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Packs Dynamics
Packs Dynamics
~Lyra~
Do you
know what it feels like to walk into a room full of the most powerful, ancient, snarling, superiority–complex–having Alphas In the f*****g country with dried c*m on your inner thighs, a limp in your step, and your heart still echoing the last time he called you kitten? I’ll tell you. It feels like stepping into a
holy place while still reeking of sin.
Like crashing a funeral covered in glitter and orgasms. Like flipping off a room full of priests while wearing nothing but lace. And the worst part? Or maybe the best, depending on how messed up you are inside?!
loved it.
I was high. Not on drugs, not on alcohol–on power. On heat. On s*x. On Damon.
The council room was colder than I expected. Maybe because the windows were shut, or maybe because
they all looked like they’d rather die than have an Omega in their presence unless she was serving tea or getting f****d to make heirs.
And yet there I was, walking in like the floor belonged to me.
Twelve chairs. Twelve men. Twelve beady–eyed, salt–bearded, cigar–breath patriarchs who stared at me like I
was the second coming of the apocalypse.
If they had pearls, they would’ve clutched them. If they had guns, I swear three of them would’ve shot me on
sight.
But I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t even shy. I was still swollen, still open, still tingling with the memory of how
Damon had bent me, owned me, ruined me.
And then came the sound. His boots. That slow, dragging, dominant gait that made the floor seem too fragile
beneath him.
Damon entered like thunder. And yes, I know that’s cliché, but shut up and listen–this man was thunder. Not
metaphorical. Real. He made the lights flicker.
He made their wolves whimper. He made me clench so hard I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning again
like a b***h in heat.
He didn’t speak. Not yet. He just walked to the head of the room like he already owned it, pulled out a chair
for me like we were at some f****d–up royal ball instead of a war council meeting, and said those two perfect
words that made me want to slide under the table and suck him off in front of all of them.
“Sit, kitten.”
Do you know what happens to your spine when the scariest, sexiest, most bloodstained Alpha in existence `tells you to sit in front of twelve men who think women should stay silent unless they’re birthing or baking? Your spine f*****g straightens. Your heart beats so hard it knocks your ribs. Your p***y–God, my p***y–it throbs like a goddamn metronome.
I sat. Slowly. Making sure they all saw the way I moved like I was still recovering from being bred against a hallway locker, I didn’t cross my legs. I didn’t hide my scent. I didn’t even look away when one–grimaced like the smell of my Alpha’s claim was burning his nose hair.
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“Alpha Damon, what’s the meaning of this? Who is this young girl you brought to the meeting? What’s going on here?”
That was the first thing out of their crusty mouths. Not good morning. Not hello. Not even a nice to meet you No. The second I stepped into that cold–ass Alpha Council chamber, still walking funny from getting my soul rearranged, all they could do was glare and bark and question like I was some toddler who wandered in looking for her lunchbox.
I should’ve known. Should’ve known the second Damon said we were coming here that I was about to be disrespected, side–eyed, and treated like a joke by a bunch of wrinkled power–drunk pricks who still thought women were accessories. But what I wasn’t ready for–what really made my blood boil–was what came after.
Damon didn’t hesitate. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink.
He just looked them straight in the eye, volce low and firm and final, and said-
“I brought my Luna.”
Yup. Just like that. Like it was a fact. Like it was a weather report. Like we weren’t standing in a room where every man in a fifty–mile radius believed Omegas were only good for three things–mating, milking, and being
mute.
And then–God, I wish I could make this part up–some of them actually laughed.
Laughed.
Like it was a comedy special.
Like I was the punchline.
One of them–the baldest one, with this veiny neck and a voice like dry gravel–shook his head and actually said it. Loud. Disrespectful. Like I wasn’t even standing there.
“You must be a clown, Alpha Damon.”
I blinked.
He went on.
“Are you blind? This girl looks like she’s still playing with sand. She’s a child. This is the Luna you claim? Is this a joke to you?”
And I swear, something in me snapped. Not quietly. Not sweetly. Not like a twig in a forest. No. It snapped like a rib cage being crushed under a feral shift. Like dignity being ripped from your throat and spat on by men who thought they owned the air.
Because how dare they?
How f*****g dare they look at me–me, the same girl who had Damon Thornvale’s c*m dripping out of her not 、even twenty minutes ago–and call me a child? A joke? A Luna–in–training who should still be building
sandcastles?
I could’ve screamed. I wanted to claw his eyeballs out and feed them to his wolf.
But Damon… oh, Damon didn’t laugh. Damon didn’t blink. Damon didn’t make a single sound. He just slowly turned his head, stared at the man like he was already dead, and said-
“Do you want to be the next body on the floor?”
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The laughter stopped. Like stopped stopped. Like the air itself went holy f**k we’re not ready for this kind of silence. Like the walls leaned in to hear the next word because even they didn’t want to miss what might
come next.
But I wasn’t finished. Oh no. I was still boiling.
And since these disrespectful, rotting bags of superiority had clearly decided to pretend like I wasn’t in the room, I did the only thing I could do.
I spoke.
“Hi.”
Just that. Sweet. Calm. Dripping in venom and a voice that made Damon smirk immediately.
I stepped forward. Like the floor was mine and they were just lucky I hadn’t pissed on it yet to mark territory.
“Let me introduce myself, since clearly none of you know how to ask politely,” I said, flipping my hair over my shoulder even though my scalp still stung from how hard Damon had gripped it earlier while telling me to take his knot like a good girl.
“My name is Lyra. I’m eighteen. I’m legal, I’m claimed, and I’m f*****g drenched in the scent of the Alpha who brought me here.”
I saw one of them flinch. Like physically flinch. Like my words reached out and b***h–slapped his pride.
But I wasn’t done.
“You want to talk about sand? You think I look like I still play with dolls? Tell that to my p***y. Better yet, tell that to the locker Damon f****d me against this morning while your outdated little laws were busy gathering
dust.”
Silence.
“I’m not a toy. I’m not a child. I’m not a sweet Omega who’ll bow her head and smile through disrespect. I’m
the girl your Alpha bent in half before this meeting and came inside so deep I still feel him in my ribs.”
I saw Damon’s jaw flex. He loved it. He f*****g loved it.
“You think I’m too young to lead? Too soft to rule beside him? b***h, you’re too old to think straight. You’ve
spent so long looking down on Omegas you forgot what it looks like when one walks in dripping with power.”
One of them tried to speak. I raised a hand.
“No. I’m not finished. You don’t get to laugh at me and then talk like nothing happened. If you think I’m not Luna enough, you can fight me for it. Right here. Right now. One of you old pricks steps forward and lays a
hand on me, and I promise you, Damon won’t even need to kill you. I will.”
And I meant it. My voice didn’t shake. My hands didn’t tremble. I wasn’t one of those girls who spoke once 、 and stepped back like oops sorry for existing. No. If I had something to say, I was going to say it, all of it, loud enough to make every man in this room flinch and regret the moment he opened his mouth in the first place.
“Y’all didn’t have a Luna for a really long time. But you have one now” I said, my chin lifted, my eyes burning into theirs.
“And I will rule. I will walk into every single goddamn meeting in this park. I will speak. I will lead. I will wear my Alpha’s bite mark like a f*****g crown and every time one of you opens your mouths to question me, l’il
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give you another reason to shut the f**k up.”
I took one more step. Just one. But it was enough to make the one nearest to me lean back in his chair like he suddenly realized I wasn’t going to sit down and play nice.
“So if you don’t like it?” I snapped, my voice sharp, my body shaking from the force of what I was saying–my t**s literally bouncing.
“If you don’t like it, get the f**k out of this pack.”
The room went still. I could feel it–the shift in air, the tension, the old fear crawling up their throats because they knew I wasn’t bluffing.
“And one more thing,” I added, my voice low now, a little dangerous, a little soft in that way that makes people lean in right before you slap the f**k out of them.
“Don’t mess with me.”
Then it happened. Of course it f*****g did. There’s always one. One bastard too old to think straight and too horny to stay silent. He leaned back in his chair with this filthy–ass smirk, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek like he was enjoying the show and forgetting who the f**k he was looking at.
“f**k,” he muttered, loud enough for all the others to hear. “She’s a feisty one, huh?”
I froze. My fingers curled into fists.
“She must be f*****g dangerous in bed.”
Oh no. No. That was not happening. Not today.
“Look at her t**s shaking when she talks,” he went on, laughing like he wasn’t sealing his fate with every
word. “You can rule us on our d***s, Luna.”
And that was the moment. Right there. That exact f*****g moment I knew he was dead.
Not metaphorically. Not eventually. Not oh–he’ll–get–what’s–coming. I mean dead. As in his lungs would
collapse.
His spine would snap. His skull would be crushed. Damon hadn’t even moved yet, but I felt it. I felt the way
the entire temperature in the room dropped. The way the air sucked itself out like the building itself was
afraid of what was coming next.
And me? I didn’t scream. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t say anything.
I just turned my head.
Slowly.
And looked at Damon.
He wasn’t breathing.
His jaw was clenched.
