Most of the Alphas had already left the clearing, their footsteps fading into the woods. Ronan stayed where he was, near the tree line, the scent of pine and earth settling around him like an old blanket. Hailey and Colton waited a short distance behind him, careful not to intrude.
Ronan stared at his hands. The blood was dry now, dark in the creases of his knuckles. He flexed his fingers once, then let them fall back to his sides.
The wind shifted, carrying a familiar scent—one he hadn't focused on in years. Warm soil. Old bark. A faint mineral smell like sun-baked wood.
It struck him harder than the fight had.
Not because of Crowe.
Because it smelled exactly like the land he grew up on.
Hailey watched the subtle change in his posture. "Ronan?"
He didn't answer.
He wasn't angry.
He wasn't shaken.
He just… slowed.
Something in the air pressed lightly against a memory, nudging it to the surface without force. A sound, a scent, a kind of silence he recognized from long before he became an Alpha.
Long before the ritual changed everything.
Colton stepped closer, concerned. "Alpha?"
Still nothing.
Hailey placed a hand on Colton's arm, stopping him. "Let him be."
Ronan inhaled once, deep and steady.
The forest around him blurred.
And the present slipped away.
⸻
He hadn't always been feared.
Or respected.
Or powerful.
Once, he was simply a child in a small Texas pack.
His earliest clear memory was of sitting on the back porch, kicking the wooden step with his heel, watching his father repair a fence post. The air smelled exactly the same as the clearing today—warm earth and pine.
"You're quiet," his father said without looking up.
Young Ronan shrugged. "Just thinking."
"That's your usual answer."
Ronan didn't respond. He wasn't the type of pup who talked much. Not shy. Just quiet.
His father finished hammering and stood. "Come on. We've got work."
That was what most days were like—nothing unusual, nothing dramatic. Ronan wasn't the fastest in his age group. He wasn't the strongest. He didn't dominate training. He wasn't an early shifter or a natural leader.
But he was the Alpha's son.
And that meant he was expected to learn.
Not because he showed promise.
Because the role would fall to him eventually.
He remembered pack runs where he stayed comfortably in the middle—never pushing ahead, never falling behind. He remembered training logs that refused to split, even when younger wolves broke theirs cleanly. His father didn't get angry about it; he just corrected Ronan's stance and told him to focus.
"Leadership is taught," his father said once, handing him a canteen during a long run. "Not born."
Ronan had nodded. He didn't understand all of it then, but he understood enough.
Responsibility wasn't a reward. It was a job.
He remembered the night he finally got frustrated enough to ask the question that had been sitting in him for years.
"What if someone else should be Alpha?" he said quietly. "Someone better?"
His father wiped sweat from his brow and crouched so they were level.
"You'll grow into the role," he said. "That's enough."
Ronan hadn't felt special.
His father hadn't told him he was.
Just that he had a future duty.
And one day, he would be ready for it.
His first shift came later than most pups'—a fact that had annoyed him more than he let on. The other children whispered that the Alpha's son should have shifted earlier, should have shown something stronger, should have stood out.
But he didn't.
And the night it finally happened was unremarkable.
He was standing behind the house, turning a fallen branch in his hands, thinking about nothing important, when a sudden heat tore through his spine. His breath hitched. His knees hit the ground. Bones cracked beneath his skin.
He gasped in surprise more than fear.
His father was at his side in a heartbeat, steadying him with both hands.
"Breathe through it," his father said. "Don't fight."
"It—hurts—"
"It always does."
The pain peaked, then slowly drained out, leaving him trembling and unsteady.
His father nodded toward the glass door. "Look."
Ronan lifted his head.
In the reflection he saw a boy with glowing yellow eyes.
Not blue.
Not red.
Not white.
Just Beta yellow.
Normal.
His father ruffled his hair lightly. "Good. That's your first shift done."
No celebration.
No ceremony.
No talk of destiny.
Just a milestone every werewolf crossed eventually.
Ronan wasn't special then.
He wasn't feared.
He wasn't powerful.
He wasn't anything but a normal beta learning what was expected of him because of his last name.
Everything else—
the strength,
the evolution,
the eyes that would one day shine white—
came later.
After the ritual.
After everything changed.