Alpha's Trial Mate

**Kira, 12 Years Old**

The forest was ablaze.

Not with flames—initially—but with cries. Wolf howls slice through the air like knives. Trees rushed by as Kira sprinted, tripping over roots coated in blood and ash. The moon overhead was off—oversized, overly red. "Blood Moon," her mother had murmured. A negative sign.

Now it became a sky executioner.

“Kira—don’t stop running!” her mother had shouted.

Next, the teeth. Talons. Her mother's voice, muted in the midst of wailing.

She had no recollection of falling. Only the scent of fire—hair, skin, residence. The pain in her chest. The bite of sorrow intertwined with smoke. She squeezed under the roots of a weathered tree, hands trembling, her mother’s scarf clenched firmly in her grip. The scent of rosemary and pine lingered.

She held it to her face and refrained from crying. Wasn't able to.

Weeping produced sound.

Sound led to your discovery.

Her legs throbbed. Her ribs seemed sore. Blood smeared her hands, but she couldn’t tell if it was her own.

All was darkness and cries—except beneath the roots. In that place, time lagged. Breathing turned into numbers. Single. Two. Single. Two.

It was chilly. The wind sliced through the forest with a predator's accuracy. Her wolf—too young to transform, too frightened to emerge—whined within her heart.

Then—

Crumble.

Paces.

She breathed in deeply, causing her sight to become hazy.

A figure stumbled into sight, falling against a tree just a short distance away. A boy—perhaps a year older than she is, perhaps two. High. Pale. Blood saturated the side of his tunic. His breath came in uneven gasps.

And those eyes of his—gods, those eyes.

Gold. Flaming. Alpha generation.

He inhaled the scent in the air. Then turned, eyes fixated on her as if a knife were at her neck.

Kira stood still.

He remained silent. Crawled toward her slowly and intentionally. His actions were fragmented—like he was maintaining himself through sheer determination.

He was then kneeling down in front of her.

She felt the urge to shout. To jog.

He wouldn't allow her.

His hand was placed on her mouth—softly, not harshly.

His voice sounded harsh. "They remain nearby."

His aroma reached her—pine, frost, something timeless. Alpha.

“Do not shout,” he murmured.

She looked up at him, trembling. He was not a scoundrel. He didn't belong to her pack, either. His crest was ripped, concealed.

He wasn't meant to be here.

He gazed at her as if he wasn’t meant to *behold* her either.

Then—he sank his teeth into her.

No alert. Unauthorized.

His teeth pierced the tender spot between her neck and shoulder. Do not indicate. Not to assert.

However, to tie.

The agony was searingly intense. Her body convulsed. Her wolf howled. The bond formed immediately—primeval and intuitive.

Her breath became labored. The planet rotated. Crimson blossomed where his fangs punctured her.

Then, he recoiled, eyes wide as if he hadn't intended to do that.

She looked at him, shocked, deceived, wounded.

He gulped deeply, then placed a trembling hand on the injury. "They can’t smell you now." "You will have my scent."

“Why?” she breathed.

However, he remained silent.

His gaze changed—terror, haste, something he couldn't express.

“I must leave,” he stated.

“Absolutely not!” Her voice broke.

However, he was already standing up.

"I'll return," he remarked glancing back. "I promise it."

Then he vanished.

Twigs broke. Silence flooded in.

Kira remained seated, blood staining her skin, breaths uneven, anticipating his return.

He did not.

Not that evening.

Never.

The scar from the bite always remained.

" He designated me for my protection.

After that, he erased me from his memory. "