Alpha? I’ve got a set of blues flashing behind me,” Seth’s voice crackled over the comms.
I let out a sigh. Of course, DOT never got the memo. “Just ignore them,” I ordered, keeping my rig steady. But it wasn’t long before the officer, apparently oblivious to the massive bulldozer blade on the front of my truck, came flying past us and cut me off.
I glanced at Scuzball on my tablet. “Anything you can do to get this pest off our backs, buddy?”
“I’ve been trying, but this one’s persistent and stubborn,” Scuzball replied, his tone laced with frustration.
Naturally, that’s when the officer decided to flash his brake lights and slow down right in front of me. I merged left to overtake, only for the idiot to speed up and get back in front, trying to play traffic cop with a convoy that outweighed him by several tons. When he brake-checked me again, his cruiser kissed the bulldozer blade with a soft crunch. And then, as if on cue, three more highway patrol cars came roaring up alongside us, boxing us in and angrily waving for us to pull over.
“Scuzball, can you hack into their radio system and patch me through?” I asked, my patience wearing thin.
“Never thought you’d ask,” he replied with a grin, tapping into their communications with his usual finesse. A few moments later, I heard the officers’ chatter.
“What can I do for you, officers?” I announced over their channel, letting just a hint of irritation seep into my tone.
Silence. They were clearly trying to figure out who the hell was talking to them.
“Who is this, and how did you get access to our radio channel?” one of them finally demanded.
“I’m the lead driver in the military convoy you’re currently trying to pull over,” I replied, my voice calm but edged with impatience.
Another pause, then, “You blew past a weigh station and are refusing to pull over after being instructed to. Your trucks don’t look like military vehicles, and there are no indicators that you’re military.”
“We are the 781st Transportation Pack under the 102nd Airborne Division, based out of the SkyTeam Transportation Division. I’m Alpha Acosta. Check with your upper chain of command,” I stated flatly.
More silence, then a different voice asked, “What’s your destination?”
“SkyTeam Transportation Division, Ankeny yard. You know where that is?” I shot back.
“Yes, we do,” he replied.
“Great. You can either follow us or guide us in, but we’re not stopping. I can promise you that you will not be able to stop us. So, you can either do as I suggest, or you can explain to your supervisor why you and your fellow officers ended up with seriously damaged equipment and nothing to show for it,” I declared, allowing a low growl to underscore my words.
“Excuse me?” the officer spluttered.
“Let me explain this carefully,” I began, my tone dropping to something dangerously close to a snarl. “We are an active-duty unit en route back to our home base from a mission past the Omaha Gate. Unless you’ve got an Abrams main battle tank lying around, there is absolutely nothing you can throw at us that will stop these trucks. If you need further clarification, feel free to follow us to the Ankeny yard.”
“Understood, we’ll guide and follow you to the SkyTeam Ankeny yard,” the officer finally relented, his tone carrying the weight of someone who’s just realized they’ve bitten off more than they can chew. He stayed beside me while two of the other cruisers fell back to block off traffic, like they were suddenly very eager to make up for lost time.
Scuzball seamlessly switched me back to the team’s main channel, and I could hear the chatter of my pack, all buzzing with speculation and questions.
“Maintain course,” I announced, cutting through the noise. “The officers will be following us back to the yard.”
“Is everything okay?” Steve’s voice crackled through, laced with concern.
“Yeah, just seems the officers didn’t get the memo is all,” I replied, trying to keep my tone light despite the irritation simmering underneath.
“What do you mean they didn’t get the memo?” Steve pressed. “I’ve got a copy of it right here on my desktop with the state governor’s signature on it.”
“Your guess is as good as mine. We’ll figure it out when we get to the yard,” I said, letting out a breath. There was no point in getting riled up now; we were almost home.
It took another ten minutes to reach the yard, the officers trailing us like they were tailing a UFO. When we pulled in, I was met with a sight that made me pause. The yard was a hive of activity, with uniformed soldiers buzzing about, rearranging equipment like they were preparing for a full-scale operation. At the gate, armed soldiers waved us through, forcing the officers to stay back until we were inside.
I parked my truck and jumped out, making a beeline for my uncle, who was waiting by his black SUV. He gave me a quick grin—a rare sight—before his face returned to its usual serious expression. Together, we headed for the gate where the officers were being given a hard time by the guards.
As we approached, my uncle handed me a card. I looked down to see a military CAC card, complete with my photo, rank, and name. I raised an eyebrow at him, but he just nodded for me to keep it, so I slipped it into my pocket.
At the gate, the guards were still hassling the officers until my uncle stepped up, commanding instant respect. “What seems to be the problem, officers?” he asked, his voice smooth but with an edge that suggested he was in no mood for nonsense.
“It was a miscommunication, sir. We just got the call that this fleet of trucks is, in fact, a military unit,” one of the officers admitted, looking like he wanted to melt into his cruiser.
“Uncle, let them come in. No need to make enemies with the DOT,” I suggested, not wanting to escalate things any further.
He eyed me for a moment, considering, before nodding and waving the officers into the yard. As they approached, one of them recognized my voice, his eyes widening in shock.
“Wait, you’re the woman we were talking to over our radio?” he asked, clearly floored.
I gave him my best Star-style devious grin, letting it sink in. “That would be me,” I replied, enjoying the flicker of realization that crossed his face.
“Come on, you can check out the trucks and see why I told you what I did,” I added, motioning for them to follow. The least I could do was give them a tour of the convoy that had them so thoroughly flustered.