The Gamma’s Silent Howl

In my first year at Western University, I started dating someone. By our senior year, we called it quits. He seemed unfazed, leaving me with a dismissive comment: "Didn't think you'd take it seriously; we were just having fun." At the time, I didn’t realize how much those words would haunt me, especially when I was just a Gamma-ranked warrior in the Silver Moon Pack, and he was Jesse Marshall, the future Alpha of the Crimson Fang Pack. His rejection stung, not just because of the words, but because of the unspoken truth—I wasn’t high enough in rank to be his mate.

Three years into my career as a Gamma, he unexpectedly reappeared as the new Alpha of our workplace pack. When he asked, "How have you been?" I responded, "Great." But deep down, I knew I wasn’t doing well at all. The mate bond, though never fully formed, still lingered like a ghost between us, and his presence brought it roaring back to life.

Years had passed since we parted, and I never imagined reuniting with Alpha Marshall this way. That morning, Cheyenne Wilson, my fellow Delta-ranked warrior, mentioned that the new Alpha would be visiting, and we might have dinner with him at a local Italian restaurant that evening. Cheyenne, ever the gossip, was buzzing with excitement. "He’s supposed to be implementing some changes to the pack structure. And Gwen, he’s… well, let’s just say he’s exactly what you’d expect from an Alpha."

He arrived in the afternoon with a sizable entourage of Betas and Gammas from his pack. I stayed on the sidelines, hoping the Alpha would overlook a lowly Gamma like me. When he reached our section, he stopped, and Grey Harvey, our Gamma supervisor, quickly introduced us. "Alpha Marshall, this is Cheyenne, Adelynn, and Gwen from our department."

Hearing Grey’s voice, I had no choice but to look up, muster a professional smile, and join the others in greeting, "Alpha Marshall." But my smile froze when I saw him—he had matured a lot, standing over six feet tall in a sharp suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and muscular frame. His hair was slicked back, his jawline more defined, and his high cheekbones and deep-set eyes exuded an aura of dominance that was impossible to ignore.

Alpha Marshall nodded at me, exchanged a few pleasantries with Grey, then walked past us, leaving a subtle woody scent in his wake. It wasn’t until Cheyenne’s voice snapped me out of my daze that I hurried to the restroom, locking myself in a stall, trying to calm my racing heart.

I don’t know how long I stayed there, but when I emerged, my reflection in the mirror was pale and thin, devoid of makeup. I’d imagined many scenarios of running into him again, each where I portrayed myself as thriving post-breakup. But reality hit me hard. I laughed bitterly to myself; perhaps he never remembered me, or maybe he just didn’t care to.

At dinner that evening at