A Scent Of Moon And Madness : Claims And Curses (Book 1)

1. The Alpha

GENESIS

A new moon morning is both an end and a beginning. A breath held before the exhale. I've seen many such mornings before, but this dawn feels different.

Or maybe it's just that it heralds the first new moon of the wolf year—one that has its claws around my fate.

Dawn breaks over the jagged peaks of the Crystal Crescent mountain range that encircles the eastern edge of our packlands.

A handful of stars dance in the last glow of the waning moon and turn the sky sublime shades of pink and twilight blue.

“A Highwater horizon,” my father calls it. “Our ancestors believed the Moon Goddess marked the Alpha of our pack by putting the new moon twilight in his eyes.”

Through the bedroom window my eyes reflect a storm of midnight hues and starry flecks of cobalt blue.

Twilight fills my eyes as it has every Crystal Moon Alpha before me. Yet I am not the Alpha my ancestors ever expected—or wanted.

But fate chose me nonetheless.

If they have issues they can take it up with the Moon Goddess. I scoff internally pushing away from the window.

The sudden aroma of roasted coffee beans wafts in warm waves under my bedroom door.

“Seriously?” I snap, pushing away from the window.

The hazards on my floor are a maze I navigate with ease until my big toe catches a large book I thought would make a great door stop.

“Piece of—” I swear and curse all my six sisters because I can't remember which one of them gave me the monstrous coffee table book.

I hop over it, leave my room and focus on my intruder.

There's only one wolf in this world who would dare enter my home uninvited and help themselves to my coffee.

The scent of wildfire lays heavy in the air as I head to my kitchen.

“We’re supposed to be leaving for the New Year Summit in half an hour. What are you doing here, Dad?” I demand as I enter my kitchen.

Black granite surfaces gleam, warmed by the morning light streaming from large ceiling high windows. Even though I moved in three months ago, it still looks brand new. Considering I can't cook, that's not surprising.

“Where are your mugs?” my dad grumbles by way of response. His broad muscular back ripples under the fabric of his favourite blue plaid shirt as he opens and searches overhead cupboards.
I pull open a large drawer that whispers on its new tracks.

“I'm not six-three, Dad. I would never put my mugs up there.”

He looks down at me with a raised eyebrow, “I don't remember any runts in our family. I'm not sure where you get it from.”

I set two mugs firmly on the counter. “Well, as I recall, this five-foot-two runt knocked you out yesterday in training–so just pour the damn coffee.”

He chuckles as he pours, “Where'd the extra two inches come from?”

“Hell.” I snap, “It's too damn early for this.” I take my mug and walk away with his low chuckles following me.

“Just making sure you have breakfast before we leave. The last thing we want is a hangry Alpha on a road trip,” he quips.

I bite back a smile as I settle on a barstool. I've missed our morning banter since I moved out of the family home–but I'm not telling him that, lest he makes his morning break-ins a regular thing.