Alpha's Eclipse

LIRA

The moon looked wrong tonight.

It hung lower than usual, cloaked in shadows, tinged with a dull red that bled into the dark sky. The air felt heavy, like the whole forest was holding its breath. I stood alone in the clearing, arms wrapped around myself, listening to the silence that pressed in from all sides.

Something wasn’t right.

Not with the moon. Not with me.

I had no words for it, just a gnawing feeling under my skin—like a thousand tiny sparks waiting to ignite.

“Lira!”

I turned at the sound of my name.

Kora’s voice cut through the quiet, loud and urgent. She pushed through the tall grass, face flushed, golden eyes scanning until they landed on me.

“There you are,” she exhaled, brushing wild strands of hair from her face. “You’re not supposed to be out here.”

“I needed air,” I said, not bothering to lie. “Too many eyes back there.”

She frowned, stepping beside me and glancing at the sky. “You see it too, don’t you?”

I nodded. “The moon looks... off.”

“It’s not just the moon.” She dropped her voice. “The Leaders are asking for you. Again.”

I sighed. “Of course they are.”

They always wanted something—answers to questions I couldn’t give, explanations for things I didn’t understand. I’d grown used to the stares, the whispered conversations behind my back. The girl who hadn’t shifted. The one who didn’t fit.

Kora touched my arm gently. “They’re not in the mood to be ignored tonight. Something’s going on.”

“Something’s always going on,” I muttered. “And somehow it’s always about me.”

She hesitated, then said, “They’re talking about Grimhowl.”

My breath caught. “What about Grimhowl?”

Kora looked uneasy, her voice lower now. “Rumors. Scouts near the northern border. The Leaders think it’s a warning—or a sign.”

“A sign of what?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her silence spoke louder than anything she could’ve said.

“Caius Vexmoor,” she finally whispered.

The name alone sent a chill racing down my spine.

Alpha of Grimhowl. Ruthless. Unforgiving. The stories about him were half-myth, half-terror—his wolf black as death, his eyes silver and cold. He was the kind of Alpha who didn’t bother with threats. Just action.

“They think he’s preparing for something,” Kora went on. “And they think… it might involve you.”

My heart thudded against my ribs. “Me? Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But they’ve been whispering all evening. They won’t say anything directly, but I think they believe it’s connected to why you haven’t shifted.”

I looked away, jaw tight. I hated that word—why. As if there had to be a reason I was different. As if I hadn’t asked myself the same question a thousand times.

At nineteen, I should have shifted years ago. All the others had—most before they turned sixteen. But my wolf had never come. No howling under my skin. No clawing at the surface. Just silence.

I tried to laugh, but it came out bitter. “So now they think Caius Vexmoor has something to do with my defective wolf?”

“You’re not defective.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

Kora’s brows pulled together. “I mean it, Lira. You’re not broken. You’re not some mistake the Moon Goddess forgot to finish. Whatever’s happening, I don’t believe it’s about you. Not really. They just want something to blame.”

Blame. That’s exactly what it felt like—being a problem they couldn’t solve, a question they couldn’t answer.

I stared at the trees surrounding us, tall and unmoving. “It’s like I’m waiting for something I don’t understand. Every day I wake up hoping something will feel different. But nothing ever does.”

Kora stepped closer, her voice firm. “Then maybe different is coming. Maybe it’s already here.”

A shiver ran through me. The wind stirred the grass, whispering secrets I couldn’t quite hear.

“You think Grimhowl’s coming?” I asked. “That Caius… he’s coming?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But the Leaders are scared. That’s never a good sign.”

I hated the fear in her voice. I hated that mine echoed it.

“What do I do, Kora?” I asked. “What if all of this leads to something I can’t handle?”

She looked me dead in the eye. “Then you won’t handle it alone.”

And just like that, the knot in my chest loosened. She always had a way of grounding me—of reminding me that no matter how twisted the path became, I didn’t have to walk it in the dark.

“We should go,” she said, glancing toward the trees. “The Leaders won’t wait much longer. Even if you don’t want to hear what they have to say, it’s better to be there than let them spin more stories in your absence.”

I nodded, casting one last look at the strange, pale moon.

It felt like it was watching me. Like it knew something I didn’t.

As we started walking back toward the village, I couldn’t shake the feeling crawling up my spine—like something had just shifted, and I wouldn’t understand it until it was far too late to turn back.