Alpha Asher's Forbidden Mate

Aria POV

The dream comes every night.

Darkness first, then the silver burn of the moon. A hush so heavy it presses on my lungs, and shadows that move when they shouldn’t. I know it isn’t real, yet the ache in my chest feels too sharp, too raw, to belong to simple imagination.

I am running. Barefoot through a forest that knows my name, branches clawing at my arms like jealous lovers. The air reeks of iron, wet earth, and blood—always blood. And ahead, a voice I cannot ignore.

Aria…

My name, carried like a prayer, or a curse.

The trees split open to reveal a battlefield. Wolves writhe in the mud, their fur soaked scarlet beneath the merciless glow of the moon. My pack. My people. My blood. I want to scream, to throw myself into the carnage, but my body refuses to move.

Two figures stand at the center of the slaughter.

One wears Damien’s face—the man who once held my heart in his unsteady hands, only to crush it without remorse. His eyes gleam black with ambition, his mouth curved in that familiar, mocking smile. Even drenched in blood, he is beautiful. Terrible.

The other is Riven Cade, Alpha forged of steel and silence. His posture is rigid, every movement sharpened with lethal precision. Where Damien’s chaos devours, Riven’s control suffocates. Yet when his eyes find mine, I feel the pull—a tether burning deep into my soul, undeniable, inescapable.

They both look at me.

Damien’s hunger is a chain; Riven’s gaze, a cage.

Between them lies a single wolf—its pelt obsidian, its eyes glowing like fire, its throat torn open. The body convulses, spilling shadows instead of blood. And when the wolf opens its mouth, it is my voice that cries out.

I jolt awake.

Sweat clings to my skin despite the chill. My heart slams against my ribs as if it wants to escape me, to flee before destiny catches up. I dig my nails into my palms, grounding myself in pain, in the present. Yet the echo of that battlefield clings to me like smoke.

It is more than a dream. It is a warning.

I’ve carried visions since birth, though I once pretended not to. My grandmother whispered of the Shadowfang bloodline, of its cursed sight, of how it reveals truths meant to remain hidden. My mother called it a gift. My father called it a burden. The pack called it dangerous.

And when Damien rejected me, when whispers turned to jeers, when exile became my sentence… I called it a curse.

Three years I’ve spent in silence. Three years away from the territory that shaped me, that broke me. Three years learning the weight of solitude, the bitterness of betrayal.

But silence has teeth, and it gnaws at me.

Tonight, I return.

Not as a daughter welcomed home. Not as the heir who once might have inherited the Shadowfang legacy. I return as a ghost, walking paths that have long forgotten me. My name lingers only in hushed tones—shameful, cursed, rejected.

The moon is high when I cross the border. My wolf stirs uneasily beneath my skin, her restlessness a mirror of my own. I expect resistance—guards, snarls, a fight. But there is only the wind, and the faint rustle of leaves. Almost as if the land itself holds its breath, waiting.

Every step is heavier than the last. Memories press in from all sides.

The night Damien’s lips left my skin cold with rejection.

The council’s decree that banished me from my own blood.

The silence of those who once called me friend.

I bite down hard enough to taste copper, refusing to drown in ghosts. They will not see me broken. Not again.

The pack is divided, though I do not need eyes to know it. Rumors carried even to exile spoke of it—factions clawing for power, Damien weaving his web of deceit, and above all, the rise of Riven Cade. The Alpha who rebuilt what was shattered, who rules with precision and ruthlessness.

They fear him. They obey him.

And tonight, beneath the glow of the Moonlight Ceremony, I will face him.

The thought sends a shiver racing down my spine. Fated mates. The bond every wolf is raised to both crave and fear. My grandmother spoke of it often—how it burns, how it binds, how it damns. But I never imagined it would touch me. Not after exile. Not after Damien.

Yet the dream… the vision… it lingers. Two men, one chain, one cage. My blood spilling into the dirt.

Perhaps destiny isn’t done tormenting me.

I slip through the shadows, avoiding patrols, keeping to the edges of familiar paths. The pack grounds look the same yet different, as though time itself shifted their bones while I was gone. The council altar rises in the distance, its stone polished to a cruel gleam beneath the moonlight.

Whispers drift on the wind. My name. My shame. My return.

And then—my breath catches.

A figure stands at the altar, his shoulders broad, his head bowed in feigned humility. His dark hair gleams under the silver light, and I know that stance, that aura, that arrogance even before he lifts his eyes.

Damien Blackthorn.

My ex-lover. My betrayer. The one who cast me into exile with a single word.

He is not supposed to be here. Not like this. Not swearing himself before the council, before the moon, before the pack. Not offering blood for loyalty, not kneeling for power.

But there he is, standing at the very heart of Shadowfang territory.

And as the words of the Blood Oath rise from his lips, the air shifts—sharp, electric, inevitable.

I freeze at the edge of the shadows, my wolf howling within me.

Because I know, with bone-deep certainty, that whatever vow Damien makes tonight will unravel everything.

And I am too late to stop it.