"I hope you summon your courage and you invite your demons to tea, and you learn to listen to all their stories."  Nikita Gill, Fierce Fairytales

A part of Greta was thrilled; because she had something to do. The wardrobe doors were flung open as she hauled a large rucksack and a duffel bag onto her bed and started sorting through her clothes. She had no idea what lay at the werewolf pack's home, or what she'd be needed for. The torn envelope sat on her bedside table and the letter next to it. Reading it back over gave her the thought that she'd be needed for gardening, cooking, like a caretaker of sorts.

Greta thought she'd play it safe and pack everything.

She threw in all three pairs of jeans, a pair of dungarees too. All of her t-shirts went in the bags, all her underwear and goofy socks. She threw in a pair of flip-flops, her trainers, and a pair of sturdy boots. Greta paused, before throwing in her nice, sleek flats and a mahogany silk blouse. She wanted to make a good impression, but then her good impression, technically, was accepting the invitation to help in the first place.

They should be grateful no matter what her attire was, yet the nicer clothes stayed in the bag. Greta added her jumpers, of course, and finished packing the necessities; sanitary pads and tampons, gardening tools, one of her recipe books, and her two favourite crime novels.

She also made a note to grab her tool box before she left, but the shed was just off the driveway so she could collect it as she walked out the den.

Her hands shook as she reached for the zippers and mentally tallied everything. Did she have her washbag? And at least ten hair-ties, for the inevitable loss of at least eight when she blinked? What about her phone and its charger?

Greta checked them off with her fingers and zipped up her bag. Looking around her room now, it was almost sparse – her bookshelf looked out of place with two missing. Her bedside tables were clear, her wardrobe vacant. It was like she was moving out for good.

She'd be back. Greta knew it, she'd return in a few months, and then she'd be ready to take over the alpha duties from her mother and become the new leader of her fellow fox-shifters.

After a deep breath, ignoring the pull of wanting to stay where she was standing, she hauled her two bags into the hallway. She assumed that she'd be able to wash her clothes while she was there, and that there'd be some linen and a bed for her, but she could sleep as a fox if necessary. She threw in the last fresh towel from the linen cupboard – the others, she smiled, had probably been used by Arthur to get rid of his green hair.

Greta still hadn't told him the dye wasn't permanent.

When she reached the front door, Greta paused seeing the picture on the mantle. Picking it up, her deft fingers brushed over the faces of her family; her mother looked down the camera with a small gleam of enjoyment in her eyes, but no smile, unlike her father who was beaming broadly at the camera. Greta was standing just to the right of her mum, with a closed smile that just softened her facial features, and Arthur was between her and Trevor – both of her brothers looked like they'd rather be anywhere else.

It summed them up perfectly, and Greta found herself putting the picture in her bag, next to some snacks she quickly grabbed from the kitchen for her hike over to the werewolf's territory. She couldn't take the only car, it was staying home in case there was an emergency that required they drive off somewhere, but luckily Greta's journey was only a couple of hours.

Her toes flexed in their trainers. She was dressed for a strong hike, and with two packed bags, she knew she'd be sore tomorrow lugging all that weight. It would be worth it to help out Beau and his pack while he hunted for the killer.

Her mind drifted to her home for the next few months. Alpha Beau of the Forest; who earned his title after the death of his sister and brother-in-law, who pleaded for her help, would be her boss. She was going from innocent pranks to dysfunctional packs.

She wanted to think more on her imminent location, but walking out the door and seeing the sight before her distracted her completely. Standing at the beginning of the driveway leading out of the property, into the dense wilderness that was her path, was her family – even her mother, who was often too busy for family events.

Alpha Maxine, this time, stood tall as she watched Greta walk through the front door, set her bags down, and approach her family. She was similar in appearance to her, the same thick, coarse brown hair that was more fluff than curl. She was the same height as her mother, and even had the same narrow smile – but her mother's eyes were a muted green instead of her own whisky-brown.

"Come here," the alpha said sweetly and drew her into a tight hug. "You're going to be brilliant, Greta."

"Thanks Mum." Greta smiled into her mother's shoulder as she forced herself to remember every detail she could. She didn't want to forget anything about her family. As she hugged her father, laughing at his dramatic squeezing of her waist, she took in his dark hair and the few scattering greys beginning to sprout.

Turning to her brothers, she grinned at Arthur, the middle child. His eyes were a vibrant green, a youthful hue of their mother's, and he had her softer features too. He was a smidge taller than Greta and he still had a year or two of growing left in him. He embraced her tightly with his strong arms, already sniffling into her hair.

"I'm gonna miss you Greta," Arthur huffed. "You're going out in the big, wide, world and who knows when you'll come back!"

"Three months."

He ignored her answer. "It could be years! Who will be around to tell me how incredible I am?"

Greta drew back. "No one with your hair that colour."

Arthur's expression fell. His normal fair hair was now a luminescent shade of fairy green according to the box of dye and Greta cracked a smile at it. "I make one comment about your face and you ruin mine?"

"Sounds fair to me," she joked before turning to Trevor, her youngest brother. He was still a head shorter than she was, though he was seven years younger than her. He scowled at her but Greta kept smiling at him, knowing how much he hated it. "Are you going to miss me Trevor?"

"No," he said quickly. "Can I have your room?"

"No." Greta stared at him. "I'll be coming back so I still need it."

Trevor hummed under his breath before walking back inside, offering a half-arsed wave at her before he shut the door on her farewell. Greta bit back the pang in her chest at his blatant dismissal, but she swallowed her emotion and turned to her family.

Greta's dad held out her tool box, the last thing she needed before her adventure into the forest. "I added a few more tools you might need when you're over there, so I expect them returned in pristine condition." She could glimpse the unshed tears in his eyes as he told her, so she turned to Arthur, but he was beginning to cry too.

Turning to Maxine, the ever-strong leader of their pack, she found relief seeing her mother dry-eyed. If everyone was crying, then Greta would cry too, and that was the last thing she needed to do. She had to be focused, her mind trained on her new role.

Her mother, instead of tearing up, handed her a thick file. "It's for you to look over on your walk. It has everything you'll need to know about Beau's pack, the werewolves themselves, and about what duties you'll be performing while you're there."

Greta touched the edges with her thumb, feeling the dozens of pages within. She was planning on stopping halfway on her walk to have lunch so she could go over the documents then. There was only one thing left to do – leave.

She placed the folder in her rucksack and shoved her toolbox in her duffel, before picking both up and looking to her family one more time. "Any last words of advice?" she asked, forcing a smile on her face. Happiness was an easy emotion to fake when you felt like crying.

Arthur perked up. "If you want to make friends then don't prank any of them!"

"Don't go sneaking through stuff that isn't yours – remember there's a difference between being curious and being intrusive." Her dad gave her a pointed look to go along with the advice.

Greta turned to her mother who merely lifted her chin. "Listen to your instincts," Maxine said as she looked between her daughter and the path in the woods. "You'll have guards follow you along the way, just in case..."

She remembered there was a mass murderer somewhere in all their lands. The Huntress, the Luna Killer, who disappeared three months ago after killing the seven hearts of the werewolf alphas; and Greta was stepping into the shoes of one of her victims.

Greta shoved her newly sprouted fear aside. Her instincts were sound, and she was sensitive enough that she would smell if someone was coming for her. She would be okay – and she was guarded too. The heiress waved to her family, even to Trevor who was peeking through the blinds overseeing the driveway, but quickly turned and walked into the forest when she saw Arthur begin to cry.

The shadows of the woods enveloped her, glad they weren't alone anymore. With the lockdown after the death of the lunas, there were very few travellers that ventured deep into the wild abode of nature. Normally, there wouldn't be anyone, but this was an exception.

Greta could hear in the distance the sounds of claws scraping over roots – either wild animals moving through their home, or her fellow shifters guarding her, travelling in their fox form to blend in with their surroundings.

Maxine, her mother, was in charge of all the fox-shifters within their lands. Greta smiled knowing how different her own family was; she and her mother were red foxes, her dad had a steel grey coat of fur, but Arthur was an arctic fox, and Trevor was bat-eared. It made sense for their personalities, too; Greta and her mother were the biggest, being alphas, while her father was solid like stone. Arthur's natural expression was smiling and Trevor was a scowling eavesdropper.

Whenever there were large groups of them in their fox form, it was a beautiful kaleidoscope of nature's brushstrokes layered in all their coats. A sea of autumnal fur with dashes of iron hides and snow paws, from the most common red foxes like herself, to others like fennec foxes, and to the rarest melanin foxes, with coats of ink black and splashes of red.

Greta's large community were utterly beautiful. She loved that she could shift into a fox, how vibrant and striking her red coat was. As she walked deeper into the woods while carefully watching her path, she wished she could shift into her fox form to journey to the wolf den, but she couldn't carry her bags as a fox.

Unfortunately, foxes didn't have hands or wings, though it would be handy to fly. She'd be at Beau's pack in minutes.

But she was proud of what she was. Unlike any of the bird-shifters or even the aquatic shifters, her animal form was small and nimble, quick and an excellent hunter – nothing escaped her.

Greta continued on her march to the wolves. Her bags dragged her down with their weight, her arms beginning to strain. When she checked that she was indeed an hour into her hike, letting her mind wander so her own wandering went quickly, she set her bags down. She used her duffel as a seat and heaved the rucksack in front of her, and fetched her lunch.

As she sat it before her, rummaging to find her water bottle, she stilled. A smile cut across her face as she turned to face the forest on her left. It loomed like it was peeking over her shoulder at what she had for lunch, but the shadows, she knew, held her own convoy of guards.

They also held another. Greta grinned, staring at the shifter lying nearby, only visible thanks to her impeccable senses. The forest, it seemed, had befriended another. "It's a chicken sandwich, if you want." Greta motioned to the container. "There's enough for two."

Greta's ears perked up at the sounds of her security taking in the new shifter as she emerged from the forest onto the path, but this one wasn't a threat to her. She was a friend.

Greta knew the Bengal Tigress would quietly walk towards her with large and heavy paws barely making a sound on the path littered with fragile twigs. Her fur was almost as vibrant an orange as Greta's fox form, but she lacked the bold black stripes that cut into her muscular body, the white underbelly that also framed her face like a portrait shaped by winter's touch.

Except what emerged wasn't a huge tiger, but a tall woman with rich brown skin and tumbling black hair. She wore the loose long-sleeved t-shirt and cargo trousers over her curvaceous frame. Her shining eyes were lighter than Greta's, like a glass of whisky held up to the sun, but her smile made her chest warm.

"Hey Dominique," Greta said and held out the container. "Want something to eat?"

"You always know the way to my heart, you vixen." Dominique grinned before sitting down on the ground in front of her.

Greta laughed. "Great to see you too. How'd you find me?"

"I could hear you huffing miles away," Dominique said before she grabbed the container and picked up a chicken sandwich. Greta saw her breathe deeply, taking in the smell of sauce, lettuce, cheese, and the freshly cooked chicken. "Where are you off to?"

"The werewolves," she answered as Dominique began to eat, deciding to fill the silence with her newest plans. "The alphas put a call out to anyone of luna training to help them out while they track down the huntress. They're calling it a 'substitute luna'. My family received a letter so here I am, on my way to perform domestic duties."

Dominique paused. "They couldn't cope without help?"

"No, they can't tend to the pack and find the threat to them at the same time, apparently." Greta grabbed her own sandwich from the container when she heard her stomach rumble. "You should have seen the letter Dom, it was very formal yet oozed reluctance."

"Sounds like werewolves," she mused. "Remember, they're patriarchal, so you might be more than they're asking for."

"What do you mean? They should be happy with the help they receive, regardless of how it comes." Greta raised an eyebrow.

"I mean that they're expecting lunas – and you're an alpha." Dominique gestured to her as she spoke. "They'll try ordering you around."

Greta snorted. "That won't work out well for them."

Dominique smiled, adjusting herself so she sat cross-legged in front of Greta. "Any information you have on them?"

She bit into her sandwich, letting the fuse of strong, succulent flavours settle in her mouth as she reached for the folder in her bag and opened it in front of them. There were seven stacks of paper tied each with a paperclip, all for the different alpha werewolves. Greta spotted immediately that the largest of them sat at the back of the folder and was titled with Beau's name.

Dominique hummed as she looked over the first binding. "Records of the werewolf alphas? Are you going to each territory?"

"No, just Beau's."

"Where is he?" Dominique set her sandwich down, wiping her hands on her crinkled clothes before picking up the first stack of paper.

"He's in the Forest pack, about an hour walk in–" Greta pointed down the track ahead of her "–that direction. It was formerly run by his brother-in-law Ray, with Beau's sister Melody, before the incident three months ago."

Her friend raised an eyebrow. "Incident? You're adorable."

"What? They probably don't want to call it the 'mass murder from a killer yet to be caught', so I'll stick with incident in case it's brought up." Greta ate more of her sandwich as she looked over the files with Dominique.

As she did, she peered over at her friend. Her clothes were messy, worn in around the knees and elbows. When Dominique looked up to match her gaze, she raised a brow at the visual check-up. "Do I have something on my face?"

"When was the last time you ate a proper meal?" Greta said instead. The more she stared, the more stood out to her. "Or had a full night sleep for that matter?"

"Are you saying I look scrawny and frail?"

"You look like shit, Dom." Greta narrowed her eyes at Dominique's joking smile. "You know you're more than welcome at my house to eat and rest."

The tigress ate her sandwich in response but Greta wasn't blind to how tightly she gripped the bread. The downside with nothing ever escaping her was that she saw clearly when someone had something wrong, yet pride held their tongue. Or stubbornness. With Dominique, it was probably both.

Greta ate some more of her own sandwich, eyes trailing over her friend's dirt-covered clothes, the vicious knot of scar tissue that was peeking out from her right shoulder's sleeve. "Dom?"

"I'm fine Greta," Dominique said quickly without looking away from the werewolf files. "You stare any harder my clothes are going to have holes in them."

"More holes than there are already?"

The tigress lifted her head and stared Greta down, but Greta didn't bat an eyelid. This was her friend, she was right to be concerned, and she wasn't backing down from offering help. Dominique held her gaze for a moment before sighing. "If I have dinner with your family from now on, will you stop looking at me like that?"

"With burning intensity?" Greta smiled. "Yes."

"Like I'm easy prey," she corrected. "I'll have dinner with them tomorrow."

"Thank you."

"Enough about me, what've you learned from these files?" Dominique wiped her empty hands on her trousers after brushing her mouth of the last sandwich crumbs.

Greta blinked. "I was about to start when you arrived."

"You mean when you arrived on my turf?"

"This is unclaimed forest Dom," Greta raised an eyebrow, "since when is it your territory?"

Dominique looked up at her. "Some of these files are gruesome Greta." She held up the one on Matthias. "Be glad you're not going to Matthias's pack. That Arctic wolf is ruthless and cold."

"He's a devoted father and mourning his wife, Olga."

"He's also been in eight brawls in the past three months alone." Dominique shook her head slowly, looking to another file. "I've heard a lot of things about the famous African Golden wolf."

"Zuberi? He has festivals every three months celebrating everything from food to sex."

Dominique grinned. "That's how I've heard of him."

"You minx," Greta chuckled before nodding to his file. "He hasn't had one since he lost Jemila."

Dominique sighed at her mellow expression before holding up another file. "Muhammad?"

"Strong alpha. Arabian wolf shifter. His luna was Fatima. His pack is one of the largest." Greta grabbed her water, taking a sip between her answer. "He also hosts other packs' werewolves to help them withstand harsh conditions."

"He trains them. He's a martial arts instructor."

"I put it adorably, but yes." Greta handed the bottle to Dominique, who gratefully gulped most of the water. "Who's next?"

"Kim?"

"The alpha of the alps," Greta mused. "Himalayan wolf shifter. His luna was Elsie. He's neighbours to Matthias and me, and lives a few hours north from the den."

"Dev?"

"Indian wolf, resides south of Matthias, in the jungle. Apparently gained some new territory recently, though it wasn't from Matthias, there would have been a war over that, and even though he's lost his luna Rashani, his sister Opal is taking over the luna duties until the pack's stable again."

"And Lincoln?"

"Ah," Greta smiled. "Lincoln. The youngest of the alphas. Coastal wolf, he and his luna Cartier were the youngest pairs, only for one year, and lives on some beautiful beaches from what I've heard."

Dominique noticed her smile. "He's your age, isn't he?"

"Dom, I'm working, I can't lose my focus."

"I'm sure he'll help you find it."

"Dom!" Greta gasped but her friend was already laughing, and withdrew the last file, the largest of the seven. "That's the last one?"

Dominique adjusted her position, switching the heavy file from her right hand to her left. "Yes. This is Beau's."

Greta set down her water with a sigh, talking as Dominique began looking through documents. "Beau wasn't a trained alpha like the others. He inherited the title because his brother-in-law, Ray, died in the incident, along with Beau's sister and the pack's luna, Melody. He's a Eurasian wolf, like the rest of them, but he's also the guardian to his nephew and rightful heir, Milo."

"Why isn't Milo in charge?" The tigress asked quietly as she flicked through the file.

"He's one."

"Oh." Dominique stopped searching through Beau's file.

"I know, he's an orphan thanks to the Huntress–"

"No, that's not what I meant." Dominique looked up at her. "Did you know that Beau's pack house was where they were all killed?"

"What?" Greta leaned forward but her friend pulled the file away from her as her fingers brushed the abundant pages. "Dom, give me the file."

"There are some gruesome things in here Greta," Dominique warned. "This...this isn't pretty."

Greta let her hand drop but she kept staring her down. "Murder is never pretty. Give me the file, Dom."

The tigress stood in one fluid motion, and handed her the file. "I don't want to read anymore anyway." She gestured to the clear sky. "There's a storm coming, by the way. If you make a move in a minute or so, you should end up at the Forest pack before it hits."

Greta stood with her and watched her friend begin to walk back into the welcoming shadows of the forest. "Dom?" she called out. The tigress waited. "What did you mean by this being your turf?"

She laughed. "Nothing ever escapes you, does it?"

Greta smiled. "Only if I want it to."

Dominique cocked her head to the side at the answer and smiled in return. "Fair." She shrugged. "It's not officially my territory. It's just the longest place I've been on my own since...since the king's death. I've grown a bit attached, that's all."

Greta slowly nodded, all too aware of the shiver down her spine at the casual mention of the old king. "Can you promise me something?"

"Anything. You gave me one mean sandwich, I owe you."

She laughed. "Have dinner with my family tonight."

"Ugh!" Dominique scowled as Greta laughed harder. "You're too sneaky! Fine, I'll go, you crafty vixen."

"You know me too well," Greta waved to her as she jumped into the forest, leaving her on the secluded trail with no one around and nothing to keep her company except a handful of files.

She sat back down to pack her container and drink away, and hesitated over the documents before her. One by one, she put them back in the rucksack, but when the last file was in her hand, her thumb softly brushed Beau's name.

Knowing it would cost her a literal downpour by stalling for a few minutes to read, she opened the file to the details on the lunas murders.

Dominique was right – they happened right in Beau's house, right under an alphas' nose. Greta slammed the file shut as her eyes trailed over the details of the lunas' bodies, not wanting the words burned into her skull.

She was going to a house filled with nothing but death. 

~

Rucksack = backpack 
Dungarees = overalls 
Trainers = runners/sneakers/sandshoes 

I'll elaborate on the mated pairs; as mentioned with Lincoln and Cartier's brief description, they were only a mated pair for one year. In this book, mating isn't for life, but for the mating "season" as it were, which depending on what animal you are can be 12 months or more/less. So, for werewolves, as normal wolves have mating seasons annually, werewolves have mated pairs for the year - and when the next mating season comes around, they can either continue as a pair or split, either riding solo for a while or being with someone else. 

I incorporated this into my story purely because I'm exhausted by the "love at first sight oh baby we'll be together forever even though I've just seen you across a crowded room" trope. So, here's my alternative. 

Let me know what you think! 

Libby x