Chapter 1: Saved by the Alpha's Hand

I am the blade in Julian Frost’s hand. Cold steel, cold purpose—sometimes I think I can still smell the oil and blood on my edge, even now. That’s the thing about being a weapon in someone else’s grip: the world turns sharp, metallic, and you start to wonder if you’ll ever be anything else.

Even now, I swear I can feel his grip—cold, steady, unyielding. The way his fingers curled around my hilt always told me more than words ever could. Funny, isn’t it? The memory of a hand outlasts the hand itself. Sometimes I wonder if I’m haunted by it, or just chasing a ghost.

Funny how a blade can remember the hand that wields it, even after you start to rust. Steel’s supposed to forget, but I never could.

Funny thing is, blades aren’t supposed to feel. But I did. And I rusted, too.

It’s strange, the things you notice when you’re just supposed to be a tool, not a real person. Rust creeps in, slow and silent. One day you look down and realize you’re not sure if you’re still sharp enough to matter. And that’s the part that keeps you up at night.

Some days I wondered if I was more than that—a tool, a blade, an extension of someone else’s will. Most days, I didn’t dare. Not really. Not with the way things were.

All because, half a year ago, he saved my life at the edge of Silver Ridge Forest, where the world gets mean and the trees watch you like they know your secrets.

That memory comes back in flashes—the taste of blood, the ache in my bones, the dawn slicing through the trees, sharp as hope. I still hear the crunch of his boots on wet leaves. Sometimes, late at night, I swear I can.

First time I met Julian Frost, I thought I’d seen a ghost. Or something worse.

He didn’t move like a ghost, though. He moved like someone who belonged to the world but had never really been part of it. Mist curled around him, but never touched his boots. Figures.

Back then, I was sprawled on the ground, feeling like I’d been run over by a truck. Every bone felt shattered. Pain so sharp, I almost let go.

The earth was cold, and every breath burned. I remember the copper tang of blood in my mouth, my fingers clawed at the dirt, desperate for something solid.

When I looked up, mud and blood blurred half my vision, but I saw him walking toward me against the dawn. His white boots were spotless. So was his face—cold as moonlight.

It was almost funny—someone that clean in a place this wild. He looked like he’d stepped out of another world. Untouched. Like the dirt didn’t dare stick.

He saved me, right when I was torn between fighting my way out or, hell, just texting my brother.

I’d been seconds away from pressing send, but something in his stride made me pause. He didn’t hurry. Didn’t have to.

"I’m Julian Frost." The words cut through the morning like a knife. The silence after was heavy, like the world was holding its breath.

His voice was low and smooth, his face sharp and almost gentle; his eyes dark, unreadable; his lips red, his teeth too white. The kind of face you didn’t trust, even when you wanted to.

The kind of face you’d trust, even if you knew you shouldn’t. If the devil ever came calling, he’d probably look like this.

Maybe it was the pain making me fuzzy. But looking at him, listening to that voice, I thought of the wolf that prowled the ridgeline at night.

My brother always said, wolves don’t miss a thing. Once they’ve got you in their sights, you’re done.

I’d seen that wolf once, silver eyes glinting in the moonlight, a shadow against the snow.

It never blinked.

Why would someone so clean make me think of that wolf? Didn’t make sense. But I couldn’t shake it.

My mentor always said I was too sensitive and too cautious. Sometimes that helps, but at the worst moments I overthink and trip myself up. Think too much and you trip over your own feet.

He used to joke that I could spot a trap in a field of daisies, but still walk right into it just to prove I could.

Not this time. This time, I was right.

Julian Frost wasn’t a simple man.

Not by a long shot.

There was a weight in his silence, the kind that comes from carrying too many secrets. I recognized it. Carried a few myself.

He was the Alpha of the Frost Pack.

The Frost Pack’s name echoed through every backwoods and small town in the region. They said there was nothing they couldn’t do, no one they couldn’t track down.

Old timers would lower their voices when they mentioned the Frost Pack, like if you said it too loud, trouble might come knocking.

But getting into the Frost Pack’s inner circle wasn’t easy. Even if you dropped a suitcase of cash at their door, you might not get in.

It wasn’t about money—it was about trust. Or something like it. But people still lined up.

Either way, they were booked solid for months.

Desperation makes you stupid. Guess I proved that.

Turns out, you really can’t judge a book by its cover.

I’d thought the Alpha would be some grizzled old guy, but Julian looked like a fallen angel.

The kind you’d see on stained glass, all sharp edges and cold light.

But this angel did the devil’s work.

There was something in the way he smiled—like he knew every sin you’d ever committed, and maybe a few you hadn’t gotten around to yet.

This trip out of the mountains was supposed to toughen me up, get me ready for the world. I’d been cocky, thinking I was ready for anything. Turns out, the world doesn’t care how ready you are.

Who would’ve thought I’d get jumped the minute I left? No matter how tough I was, I couldn’t take on that many people. Figures. Guess I wasn’t as bulletproof as I thought.

I’d always prided myself on being able to hold my own, but numbers win out. Always.

Honestly, it was my mentor’s old romantic debts. He’d let down a woman from a powerful family, and she could easily hire a bunch of goons to come settle the score.

The kind of mess you inherit just by being loyal to the wrong people. Story of my life.

I guess, in our world, even flirting can get you knifed.

My mentor used to say, "Never trust a pretty face or a rich family." Guess he was right.

Our little crew was just three: me, my brother, and my mentor. Not many of us.

But the whole Silver Ridge was ours.

We weren’t much, but we were tight. Blood thicker than water, or so we thought. Ha. Funny how you only realize that’s just words when it’s too late.

That’s why, as soon as I left the woods, people recognized me.

Small towns remember faces, especially troublemakers. They never let you forget.

No choice but to take the beating for my mentor. It was the only way to pay the debt, even if it wasn’t mine to begin with.

He’d have done the same for me, I think. Loyalty can be a curse.

Out of respect for some lady I’d never even met, I held back.

My mentor always said, "Never hit a woman, never hit her family—unless you want hell to follow."

I never expected them to go that far—to nearly kill me.

Guess I underestimated just how deep grudges run in this part of the world. Just how much trouble had my mentor caused?

I made a mental note to ask him, if I ever saw him again. Not that I expected a straight answer.

In the end, I owed Julian Frost my life.

He didn’t have to save me. People like him don’t do anything for free. That’s just how it is.

Once I healed, I asked Julian what he wanted in return. I was bracing for the price.

It was the least I could do. Debts have to be paid, one way or another.

Julian looked at me, a faint smile on his sharp face.

He studied me like I was a puzzle he’d already solved. I hated how calm he was. Made me want to punch something.

He said, "I need a blade."

The words hung in the air, heavy as a verdict. I felt my heart skip. The air in the room got tight all of a sudden.

I didn’t know if it was his words or that smile, but something strange stirred in me—a mix of dread and something I didn’t want to name.

It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, wind at my back, not sure if I was about to fall or fly.

I looked at him, confused. "You know who I am?" For a second, I wished I could disappear.

"You’re the only woman in the Blackthorn Crew—Autumn Graves."

He said my name like it meant something. Maybe it did. For a heartbeat, I wondered what it sounded like in his head.

Of course—he was the Alpha. There was nothing he didn’t know.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. The world’s smaller than you think. You never know who’s watching.

So even our little crew could catch the attention of the infamous Frost Pack.

That realization made my stomach twist. We were just gnats to them.

It made me dizzy.

I’d never felt so seen and so invisible at the same time.

To pay my debt, I stayed by Julian’s side after that, becoming the blade in his hand. There was no getting around it.

I told myself it was just a job. But jobs end. Debts linger.

But this blade had an expiration date. Still, I wondered what would come after.

Two years.

That was the deal. Two years, and then I could walk away—if I was still in one piece. Some deal, right?

After two years, I was supposed to go home. I kept telling myself that.

Home. The word felt foreign, even then. Like something you read about, not something you live.

Half a year passed in a flash.

Time moves differently when you’re waiting for something to end. Funny how that works.

I was now as familiar with the Frost Pack’s compound as I could be. To keep up appearances, I had two identities there.

It was a game of masks. Some days, I forgot which one I was supposed to be. That’s when you know you’re in too deep.

One, the hidden blade.

The one no one saw coming, the one Julian kept close but never too close. That’s the trick—always close, never trusted.

The other, Julian’s personal assistant.

That job was all routine—schedules, errands, making sure his coffee was the right temperature. The kind of work that lets you fade into the wallpaper. Sometimes I wondered if I’d disappear altogether.