She didn't know why hearing his name settled some of the ruffles inside her — but it did.
A strange calm.
Turning slightly, she looked at Janet, her voice barely above a whisper.
"T–this is the first time I'm hearing his name," she stammered, her cheeks warm.
"Are you serious? Like… not joking at all?" Janet asked, eyes wide with disbelief, as if what Layla had just said was too unreal to process.
"That's literally what everyone calls him," Janet added with a short laugh, shaking her head like she couldn't believe it.
That's when it hit Layla—maybe she hadn't really been paying attention. Not to her surroundings, not to the little details that made up the rhythm of life in the Crescent Moon Pack. Today was the first time she'd had this much interaction with so many people at once. And honestly, it was overwhelming.
Besides, the duo—Alpha Dorian and his Beta—scared her more than she cared to admit. The Alpha carried that kind of quiet mystery that made you want to look away the moment he entered a room. And the Beta? He looked just as dangerous, sharp-eyed and controlled. Layla didn't need anyone to tell her why they called Dorian the "Ruthless Alpha." His reputation practically walked ahead of him.
Still, some of the things she'd seen here—soft laughter, warm food, even the way people joked during training—contradicted that name. Or at least, made her wonder if there was more to this pack than what the stories said.
Another wave of silence rippled through the hall as the Beta entered, following closely behind the Alpha.
If Dorian was the calm before a storm, the Beta was the storm itself. His presence didn't just draw attention—it commanded it. Where the Alpha's energy was quiet and unsettling in its stillness, the Beta's was sharp, potent, and impossible to ignore. It swept through the room like a sudden drop in temperature, straightening spines and silencing even the boldest murmurs.
Layla sat a little straighter, her fingers unconsciously tightening around the fabric of her dress. Her body remembered things her mind hadn't yet processed—the need to stay small, quiet, unseen.
Just like his Alpha, his aura made it clear that he saw everything. Every twitch. Every breath.
And yet, despite the crackling tension that filled the hall, Layla couldn't help but notice something strange.
For all their dominance, the two didn't bask in the attention. They didn't seek eyes. They didn't smile. They simply walked forward—like the weight of the room belonged to them by default.
And maybe it did.
The conference began shortly after. Nothing extravagant. The Beta's voice carried, calm but commanding, as he relayed updates on the happenings in the pack, nothing dramatic, just efficient briefings on border security, rogue activity, pack finances, and regional alliances. A few murmurs rose in the crowd, questions or quiet reactions, but no one spoke out of turn.
The Alpha said nothing. As always.
He sat motionless in his seat at the center, surrounded by his advisors, a silent force in a room filled with over two thousand wolves.
Layla kept her head down.
There was no reason anyone would notice her — not here, not in this ocean of voices and strength and legacy. She could barely see the dais, but she could feel them. Him. That strange tension that bent the air, a pull like gravity radiating from the front of the hall.
The longer the conference went on, the heavier it felt. Like the walls themselves were leaning in to listen.
Janet and her friends tried a few more times to draw her into conversation, whispering gently so as not to disturb the room. But Layla struggled to respond. The attention felt foreign. Like trying to speak in a language she'd never learned. Eventually, they gave up, continuing their low chatter without her.
She didn't blame them.
When the final report was given, the Beta stepped back.
The Alpha rose.
Not a word. Just movement.
And still, it was like the whole room tilted in response.
No goodbyes. No speeches. Just an exhale of silence as the two walked out, trailed by a few guards and high-ranking wolves. The massive doors swung open and closed again, sealing the quiet behind them.
Only then did the room begin to stir.
Wolves stood, stretched, whispered, and made for the exit in scattered waves — some leaving with loud conversations, others slipping away as if they'd never been there at all.
Layla didn't move.
Not yet.
Because even in this crowd of thousands…
She still felt too visible.
Too out of place.
Too shaken by the power that hadn't even looked her way.
———
The Crescent Moon pack grounds shimmered under hundreds of string lights woven through tall pines, casting soft gold halos on everything they touched. The air was cool, kissed by mountain wind and the faint hum of magic that always clung to pack gatherings. Long tables groaned under the weight of a feast, sizzling meats, sweet pastries, roasted vegetables glistening with oil and herbs. The scent of spice and smoke danced through the clearing, mingling with the faint hum of magic and moonlight. Platters were passed around in a blur of chatter and motion, drinks fizzed in tall glasses, and sticky fingers reached for seconds without shame. Music played from sleek wireless speakers hidden in lantern posts, a mix of modern rhythms with an edge of something tribal buried in the beat. Laughter and howls blended seamlessly in the distance, as some wolves had already shifted to play near the glowing fire pits. A few dared to race along the outskirts of the woods in half-shift form, their claws leaving dents in the soft earth.
It wasn't extravagant, nothing about Crescent Moon ever was as she had noticed the little time she has spent in the pack, but it was alive. There were sparks of energy in the air, not just from firelight but from the deep-rooted bond that pulsed through the pack. Children darted between adults, some shifting tiny tails out of excitement before giggling and running away. Older wolves mingled at the drink stations, sipping chilled berry wines or citrusy sodas. Layla lingered at the edge of it all, her senses overwhelmed yet strangely soothed by the beautiful chaos surrounding her.
Layla had just shifted a little closer to the edge of the firelight when someone nudged her shoulder with a slight tap — not forceful, but enough to break her trance. She turned to find Nikos standing beside her, a skewer of meat in one hand, an easy half-smile on his face.
"Hey, wolfless," he teased lightly, his tone softer than it had been that morning. "Survive your first conference?"
Layla exhaled a quiet laugh, the corner of her lips twitching. "Barely," she said. "It was… a lot."
Nikos nodded, chewing on his skewer. "Yeah, first ones always feel like being thrown into the deep end. You looked like you were doing fine, though."
"Did I?" she asked, unsure whether to believe him or not.
"You didn't bolt or pass out. That's usually a win," he replied with a shrug. Then, after a pause, "You sat with Janet, right? That crew's solid. Stick with them. They talk too much, but they're alright."
Layla nodded quietly, her gaze drifting back to the dancing flames. The warmth was beginning to seep into her skin — or maybe, just maybe, it was the first ember of comfort she'd felt all day.
By the time the fire had burned low and the music faded into a quiet hum of distant chatter, Layla had eaten a warm, hearty dinner — stew, roasted vegetables, and bread so soft it melted on her tongue. She didn't linger after. The noise, the crowd, even the music from the speakers in the background had begun to grate against the edges of her fatigue. Slipping away without drawing attention, she made her way back to her room. The walls greeted her with silence, and for once, it didn't feel lonely — just… necessary. She sank into bed, letting the quiet hold her, and for the first time in weeks, she almost believed she would sleep through the night.
She spoke too soon.
This time, the nightmares were different — less cruel, less violent. No blood, no burning walls, no echoes of her past torment. Instead, there was a pull. A voice, deep and distant, weaving through the shadows like smoke. It didn't speak words exactly, not in any language she recognized, but she felt it calling to her — through her. A steady, strange hum that made her bones ache and her chest tighten. She wasn't afraid… not really. But something inside her stirred restlessly, like a thread unraveling from the center of her soul.
Waiting for her to notice.....