Snow White and the Alpha

Chapter 3: White

|Kairos|

A…fire.

The scent of smoke was subtle at first, almost lost in the crisp, cool air that filtered through the open window. It cut through the lingering tension in the meeting room—a tension borne of hours spent locked in an endless back-and-forth of proposals and warnings about border activity. My allies and advisors, ever meticulous, had left no detail unexamined. I respected their diligence, but their constant need to dissect every nuance had worn my patience thin.

Now, finally alone, my focus shifted.

The sharp tang of smoke demanded my attention, faint but undeniable, weaving its way into the stillness. I straightened in my chair, instinct sharpening as I turned toward the window. The moon hung high, bathing the forest in a wash of silver light. Beyond the dense canopy, near the horizon, a flicker of orange glowed against the dark. It pulsed like a heartbeat, faint but persistent.

“Alpha?” Amos’s voice broke through my thoughts.

My beta stood a few steps away, his gaze fixed on the same distant glow. His broad shoulders tensed, the lines of his face hardening as he assessed the scene.

“Do you see it?” he asked, his voice low, steady, but tinged with urgency.

I nodded, rising to my feet. “There’s a fire. Near the border.”

Amos moved to stand beside me, his eyes narrowing as he tracked the flickering blaze.

“Myrtle Peak,” he said after a moment, his tone grim.

The name struck a chord, and I turned to him fully. “Beatrice McKenna’s territory?”

He gave a curt nod. “Yes. It’s the White Pack and what’s left of it. Beatrice McKenna was once a force to be reckoned with—her name carried weight in her prime. But she married into a branch family, though, and her influence faded over time. Still, her reputation lingered. Lately, the only talk about that pack has been centered on her granddaughter.”

“Granddaughter?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow.

Amos hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “An illegitimate child, from what I’ve heard. No one seems to know much about her—not even her name. But…” He paused, his jaw tightening. “She’s destined to marry David Clarkson.”

The room felt colder at the mention of that name. A familiar bitterness coiled in my chest, sharp and unrelenting.

Clarkson.

Just hearing it was enough to stoke a fire of rage within me, one that never seemed to die.

Memories I tried to bury clawed their way to the surface. My sister, Nimera—her lifeless body laid out before me, bruised and broken. The bruises, the wounds, the scars… they told a story no one wanted to admit.

They called it an accident. But who would believe that? With those bruises? Those marks?

I closed my eyes for a moment, but the image was seared into my mind. Nimera had promised to come home, and she had—but not as I’d hoped. She returned cold, lifeless, her body a canvas of suffering.

The Clarksons were to blame. Of that, I was certain. And Jason Clarkson, her husband and the eldest son of the pack, bore the weight of my hatred. I was convinced he had a hand in her death. No matter what anyone said, no matter how they tried to explain it away, I knew the truth.

But my father—damn him—chose to believe the Clarksons. Or maybe it wasn’t belief so much as cowardice disguised as principle. He always claimed his decisions were rooted in mercy, in the desire to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, to prevent a war with the Clarkson family. But mercy? Mercy was a luxury we couldn’t afford. If I had been in his place, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I would’ve waged war without a second thought.

But I wasn’t him. I was just a fourteen-year-old boy back then, powerless in the face of alliances and influence that the Clarksons wielded like weapons. Their eldest son—untouchable, wrapped in layers of privilege and protection—had been out of my reach. Still, that didn’t extinguish the fire in me. It burned hotter with every passing year, feeding on the hatred that had taken root so deeply it had become part of me.

Now, seven years later, I stood at the helm of the Lanister Pack. Alpha in name and power, I held the strength and authority to bring the Clarksons to their knees. But power alone wasn’t enough.

I needed more.

Evidence. Leverage. The right opportunity.

“Do you want us to rescue the White Pack, Alpha?” Amos’s voice cut through my thoughts, snapping me back to the present. He stood by my side, his gaze steady as it met mine. “If we help them, they could prove useful to you in the future.”

I leaned back in my chair, my eyes drifting to the scene outside. The fire raged on in the distance, wild and consuming, painting the night sky with shades of destruction. The flames danced, their crackling fury carrying echoes of memories I’d tried to suppress.

“And what exactly do they have to offer me in exchange for salvation?” I scoffed, my tone dripping with disdain. My eyes sharpened, automatically focusing on the burning village below. A familiar rush of adrenaline coursed through me as I scanned the area, noting the chaos. Then something—or someone—caught my attention near the edge of the lake, just barely visible from my vantage point.

Movement.

At first, I thought it was a trick of the light or a shadow cast by the flames. But as the figure came closer, its presence solidified, undeniable and haunting.

I stood, moving to the window, both hands gripping the sill as I focused on the figure moving toward the inferno with alarming purpose. My brows furrowed as recognition dawned.

Silver hair, gleaming under the moonlight like molten silver. A white dress that clung and flowed with her every movement, a ghostly silhouette against the night. She headed toward the flames, her steps unwavering, her desperation palpable even from this distance.

It’s her…the Snow lady.

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening against the lump that had suddenly formed there.

It had been years since I’d last seen her, but the memory of that day remained etched in vivid detail. I had been teetering on the brink of death, hidden deep within the wilderness after a skirmish that had left me battered, broken, and bleeding out. She had appeared like a ghost, her movements silent yet deliberate. Her touch had been gentle, her presence an anchor in the chaos, though I’d been too weak to even ask her name. She had saved my life, patched me up, and vanished before I could express my gratitude or repay the debt.

And now, she was here. Riding horseback into a burning village.

Was she from Myrtle Peak? That question, along with so many others, had never crossed my mind back then. I had been too consumed with survival to wonder who she was or where she belonged. Yet, seeing her again now stirred something restless within me—an ache that wasn’t quite longing, not quite regret.

Curiosity, yes. But beneath it, a darker current: unease.

“Alpha,” Amos’s voice pulled me from the spiraling thoughts. “There are still—”

“We’re leaving,” I announced abruptly, cutting him off. My tone left no room for argument as I turned away from the window.

“Alpha?” he echoed, his confusion evident.

I didn’t bother answering. Ignoring him, I stepped out of the meeting room, the air thick with unspoken questions.

“Kairos, your room—” Thorne Briar greeted me immediately as I crossed the threshold. His tone carried a mix of hospitality and concern, a reminder that I was a guest in his domain. This estate, though miles away from my territory, served as neutral ground for critical alliances. As a friend and an important ally, Thorne had requested my presence, and I had obliged.

“I’ll be back later,” I interrupted him curtly, brushing past before he could finish.

“And where exactly are you going?” he called after me, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Just getting some fresh air,” I lied, not breaking my stride.

Thankfully, Thorne didn’t press further. I was out of the estate within moments, Amos falling into step beside me. The members of my pack, brought along for the meeting, trailed a respectful distance behind.

“Do you know the way to Myrtle Peak?” I asked Amos as soon as we were clear of the estate grounds.

He hesitated, clearly surprised by the sudden inquiry, but nodded. Amos knew me well enough to keep his questions to himself.

The journey to Myrtle Peak was swift, though it felt like every second dragged. I wasn’t rushing, yet my pulse raced as if I were. By the time we arrived, the village was all but ash and ruin. Flames had consumed most of the cabins, leaving behind skeletal remains of charred wood. Smoke coiled into the sky, a mournful lament against the stark horizon. The metallic tang of blood hung thick in the air, mingling with the acrid stench of fire and death.

Bodies littered the ground—wolves, men, women—all slaughtered without mercy.

I had prepared myself for the worst, bracing for the likelihood of finding no survivors. Even so, a pang of disappointment clawed at me as I scanned the c*****e. If she was dead, then the debt I owed her would forever remain unpaid.

“There’s nothing left,” Amos murmured grimly beside me.

“Search for survivors,” I commanded, my voice cutting through the oppressive silence. “If you find anyone, bring them to me.”

Amos nodded, signaling the others to spread out. As they moved through the wreckage, I walked forward alone, my sharp eyes scanning for any flicker of life amid the destruction. The silence pressed down on me, broken only by the occasional crackle of smoldering embers.

And then, I saw her.

She knelt at the heart of the village, her white dress streaked with ash and blood. Her silver hair clung to her face, damp with sweat and tears. She cradled the lifeless body of an older woman, her shoulders trembling as she let out a raw, haunting cry. The sound was a blade, cutting through the stillness and slicing deep into the marrow of my bones.

The Snow Lady.

But what struck me next was more than her anguish. My eyes locked on her ears and tails, stark against the destruction. She’s a…halven. A wolf who couldn’t fully transform into her wolf form.

And her fur…

It was white.

And in this era, white wolves were rare.

Precious.

Dangerous.