Destined for the alpha

Chapter 1

The morning chill wakes me up before the sun even rises. I open my eyes, feeling my heart beat faster, still under the influence of the remnants of a disturbing dream. The same image that has been haunting me for weeks: a wolf, its silver eyes fixed on me, watching me from the shadows. He never attacks me, he just surrounds me, like he's waiting for something. I try to shake off the feeling that there's something I should understand, but it keeps slipping through my fingers.

I get out of bed, feeling the cold wooden floor beneath my bare feet. I pull the blankets back and walk to the window. Outside, the forest seems dense and mysterious, shrouded in a mist that makes everything even darker. The first rays of sun begin to appear on the horizon, painting the sky with shades of orange and pink, but the beauty of the scene cannot dispel the discomfort I feel.

These dreams... They are more than just nightmares. I feel it in every fiber of my being. There's something about those visions that seems too real to ignore, like some kind of warning. I try to convince myself that I'm just being paranoid, but the truth is, since these dreams started, I haven't been able to shake the feeling that something is about to happen, something big and uncontrollable.

I take a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill my lungs as I try to focus on something mundane, something that can bring me back to reality. I look around the room, a simple but welcoming space with dark wood furniture that I restored myself. Little details that turned this house into a home: the old lamp I found at an antique fair, the books stacked in the corner, read so many times that their covers are worn.

Despite everything, I love this place. The house, the small town, the forest that surrounds us. Ravenswood is the kind of place where everyone knows everyone, where every face is familiar. I grew up here, knowing every corner, every trail in the forest. And yet, there is something that escapes me, something that seems beyond my reach, hidden in the shadows. Maybe that's why I feel so drawn to the forest, even though it also scares me. It's like there's a secret buried there, something I'm destined to discover.

But for now, I have other things to think about. The daily routine calls to me, and maybe it's better that way. It's easier to get lost in everyday tasks than to dwell on dreams that I can't understand. I open my closet and grab some comfortable clothes: jeans, a flannel shirt, and a pair of boots. I hurriedly tie my hair into a ponytail and head downstairs to the kitchen.

The smell of fresh coffee soon fills the small kitchen. While the coffee maker works, I make toast, trying to organize my thoughts. I pick up my phone from the counter and check my messages. Some from my mother, worried as always, asking if I'm okay, if I slept properly. I quickly respond, saying yes, everything is fine, even though I know she would notice if something was wrong. But I don't want to worry you any more than necessary.

I finish my breakfast in silence, listening to the soft sounds of the forest outside. It's comforting, in a way. Even with everything that is happening, nature continues its course, unchanging. It gives me a feeling of stability, that somehow everything is going to be okay.

After tidying up the kitchen, I grab my backpack and get ready to leave. I work in the small bookstore in the center, a peaceful place where I can spend hours surrounded by books. It's my refuge, the only place where I can disconnect from the world and lose myself in stories that aren't mine. It's also where I meet some of the few people I truly feel comfortable with. Like old Mr. Thompson, the bookstore owner, who hired me when I was still a teenager and who became almost like a grandfather to me.

Walking to work is always a pleasant experience. The streets of Ravenswood are quiet at this time of the morning, with only a few cars passing by and birds chirping in the branches of the trees that line the sidewalks. I greet some neighbors along the way, exchanging smiles and waves. Everyone here knows me, and I know them. There are no secrets in Ravenswood, at least that's what I used to think.

As I approach the bookstore, I feel a light breeze on my face, bringing with it the smell of trees and damp earth. It's autumn, my favorite season. The leaves begin to change color, painting the city with shades of gold and red. There's something magical in the air, something that has always made me feel alive.

I push open the bookstore door and the familiar sound of the bell above the door greets me. Mr. Thompson is already behind the counter, organizing some books that arrived last week. He looks at me over his glasses, a gentle smile on his face.

— Good morning, Aurora! Did you sleep well? — he asks, with the hoarse voice of someone who has seen many winters.

— Good morning, Mr. Thompson. Yes, I slept. And you? — I respond, trying to keep my tone light, even though the dream is still fresh in my mind.

- Like always. A little insomnia, but nothing that a good book can't solve — he says, lifting one of the books he was holding.

I smile, feeling a little calmer in his presence. Mr. Thompson has that effect on me. He's like an anchor in the storm, someone who reminds me that despite my fears, there are good and stable things in the world.

I spend the first few hours of the morning organizing the shelves, putting the books in order, serving the few customers who enter the store. It's a simple routine, but it brings me a feeling of peace. I like being surrounded by books, touching their covers, smelling the paper. It's as if each book is a little window into another world, a world where my own problems seem insignificant.

As I put a new batch of science fiction books on the shelf, my thoughts turn to dreams once again. I can't ignore them no matter how hard I try. The wolf, the silver eyes, the feeling of being watched... Everything seems so real. More real than it should be. And there is something else, something I can't explain, a feeling that these dreams are trying to tell me something, as if they are an omen.

The door bell rings, bringing me back to the present. I look up and see a woman entering the store. I don't recognize her right away, which is unusual since Ravenswood is the kind of place where everyone knows everyone. She's tall, with dark hair and a penetrating gaze that makes me feel like she can see right through me. There's something mysterious about her, something that makes my heart skip a beat for a moment.

— Can I help? I ask, trying to sound professional, but I can't shake the feeling that there's something off about this woman.

She watches me for a moment before responding, as if she's deciding whether or not to tell me something.

— I'm looking for a book... — she finally says, but there's a hesitation in her voice, as if she's choosing her words carefully.

— Of course, what is the book about? I ask, ready to help her find what she needs.

She gives a small smile, but her eyes remain serious.

— It's not exactly what the book is about... but who wrote it. Have you ever heard of Damian Silverclaw?

The name hits me like a punch in the gut. I've never heard of that name before, but somehow it feels familiar, like it's buried in some obscure corner of my memory. My mind races, trying to understand why this name affects me so much.

— No... — I respond slowly, still processing. — I don't know anyone with that name. Is he an author?

The woman shakes her head, but her gaze doesn't leave me.

— Something like that. But it's not important. Let me see what you guys have on myths and legends.

There's something about the way she says it that makes me uncomfortable but curious at the same time. Myths and legends? This is something I've always been interested in, especially the old ones, full of magical creatures and otherworldly stories. But the woman's tone is different, as if she were referring to something real, something dangerous.

— We have a section at the back of the store. — I point to the direction.

She thanks me with a nod and heads there, leaving me alone with my confused thoughts. I return to my task, but my mind continues to revolve around that name, Damian Silverclaw. Who is he, and why does this disturb me so much?

As I try to regain my concentration, I am once again haunted by the feeling of being watched. It's as if those silver wolf eyes in my dreams are stalking me even now, in daylight, in a place as safe as the bookstore. I try to shake the thought away, but it refuses to leave me.

The day passes slowly, and the strange woman does not return. Every now and then, I still feel that discomfort, as if something is lurking, waiting for the right moment to reveal itself. But as night falls, the bookstore is silent, just the sound of the wind outside, making the trees rustle.

I'm about to close the store when I feel a slight dizziness, something that makes me hold on to the counter for support. Suddenly, my vision goes blurry, and a chill runs down my spine. I see flashes of something, something that shouldn't be there: a forest, dense and dark, and the same silver eyes that haunt me in my dreams. The wolf.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm down, but the images continue, as if they were real. I hear the sound of branches breaking, the rustling of leaves. I feel the wolf's presence, his warm breath on my face, and for a moment it's as if I'm there, in the forest, and not in the safety of the bookstore.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the vision disappears. I'm back, standing in the middle of the store, feeling like the floor has just disappeared beneath my feet. My knees shake, and I sit down in one of the nearby chairs, trying to understand what just happened.

These visions... They are getting stronger. More real.