They called her the runt, the punching bag, the omega destined to die before her 20th winter.

But history remembers Genevieve not as a victim, but as the white death of Oak Haven.

When her abusers finally broke her, they didn’t destroy her spirit, they unleashed an ancient merciless monster.

The winter of 1247 was recorded in the parish chronicles as the frost of the damned.

In the isolated stone-walled fortress of Oak Haven, the cold was merely a backdrop to a much deeper cruelty.

Genevieve of the house of Vane, known to the pack simply as Genna, knelt on the freezing cobblestones of the great hall.

Her coarse woolen tunic doing nothing to stave off the biting chill.

In the rigid hierarchy of medieval werewolf clans, the alpha was king, the betas his knights, and the omegas were less than the dirt clinging to their boots.

Genna was the lowest of the low.

She was 21, an age by which any normal wolf would have shifted and found a mate.

Genna had never shifted.

Her inner wolf was completely silent, leading the pack to label her a defective, a genetic curse upon the proud bloodline of Oak Haven.

Lord Godfrey, the alpha of Oak Haven, sat upon his carved wooden seat, tearing meat from a roasted bone.

His heir, Cedric, a cruel, broad-shouldered brute with a penchant for tormenting those weaker than him, stood by the hearth, eyeing Genna with undisguised disgust.

“Clean the ash, omega.”

Cedric barked, kicking a wrought-iron bucket toward her.

It tipped, spilling cold water and soot over Genna’s bare, calloused feet.

Laughter echoed through the hall.

Lady Beatrice, a high-ranking delta with sharp features and an even sharper tongue, sneered into her goblet of mulled wine.

Genna bit the inside of her cheek, tasting copper.

She bowed her head, her matted dark hair falling to obscure her face, and began to scrape the wet soot with her bare hands.

She had learned long ago that reacting only invited the whip.

She was everyone’s target.

If a hunt went poorly, it was Genna’s fault.

If the winter stores rotted, it was the omega’s curse.

She bore the weight of a hundred wolf sins, surviving on scraps thrown to the hounds and sleeping in the drafty hayloft above the stables.

But beneath the bruised skin and the submissive posture, something was churning.

A strange phantom heat that had begun to pool in her chest over the last few moons.

It felt less like an awakening and more like a fevered infection.

A deep primal scratching against the back of her ribs.

The heavy oak doors of the great hall suddenly groaned open, admitting a swirl of violent snow and a procession of armored men.

The air in the room instantly shifted, growing heavy with dominant aggressive pheromones.

Lord Godfrey stood, wiping grease from his beard.

It was the Bloodmore pack.

For three generations, the Bloodmores and the Oakhaeven wolves had slaughtered each other across the Red Creek basin over territorial disputes.

Now, Alpha Valerius, a massive man with a scarred visage and a cloak of black bear fur, strode into the hall to finalize a brittle peace treaty.

Beside Valerius walked his son, Caylen.

Unlike the brutish men of Oakhaeven, Caylen possessed a quiet, lethal grace.

He wore dark boiled leather armor, his deep amber eyes scanning the room with calculating intelligence.

When his gaze landed on Genna, shivering in the soot by the hearth, he didn’t sneer.

His brow furrowed in a brief flash of something she hadn’t seen in years.

Pity, or perhaps curiosity.

Valerius, Godfrey boomed, forcing a jovial tone.

Welcome to my hall.

I trust the terms of the treaty are acceptable.

Valerius stopped in the center of the room, his men fanning out behind him.

The borders along the river remain mine, he rumbled, his voice like grinding stones.

And in exchange for sparing your eastern farmlands, my pack demands the customary tribute.

Blood for blood, Godfrey.

We require an offering for the winter solstice hunt.

Genna’s blood ran cold.

The winter solstice hunt was a barbaric blood more tradition.

A captive was released into the sprawling deadly labyrinth of the Whisperwood.

They were given a head start, and then the alphas top warriors hunted them down.

It was a blood sacrifice to the moon, and no one had ever survived it.

Godfrey hesitated.

To give up one of his own wolves was an insult, a sign of weakness.

Cedric stepped forward, a malicious grin splitting his face.

He pointed a thick, rings adorned finger straight at Genna.

We give you the omega, Cedric declared.

She eats our food, takes up our space, and cannot even shift.

She is useless.

Take her for your hunt.

Let her finally serve a purpose.

Silence descended on the hall.

Genna stopped breathing.

She looked up, her wide, terrified eyes meeting Cedric’s.

Valerius looked down at the pathetic, trembling girl covered in ash.

He scoffed.

You insult me, Godfrey.

You offer me a broken lamb for a wolf’s hunt.

She is of the vain bloodline, Godfrey said quickly, seeing an easy way out.

Her father was a revered warrior before he fell.

Her blood is noble, even if her spirit is dirt.

She will suffice for the ritual.

Valerius pondered this, then nodded slowly.

Very well, but to ensure the hunt is entertaining, I invite you and your son to join us, Godfrey.

Let us hunt the weakling together.”

“Done.”

Cedric laughed, clapping his hands.

Genna’s vision blurred.

She was going to die.

Not in her sleep, not from the cold, but torn apart by the jaws of her own kind.

As the guards moved to haul her to her feet, roughly binding her wrists with heavy hemp rope, she caught Kaylen’s eye again.

The Bloodmoor heir stepped closer as she was dragged past him.

For a fraction of a second, his hand brushed against her bound wrists.

When the guards shoved her out into the blizzard, Genna felt something cold and hard slipped securely into the sleeve of her tunic.

It was a small, silver-forged hunting knife.

The Whisperwood was a nightmare of twisted black pines and jagged ravines, buried under a foot of fresh snow.

It was three nights later, the eve of the solstice.

The sky was a bruised purple, the full moon hidden behind thick, suffocating clouds.

Genna stood at the edge of the tree line, her breath pluming in the freezing air.

They had stripped her of her tunic, leaving her in a thin linen shift that clung to her shivering frame.

Behind her, atop a rocky ridge, stood Valerius, Godfrey, Cedric, Kaylen, and a dozen high-ranking warriors.

They were passing around skins of spiced wine, laughing, shedding their armor in preparation for the shift.

“You have until the moon reaches its zenith, Omega.”

Valerius’s voice echoed through the canyon.

“If you survive until dawn, you are a free woman.

But you will not survive.”

A hunting horn blew a low, mournful blast that shook the snow from the branches.

Genna ran.

Adrenaline, sharp and agonizing, flooded her veins.

She plunged into the dark forest, her bare feet tearing against hidden roots and sharp stones beneath the snow.

She didn’t know how to survive a hunt, but she knew how to hide.

She had spent a lifetime hiding.

Behind her, the terrifying sound of snapping bones and deep, guttural roars signaled the warriors shifting into their wolf forms.

The hunt had begun.

She ran until her lungs burned like swallowed coals, navigating the treacherous terrain by instinct.

The phantom heat in her chest, the one she had felt in the great hall, was suddenly burning out of control.

It felt as though she had swallowed a star.

Her veins throbbed visibly beneath her pale skin, glowing with an unnatural faint violet hue.

She stumbled, clutching her chest, gasping for air.

Not now.

She prayed to whatever gods were listening.

Please.

Not now.

A massive, timber-colored wolf lunged from the shadows to her left.

Genna screamed, diving into a snowbank as the beast’s jaws snapped empty air where her throat had been a second before.

The wolf skidded, turning to face her.

It was Lady Beatrice.

Even in wolf form, Genna recognized the cruel, slanted yellow eyes.

Beatrice stalked forward, a low growl rumbling in her chest, relishing the fear radiating from the omega.

Genna fumbled in her sleeve and pulled out the silver knife Cailin had given her.

Beatrice lunged.

Genna thrust the blade upward with a desperate, wild scream.

The silver sank deep into the wolf’s shoulder.

Beatrice let out a deafening yelp of agony, the silver burning her flesh.

She recoiled, thrashing in the snow.

Genna didn’t wait.

She scrambled to her feet and sprinted deeper into a narrow, rocky gorge.

She was bleeding.

Her feet were shredded, leaving a bright red trail in the pristine snow.

She was making it too easy for them.

The canyon walls narrowed, leading to a dead end of sheer icy rock.

Genna hit the wall, her hands slipping desperately against the freezing stone.

She turned around.

Three massive wolves blocked the entrance to the gorge.

In the center was a gargantuan beast with black fur, Valerius.

To his right, a scar-faced russet wolf, Cedric.

To his left, a sleek dark grey wolf with amber eyes, Kaylan.

Kaylan’s wolf looked agitated, pacing slightly.

His eyes locked on the silver knife still clutched in Genna’s trembling hand.

Cedric didn’t wait for his alpha’s command.

The russet wolf charged, a blur of muscle and fury.

Genna slashed with the knife, but Cedric was too fast.

He batted her arm with a massive paw, sending the knife clattering into the darkness.

His jaws clamped down on her calf, and he violently ripped her to the ground.

Genna’s scream tore through the night, echoing off the canyon walls.

Cedric placed a heavy paw on her chest, pinning her down.

His hot, blood-scented breath washing over her face.

He snapped his jaws inches from her nose, taunting her.

He wanted her to beg.

I am going to die here, Genna thought.

The pain threatening to drag her into darkness.

A broken omega.

But as Cedric’s teeth sank into her shoulder, aiming to her before the final kill, the burning star inside Genna’s chest finally went supernova.

It wasn’t a normal shift.

There was no transition of bone melting into bone.

There was an explosion of pure blinding force.

A shockwave of kinetic energy blasted outward, throwing Cedric 20 ft backward.

He smashed into the canyon wall with a sickening crunch, whimpering as he fell.

Valerius and Kaylan braced themselves against the gale-force wind that suddenly whipped through the gorge, kicking up a blizzard of whiteout snow.

Genna’s human body was suspended in the air, her spine arching backward at an impossible angle.

The sound that tore from her throat wasn’t a scream, it was a roar that seemed to split the very earth beneath them.

Ancient runic shackles, invisible until now, materialized as glowing chains of dark magic around her wrists, neck, and heart.

A witch’s binding spell.

Her mother hadn’t cursed her with weakness.

Her mother had bound her to protect the world from what she truly was.

With a deafening crack, the magical chains shattered into a million glittering sparks.

The transformation was instantaneous and terrifying.

Where the frail, beaten omega had been, a monster now stood.

She was colossal, nearly twice the size of Valerius’s alpha form.

Her fur was a blinding iridescent white, glowing in the darkness like fresh snowfall under starlight.

Her claws were black as obsidian, and her jaws dripped with the terrifying frosty mist.

But, it was her eyes that made the bloodmore alpha take a step back in sheer terror.

They were blazing, radiant pools of violet fire.

She wasn’t just a werewolf, she was a lycan prime, a mythical bloodline believed to have been eradicated by the first kings of Europe centuries ago, the white demon.

The silence in the gorge was absolute.

Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Cedric, recovering from the blast, shook his head and let out a foolish, furious snarl.

He lunged at the massive white beast, blind to the danger.

The white wolf moved with speed that defied physics.

She didn’t bite him.

She simply raised one massive obsidian clawed paw and struck.

The force of the blow tore Cedric’s wolf form nearly in half, sending his lifeless, ruined body crashing into the snow.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

Valerius, the hardened, merciless alpha who had slaughtered hundreds, let out a sound Genna had never heard from him.

A whimper of pure, unadulterated fear.

He scrambled backward, his dominance shattered, his tail tucked firmly between his legs, and fled into the woods, abandoning the hunt, abandoning his honor, abandoning his son.

The giant white wolf turned slowly, the snow around her stained crimson.

She lowered her massive head, her violet eyes locking onto the only wolf left in the canyon.

Cayden stood his ground.

He didn’t flee, nor did he attack.

He slowly shifted back into his human form, kneeling naked in the freezing snow, exposing his throat to her in the ultimate sign of submission.

He looked up at the terrifying, beautiful monster before him, awe and fear warring in his amber eyes.

Genna stepped toward him, the earth trembling slightly under her immense weight.

She was the omega no longer.

She was the apex predator, and the night was hers.

The white wolf lowered her massive, shimmering head, her hot breath washing over Cayden’s bare, freezing shoulders.

Genna’s mind, previously a labyrinth of fear and submission, was now crystalline and sharp.

The ancient, lupine instincts whispered to her, analyzing the kneeling man.

He offered no resistance, only absolute surrender.

He was not the enemy.

He was the key.

With a thought, Genna commanded the shift.

Unlike the agonizing, bone-breaking transformations of normal werewolves, her reversion was fluid, a cascading wave of silver light that condensed back into her human form.

She collapsed to her knees in the blood-stained snow, gasping as the freezing air hit her bare skin.

Miraculously, the deep bite wound Cedric had inflicted on her shoulder was already closing, knitting together with a faint violet glow.

Cayden didn’t hesitate.

He stood, stripped off his heavy fur-lined leather cloak, and wrapped it securely around Genna’s trembling shoulders.

He kept his eyes respectfully lowered, a gesture no alpha heir had ever offered an omega.

“You are not an omega,” Cayden said, his voice a hoarse whisper cutting through the howling wind.

“You are the prime.

The myths they were real.”

Genna pulled the cloak tight, her fingers brushing the cold silver clasp.

“What myths?”

She rasped, her throat raw from the monstrous roar she had unleashed.

Cayden looked around the dark, oppressive Whisperwood, his amber eyes scanning for threats.

“We must move.

My father is a coward, but he is a cunning one.

He will not flee to Bloodmoor.

He will run straight back to Oak Haven to warn Lord Godfrey.

They will unite against you.

A lycan prime is a threat to every alpha’s absolute rule.”

He offered his hand.

For a moment, Genna hesitated.

A lifetime of abuse told her to shrink away from the touch of a dominant wolf.

But the roaring fire in her veins pushed the fear aside.

She placed her hand in his, and he pulled her effortlessly to her feet.

As they navigated the treacherous snow-choked ravines, Cayden revealed the truth he had carried in secret.

“My mother was a scholar of the old bloodlines,” Cayden explained, his breath pluming in the dark.

“Before my father had her executed for treason, she managed to smuggle documents from the royal archives of King Henry III in London, sealed by Archbishop Walter de Grey himself.

The king’s court has long known of our kind, using the threat of the White Hounds of Anjou to keep the rebellious northern lords in check.”

Genna listened, her mind reeling.

She was a peasant, an abused servant, yet here was an alpha heir speaking of her in the same breath as the king of England.

The Vane bloodline is not defective, Genna.

Cailin continued, his voice filled with a quiet, fierce conviction.

Your ancestors were the protectors of the realm, the apex predators who kept the regular werewolf packs from tearing humanity apart, but the alpha families grew jealous of your power.

A century ago, a coalition of alphas hired covens of blood witches to systematically curse the Lycan Prime bloodlines.

They didn’t kill you.

They bound your wolves, trapping them beneath a seal of dark magic, forcing you to live as omegas.

They turned gods into slaves.

Genna stopped walking.

The snowy forest seemed to spin around her.

The beatings, the starvation, the endless winters spent shivering in the hayloft while Thedric and Beatrice laughed.

It wasn’t because she was weak.

It was because they were terrified of what she truly was.

Why did you give me the knife?

Genna asked, looking deep into Cailin’s eyes.

Because my mother’s dying wish was for me to find the last Vane heir and break the cycle, Cailin swore, stepping closer.

I watched my father slaughter my mother.

I have played the obedient ruthless son for 10 years, waiting for the day a prime would rise so I could help tear his empire to the ground.

When I saw you in that great hall, I felt the aura of the old kings trapped beneath your skin.

I knew it was you.

A profound silence fell between them, heavier than the snow.

Genna looked down at her hands, hands that had scrubbed soot, hands that had just shattered a monstrous alpha with a single blow.

The frightened girl who had entered the Whisperwood was dead.

In her place stood the queen of the north.

Then let us not keep them waiting, Genna said, her voice dropping to a terrifying authoritative calm.

We march on Oak Haven.

Dawn was breaking over the imposing stone battlements of Oak Haven, casting long bloody shadows across the frozen moors.

The fortress was in a state of absolute panic.

Just as Cayden had predicted, Alpha Valerius had fled straight to Lord Godfrey.

The news of Cedric’s gruesome death and the emergence of the white demon had shattered the arrogant complacency of the Oak Haven pack.

Now, the heavy iron portcullis was lowered, the oak doors barred with thick timber, and dozens of archers armed with silver-tipped crossbows lined the parapets.

Godfrey paced the battlements, his face pale, his armor clanking.

Beside him stood Valerius, looking like a haunted man.

She is an abomination, Godfrey bellowed to his trembling warriors.

A witch masquerading as a wolf.

When she approaches, you fire every bolt of silver we have.

From the edge of the tree line, two figures emerged into the pale morning light.

Jenna walked barefoot through the deep snow, Cayden’s heavy cloak trailing behind her.

Beside her walked Cayden in his human form, his sword drawn, his face a mask of lethal determination.

Archers!

Godfrey screamed, his voice cracking with hysteria.

Knock your weapons.

Jenna didn’t stop.

She didn’t seek cover.

She simply closed her eyes, tapped into the reservoir of ancient starlight energy within her chest, and let the beast take over.

The shift was even more explosive than the first.

A shockwave of pure kinetic force ripped across the courtyard, shattering the ice on the moat.

The colossal white Lycan materialized, standing 12 ft tall at the shoulder.

Her violet eyes locked onto the battlements.

She let out a roar that shook the very foundations of the castle, sending several archers tumbling backward in terror.

Fire!

Valerius shrieked.

A volley of silver bolts rained down from the walls, but Genna moved with the speed of a falling star.

She lunged forward, dodging the silver hail with impossible agility.

She didn’t bother trying to climb the walls.

She slammed her massive armored shoulder directly into the reinforced iron portcullis.

The sound of twisting metal and splintering oak deafened the courtyard.

The impenetrable gates of Oak Haven, which had withstood sieges from rival armies for 200 years, crumpled like parchment under the Lycan Prime’s strength.

Genna burst into the main courtyard, a blinding white avalanche of fury.

The Oak Haven and Bloodmoor warriors shifted, a sea of brown, black, and gray wolves swarming the courtyard.

But as Genna released her prime aura, a suffocating heavy wave of absolute dominance, the opposing wolves collapsed to the freezing cobblestones.

They physically could not stand.

The ancient hierarchy encoded in their very DNA forced them to their bellies, whining in submission to the apex predator.

Cayden charged in behind her, his sword flashing in the dawn light, dispatching any guard foolish enough to try and flank the white wolf.

Godfrey and Valerius, realizing their armies were useless, shifted into their monstrous alpha forms and leaped from the lower parapets, driven by the desperate madness of trapped animals.

Valerius, the master of black wolf, lunged for Genna’s throat, but Cayden intercepted his father midair.

Shifting into his sleek, dark gray wolf form, Cayden slammed into Valerius, sending them both rolling across the frozen courtyard in a flurry of snapping jaws and tearing claws.

It was a battle for the soul of the Bloodmoor pack, son against father.

Godfrey, however, focused entirely on Genna.

He charged, his jaws slavering.

Genna didn’t dodge.

She met his charge head-on.

She caught the alpha of Oak Haven by the throat with one massive obsidian clawed paw.

Godfrey thrashed, his claws scraping harmlessly against her impenetrable iridescent fur.

He was the man who had ordered her starved, the man who had laughed as she scrubbed the ash, the man who had sentenced her to die.

With a chillingly calm, precise motion, Genna squeezed.

A sickening crunch echoed through the silent courtyard.

Godfrey’s massive body went limp, and she tossed him aside like a broken doll.

Across the courtyard, a victorious howl pierced the air.

Cailin stood over the defeated, bleeding form of Valerius.

Cailin had not killed his father, but he had torn the alpha mark from his shoulder, permanently stripping him of his rank and power.

Valerius whimpered, crawling away into the snow, a broken, exiled rogue.

The battle was over before the sun had fully cleared the horizon.

Genna shifted back into her human form, Cailin immediately stepping forward to drape the cloak over her shoulders once more.

The entire courtyard, hundreds of wolves from both packs, remained kneeling, their heads bowed to the dirt.

Among them was Lady Beatrice.

She was trembling violently, her eyes wide with horror as Genna slowly walked toward her.

“Genna, please,” Beatrice sobbed, pressing her forehead to the freezing stone.

“Mercy, I beg you.”

Genna looked down at the woman who had tormented her for two decades.

The urge to rip her throat out was strong, but the Lycan Prime was not a creature of mindless slaughter.

She was a ruler, an arbiter of balance.

“You will clean the hearths, Beatrice,” Genna said, her voice echoing with commanding authority.

“You will muck the stables.

You will eat the scraps.

You will learn the life of an omega until the day you die.

Beatrice openly wept, but she bowed lower.

Yes, Alpha.

Genna turned away, walking toward the grand stone steps of the great hall.

Cailin fell in step beside her, his hand gently brushing hers.

Oak Haven is yours, Cailin said softly.

And as the new Alpha of Blood Moon, my pack swears absolute fealty to the prime.

Genna looked out over the united packs, the morning sun catching the violet hue that now permanently danced in her eyes.

She was no longer the punching bag.

She was the white death, the queen of the north, and she would build a new empire from the ashes of her abusers.

The dark ages of the packs were over.

The era of the Lycan prime had begun.

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