Star Zaraki
October 23, 2035
14:23 EST
Acosta Territory
Pigeon Forge, TN
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I stood in the driveway, Alpha Acosta’s soul thrumming in my grasp. Its amethyst glow pulsed like a heartbeat, alive and electric, yet beneath its brilliance, dark tendrils coiled and slithered like a predator lying in wait. Something deep inside me stirred—a hunger I didn’t fully understand. The soul called to me, its power tantalizing and intoxicating.
My grip tightened, and my chest heaved. This was mine. I had fought for it, earned it. The raw strength radiating from the soul begged to be consumed, its whispers weaving through my thoughts like a seductive thread. My mouth watered as I licked my lips, ready to taste the power it promised. Just as I leaned closer, my father stepped into my line of sight, his massive form blocking out the light.
My feral gaze snapped to his, still drunk on the ecstasy of the fight. He wasn’t angry, nor disappointed. His expression unsettled me more than either of those—he looked worried.
“Sweetheart, this soul is poisonous. Can’t you see the darkness coursing through it?” His voice was low, a whisper meant only for me.
I snarled, clutching the soul tighter to my chest. “This is mine,” I growled, my voice raw and guttural. “You don’t get to take it from me.”
His hand brushed mine, gentle but insistent. “I’m not taking it from you,” he said softly. “But you have to see it for what it is.”
I hesitated, my grip loosening slightly as I glanced at the soul. Its amethyst hue shimmered like liquid light, but within it, dark swirls writhed, slow and deliberate, like snakes weaving through tall grass. My stomach twisted at the sight. I looked back at my father, his concern etched deep into his features.
“It’s calling for me. I want to eat it. To consume it,” I admitted, my voice trembling. The words tasted bitter, even as I said them.
“I know, honey,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “But if you consume this soul, it will make you ill. The darkness will latch on to you.”
I growled again, low in my throat. My instincts screamed at me to protect my prize. Why did it have to be him? Of all people, why did it have to be my father here, telling me what to do? The hunger clawed at me, relentless, demanding that I take what was mine.
“What do I need to do then?” I snapped, my claws flexing around the soul as though daring him to answer.
“Burn it,” he said simply.
“How?” I asked, my tone sharp, my frustration bubbling to the surface.
“Use your magic, honey. Draw on it and imagine it as fire. Push it into the soul.” His voice was steady, soothing even, but the weight of his words pressed down on me.
I sneered, closing my eyes. The hunger gnawed at me, unrelenting, whispering that destroying the soul was wrong—that it was mine to take. My father’s hand cupped my cheek, his warmth grounding me as the fire within me roared, barely contained.
“Trust me, Star,” he urged, his amethyst eyes locking onto mine. “This soul is not safe for you to eat. The darkness will twist you and turn you into a monster.”
My lips parted to argue. A monster? Weren’t we already monsters? What would a little more darkness matter? The thought burned on the tip of my tongue, but before I could speak it aloud, he interrupted.
“You are not a monster, Star. You are a Draconian, just as Lyra is a werewolf. You’re different, yes, but that doesn’t make you a monster. Eating this soul, however, will.”
His words sliced through my resolve like a blade, and I faltered. My chest tightened, and I forced myself to close my eyes again, reaching deep into the fire simmering in my core. The heat flared, wild and untamed, as I pushed it into the soul. Flames erupted, devouring the darkness in an instant. A scream echoed—not human, not beast, but something far older, raw and eternal.
The light faded. My breath heaved as I opened my eyes, staring at the at the dying flames as they vanished.
“I’m proud of you,” my father said softly. His hand rested on my shoulder, grounding me as the tremors of adrenaline began to fade. “That took courage.”
As his words washed over me like a soothing balm, the hunger that gnawed at me finally ebbed away. My hands trembled as the adrenaline drained from my body, leaving me hollow and unsteady. Weakness crept in, exhaustion pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t shake. Taking a shaky breath, I bowed my head in acknowledgment to my father before turning around.
I met Cayro’s gaze first. His soft smile steadied me, though it didn’t quite erase the weariness sinking into my bones. I glanced past him to where Zak and Aura were helping Lyra out of the collar and manacles her father had bound her with. The creak of strained wood pulled my attention back toward the house. A low groan followed, and then, with a deafening crunch, the entire structure collapsed inward, sending up a cloud of dust and debris. My eyebrows rose, and I blinked in surprise. I hadn’t realized Acosta and I had done that much damage.
Cayro stepped beside me, his hand sliding into mine. His hand tangled with my claw as he laced our fingers. “You truly are a menace,” he said with a soft chuckle.
I allowed myself a grin. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
My father let out a low chuckle behind me, his grin widening. “You should have seen what she did to the Autumn when she was twelve. One firework, and the entire upper deck looked like it had been hit by a torpedo.”
I shot him a glare. “It was one big firework, and it was perfectly under control.”
Cayro laughed outright, his shoulders shaking. “Oh, I know about that one. She told me the whole story. Blew up Andrew’s office, the trophy he was lecturing her about, and the bridge in one shot. ‘Oops,’ wasn’t it?”
I huffed, crossing my arms. “I’m not hearing any complaints about the results.”
“Shell shock counts as a result?” Cayro teased, his grin widening. “What was it you said when I accidentally blew a hole in the ceiling? Something like, ‘Cayro got a bit too excited?’”
“That was entirely accurate!” I said, shooting him a faux indignant look. “And, for the record, I didn’t hear anyone complaining about the new monitor they had to install afterward.”
My father snorted. “It wasn’t just the monitor, sweetheart. It was the bridge deck, the Captain’s office, and half the Autumn’s fire suppression system. Let’s not sugarcoat it.”
I growled playfully, flicking my tail in mock annoyance. “Alright, fine. Next time I’ll make sure to just take out the monitor.”
“Oh no, I don’t doubt you’d escalate the event,” Cayro said, laughter in his voice.
“You’re both impossible,” I muttered, though my grin refused to be subdued. Chaos came naturally, I supposed, but I didn’t need them teaming up against me. The rumble of someone clearing their throat interrupted us, pulling our attention back to the clearing.
The three of us turned back around to find Zak standing a few feet away, still in his wolf form, his imposing black frame radiating authority. He scanned the clearing, his sharp gaze lingering on the assembled wolves, who watched in silence. As our eyes met, one by one, they lowered their heads and bowed. The weight of their deference settled on my shoulders, and I stiffened. My fingers tightened in Cayro’s as his body mirrored my tension.
Zak’s jaws parted, and his deep, gravelly voice filled the air with a calm that demanded attention. “Alpha Acosta has fallen during an official challenge. Lyra Kamilla Acosta belongs to the Bracton Zaraki Pack. With this being an Alpha versus Alpha challenge, Alpha Bracton and Luna Zaraki have the right to claim the Acosta Pack as theirs.”
My breath caught, and I felt Cayro’s thoughts brush against mine, sharp and uneasy. His reluctance mirrored my own, and I met his gaze, shaking my head slightly. We didn’t want this. We already had too much on our plates. Taking over a pack wasn’t just another task; it was a lifelong commitment—one we weren’t ready for and didn’t need. He gave me a faint nod of agreement.
“We do not want the Acosta Pack,” I declared, my voice firm but measured. “We have enough on our plates as it is, Zak.”
Zak gave me a slight nod of acknowledgment before turning his attention to the gathered wolves. “Beta Thompson, front and center.”
From the crowd, a man in a crisp cop uniform stepped forward, his head bowed low. His movements were slow but deliberate, as though the weight of the moment pressed on him just as much as it did on me. He stopped a few feet from Zak, his posture radiating deference.
“Yes, Lord Lyconotu?” he asked quietly, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.
Zak’s tone was calm but authoritative. “As the next in command of the Acosta Pack, you are now the Alpha. Alpha Bracton and Luna Zaraki have declined their claim. You have thirty days to finalize the paperwork and resolve any challenges for the position.”
Beta Thompson bowed deeper. “Yes, my Lord,” he said, retreating into the crowd as murmurs rippled through the wolves.
Zak turned toward his truck, only to let out a low, rumbling growl. His once-pristine Ford F250 sat smashed and mangled, the nearby Porsche on its roof looking even worse. He pulled his phone from his pocket with a sharp huff and dialed. “Christian, I need you to send a cleanup team to the Acosta house. Bring a spare SUV. My truck was damaged and isn’t drivable,” he said, his voice clipped as he ended the call.
Forty-five minutes later, a small convoy of black SUVs and a Ford Transit van arrived. The cleanup crew, looking like they moonlit as Secret Service agents, worked efficiently, bagging Alpha Acosta’s body and clearing the rubble. I sat in the damaged truck with Cayro, my father standing nearby in his human form, his gaze steady as he observed the operation. Lyra had tucked herself into the back seat, keeping out of sight.
The tension hanging over us thickened as Zak’s lingering anger simmered, heavy and unmistakable. He’d already had a private discussion with Cayro, and now Cayro sat quietly, lost in thought. I could feel his turmoil through our link. Zak’s anger was understandable, even justified—Lyra’s reckless actions had nearly gotten people killed. But knowing how to address it? That was a problem none of us seemed ready to solve. I was too exhausted to give it much thought. Right now, all I wanted was to go home and sleep.
Ten minutes later, we were crammed into one of the SUVs that had shown up, Zak at the wheel, driving us back to the mansion. The drive passed in silence, thick with exhaustion and unspoken thoughts. By the time we arrived, I didn’t have the energy to stop and greet Mr. and Mrs. Bracton. I just headed straight to my and Cayor’s room, stripped off my boots and clothes, and collapsed onto the bed. Sleep claimed me before my head even hit the pillow.
What felt like hours later, I stirred. Something was off. I hadn’t opened my eyes yet, but the light pressing against my lids was strange—too warm, too otherworldly. It didn’t feel like the soft amber glow of our bedside lamp or the dim sunlight filtering through the curtains. Cracking my eyes open, I blinked against a flood of pinkish-purple light.
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The room was bathed in the eerie hue, the air thick with its strange glow. My breath hitched as I glanced around. The light wasn’t just a reflection or a trick of the eye—it was everywhere, clinging to the walls, pooling in the corners. I pushed myself upright, my heart thudding in my chest. Had something happened in the house?
Sliding off the bed, I padded into the ensuite, rubbing my temples as I tried to shake the odd sense of unease. The moment I stepped inside, my breath caught. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror, but it wasn’t my human form—or even the familiar Draconian form I’d grown used to. No, this was something else entirely.
I froze, my eyes tracing every alien feature staring back at me. Iridescent black scales shimmered where my pale cream skin should have been, catching the strange light with an almost hypnotic gleam. My hair, once dark brown, had turned the same shade as my amethyst eyes, shimmering faintly as though infused with magic. And my horns—no longer the small, subtle curves I was used to—arched backward in regal, crown-like points that framed my face.
A grin tugged at my lips, but the sight of my teeth startled me. They were sharp and angular, my canines elongated into fangs that looked more predator than human. The viciousness of my reflection made my stomach twist, but at the same time, there was something strangely intoxicating about it. For a fleeting moment, I looked like my father in his Draconian form—a miniature echo of his overwhelming presence.
Letting out a sigh, I turned toward the sink, twisting the faucet knob to splash water on my face. Nothing happened. Frowning, I tried again, but the tap remained dry. “What the hell?” I muttered, glancing down at the faucet as though willing it to work. The water must have been shut off. Great. Just what I needed.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, willing the tension in my chest to dissipate. I just needed to shift back. My human form would bring me back to reality, help me figure out what was going on. But when I reached for that familiar sense of self, I slammed into an invisible wall. My eyes flew open, and panic began to creep into my thoughts.
“No, no, no,” I whispered, shutting my eyes again and trying harder. The wall didn’t budge. Instead of my human form, the barrier loomed, unyielding and suffocating. Biting my lip, I pushed harder, forcing myself to concentrate, but nothing happened. My breath quickened, my chest heaving as the panic clawed its way up my throat.
“Stay calm,” I muttered to myself, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Think of what Dr. Volkova taught you.” But no amount of calming exercises could keep the panic at bay. I flinched as static burst through my coms implant when I tried to contact Cayro, the noise loud and grating in my ears. It was useless. The connection wasn’t just weak—it was completely scrambled.
My body began to tremble, my chest tightening painfully as the panic finally took hold. I stumbled out of the bathroom, gripping the doorframe to steady myself as I stepped into the hallway. My voice cracked as I called out, “Cayro!” The sound was raw and rasping, a reflection of the fear bubbling beneath my skin. No answer. I could hear voices downstairs, but no one responded.
I yelled again, louder this time, the desperation lacing my words. “Cayro!” Still nothing. My voice felt like it was swallowed by the oppressive glow surrounding me, as though the house itself refused to carry my words. The silence pressed in, heavy and suffocating.
I knew I had no choice but to go downstairs and find someone. Everyone in the house knew I could shift like my father, so the new features wouldn’t shock them too much—at least, I hoped not. That didn’t make it any easier to face them. As I descended the stairs, I realized the pinkish-purple hue wasn’t confined to my bedroom. It filled the house, clinging to every corner and surface like an otherworldly fog.
Was this strange glow connected to my shift? If the entire house was engulfed in it, wouldn’t someone have noticed? Wouldn’t Cayro or my father have come to wake me and tell me what was going on? The voices I’d heard earlier were still carrying through the house, calm and conversational. If they could see this, how could they act like nothing was wrong?
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I followed the voices to the office. Cayro’s tone reached me first—sharp, angry, serious. I hesitated at the door, my hand trembling as I reached for the handle. When I twisted it, it felt like it turned, but when I tried to push the door open, it didn’t budge. Confused, I pressed harder, and to my horror, I slid straight through the door like it wasn’t even there.
I froze, staring at the scene in front of me. Cayro sat behind the desk, his posture rigid, his expression etched with disapproval. Lyra sat opposite him, looking every bit the scolded child, her head bowed and her hands fidgeting in her lap. The tension between them was almost suffocating.
Shaken, I turned back to the door and reached out, my heart racing as my hand passed through the solid wood again. I tried to steady my breathing, but the icy realization settled over me like a weight: something was seriously wrong.
Cayro’s voice broke through my spiraling thoughts, pulling my attention back to the room.
“Lyra, what you did was utterly stupid and disrespectful to Aura. You got her arrested and caused one hell of a headache for Zak. What the hell were you thinking?” His tone was sharp, cutting, but eerily calm.
“I am sorry, Alpha,” Lyra said, her voice low and hesitant. “I was frustrated. Someone keeps stealing my Red Bulls, and there’s been a lot going on. I needed to blow off some steam.”
Even through my growing panic, I couldn’t suppress a snort. Crossing my arms, I opened my mouth and snapped, “That doesn’t mean you can go out and drive like a reckless hellion!” The words rang out, full of annoyance—but neither of them reacted. It was like I wasn’t even there.
Cayro continued, his gaze fixed on Lyra. “Lyra, that doesn’t mean you can act out. All of us are stressed, but you don’t see anyone else getting into trouble with law enforcement, do you?”
“No, Alpha,” Lyra answered softly, her hands wringing in her lap.
“We’re trying to keep a low profile,” he continued, his voice softer but still firm. “The last thing we need is to end up in the spotlight because you or anyone else decided to do something reckless, like a high-speed chase through Pigeon Forge. That leads me to the next concern. Why didn’t you ask Scuzball to take you to the store?”
“I did. He told me you didn’t authorize me to use the skycar, so he refused. You and Star were out cold from the night before. I’m tired of always having to ask for permission to do things. I’ve been treated like a kid my entire life, and I took the opportunity to be my own person. If Aura had listened to me, we wouldn’t have gotten caught,” Lyra said, her voice rising slightly in defense.
Her words hung in the air, filled with a bitterness that matched my own sense of isolation. My panic simmered beneath the surface, but their obliviousness to my presence left me feeling more frustrated than afraid.
The look Cayro gave her said it all: if Lyra truly considered herself an adult, she wouldn’t have pulled that kind of reckless stunt with Aura’s car. His voice was calm but firm as he spoke. “Lyra, neither Star nor I are trying to control you. If anything, we’ve been your friends and given you space to be your own person. But even as your friends, we cannot overlook this.”
“It was just some harmless fun,” Lyra muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “No one got hurt…”
Cayro’s growl was low, but it carried a weight that filled the room. “Lyra, it was not harmless. You didn’t harm anyone this time, but you easily could have—or the cops could have while chasing you. And let’s not forget the consequences. Zak and Aura are now stuck with a hefty fine. Aura’s car has been impounded, and both of them have to do community service. On top of that, you were kidnapped, Lyra. Star and I risked our lives to rescue you from your father. Do you think any of that is acceptable?”
Lyra’s head bowed further, her hands trembling slightly in her lap as Cayro listed off the aftermath of her actions. The defiance she’d tried to cling to crumbled under the weight of his words.
“So…” Cayro continued, his tone softening as he leaned forward slightly. “This is what we’re going to do.”
Lyra’s shoulders slumped, and I could see her beginning to tremble. Cayro noticed too, but he pressed on. He didn’t enjoy this—anyone could see that—but it had to be done.
“Star and I will cover the cost of the fine, the impound fee, and the fee to get Aura’s license reinstated. You will owe us for those costs—likely close to twelve thousand dollars. Star and I will work out a payment plan with you. In the meantime, you’ll be joining Zak and Aura in doing community service. Finally, you will write a three-thousand-word essay and apology to Zak and Aura for your behavior. You cannot use Scuzball or any other software beyond a word processor to write it. Or you can handwrite it. My recommendation is that you handwrite it.”
Cayro leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, waiting for her response.
Lyra blinked up at him, her face a mask of shock. “Is that it?” she asked, genuine confusion coloring her tone.
“What do you mean by ‘is that it?’” Cayro asked, his brow furrowing. I was equally baffled. The punishment wasn’t lenient by any stretch—an essay, community service, and financial restitution were a lot to shoulder.
“You’re not going to beat me? Or whip me? Or starve me for what I did?” Lyra asked, her voice cracking.
My jaw dropped. The words hung in the air like a stone sinking into the pit of my stomach. What the ever-loving hell? We weren’t cruel. We weren’t monsters. Why in the world would she think we’d do something like that?
“Lyra!” I shouted, my voice filled with rage. Neither of them reacted. Of course—they still couldn’t hear me. Frustrated, I tried to hug her, to comfort her, but my arms passed through her like she wasn’t even there. Spinning around, I caught sight of her face. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her shoulders shook as she cried. Cayro’s expression shifted from disappointment to something far softer: concern.
“Lyra,” he said, his tone now calm, gentle. “Star and I would never do that to you. Yes, your actions have disappointed and embarrassed us, but we are not your father or the other werewolves you’ve dealt with. The punishment I’ve set is fair and meant to teach responsibility—not fear. Beating or starving you wouldn’t teach you anything except to be afraid of us. And that is the last thing we want.”
Lyra swallowed hard and nodded, bowing her head again. “I understand, Alpha. I will abide by the punishment you’ve set.”
Cayro gave her a nod of approval, his expression somber. “Good. You’re dismissed.”
Lyra stood slowly, hesitating for a moment before turning and walking away. As she passed, she walked directly through me, her form phasing through mine like a ghost. A shiver ran down my spine at the unsettling sensation. I tried once more to reach out to her, to stop her, but my hands went straight through her again. She was gone.
The panic that had been simmering inside me began to bubble over once more. I turned back toward Cayro, watching as he let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in his chair, his arms dropping limply to his sides. For a moment, the weight of the situation seemed to crush him. And yet, in that moment, I saw something I hadn’t before—a different side of him. He wasn’t just my partner, my Cayro. He was a leader, someone who could bear the burden of responsibility even when it clearly pained him. I could see the man he was growing into, and for a fleeting second, it made me forget my fear.
Walking over to him, I reached out, my fingers trembling as I tried to run my hand through his hair. It was a gesture I’d done a hundred times before, meant to reassure him—and myself. But my hand fazed through him, just like it had with Lyra. I froze, a cold wave of panic sweeping over me. Waving my hand frantically in front of his face, I tried to catch his attention. He didn’t react.
“Cayro!” I called out, my voice rising with each attempt. “Cayro, please!” But no matter how loud I got, he didn’t hear me. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, spilling over as I tried again and again to interact with him. Each failure chipped away at my composure until I could barely stand.
After a few minutes, Cayro stood and left the office, his movements brisk. I followed after him, my steps unsteady. He entered the living room, where Mr. and Mrs. Bracton were sitting, watching TV as if everything were perfectly normal. I rushed to them, my chest tightening with hope.
“Mrs. Bracton, Mr. Bracton! Can you hear me?” I cried, but they didn’t so much as flinch.
I slumped onto the couch, my panic simmering into quiet despair. Scooting closer to Cayro, I huddled into a ball, wrapping my arms around my legs. The pinkish-purple hue seemed even thicker down here, its glow pressing against me like a weight. This wasn’t a dream—it was too vivid, too suffocating. But what else could it be? Tears streamed down my face as I rocked slightly, trying to ground myself while Cayro spoke with his grandparents.
I didn’t pay attention to their conversation. The words blurred into background noise as I stared at the wall, trapped in my own spiraling thoughts. For the next couple of hours, they talked amongst themselves or watched TV, while I sat there, silent and invisible. Being near Cayro was the only comfort I had, even if he didn’t know I was there.
A spark of hope flared when my father walked into the living room. I scrambled to my feet, my breath catching. He was a Draconian—he’d see me. He’d know what was happening. “Dad!” I shouted, relief pouring into my voice. But like the others, he didn’t respond.
“Have you guys seen Star?” he asked, his tone quiet but tinged with concern.
“The last time I saw her was when we got home, and she went up to our room,” Cayro replied.
“I just came from upstairs,” my father said. “When I poked my head in to check on her, she wasn’t there.”
“Are you sure? Maybe she’s in the bathroom,” Cayro suggested.
“No, the bathroom door was open, and the light was off,” my father answered, his brows furrowed.
Cayro’s face shifted instantly from indifference to concern. He leapt to his feet and charged off, calling my name. “Star! Where are you?”
My heart ached as I heard him shouting for me, his voice laced with panic. I wanted to answer him, to tell him I was right there, but I already knew it was pointless. Turning back to my father, I found him staring directly at me. My breath caught in my throat. Could he see me?
For a moment, it felt like he could. His eyes narrowed, confusion flickering across his face. But then he broke his gaze and turned toward the kitchen. My hope shattered.
“No. No. NO!” I whispered harshly to myself. Desperation clawed at me. Taking a deep breath, I gathered as much magic as I could muster and screamed.
“DAD!”
The scream echoed through the house like a bell, vibrating in my chest and rattling the very air around me. My father froze mid-step, spinning around, his gaze sweeping the room. For a second, I thought I’d succeeded.
“Did you hear that?” he asked Mr. and Mrs. Bracton, his voice sharp.
“Hear what?” Mr. Bracton asked, looking up from the TV.
“I thought I heard Star,” my father replied, his eyes still scanning the room.
“No, all I hear is the TV and Cayro,” Mrs. Bracton said calmly.
My father’s shoulders sagged slightly, and he turned on his heels. “No. No. NO!” I cried again. “Come on, Dad! You heard me!”
Drawing on more magic, I screamed louder, lacing it with every ounce of power I could. “FATHER!”
He stopped again, his back rigid as he looked over his shoulder. For one agonizing moment, it seemed like he might finally see me. But when his gaze didn’t settle on me, he continued walking.
I collapsed to my knees, the last bit of fight leaving me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I cried openly, my body trembling with the weight of my isolation. Everyone was here—Cayro, my father, the Bractons—but I had never felt so utterly alone.
Was I dead? What was happening to me? Why couldn’t I interact with the world? What was this pinkish-purple hue, and why was it suffocating me? My sobs filled the silence that had settled in my chest, and I buried my face in my hands. I didn’t have answers—only questions that loomed like a shadow over me.