BENEATH THE BLOOD MOON: CLAIMED BY HER ALPHA

Selene’s dreams were never gentle.

Tonight, the cold moon spilled silver across the forest in her vision. She shivered at the sight of ancient oaks rising like cathedral pillars around her. The wind howled through them, carrying a low, guttural snarl.

She was not alone.

Ahead lay a dark altar of cracked stone, overgrown with moss. Chains crisscrossed it, thick as a man’s arm, bolted into the ground. Something massive strained against them.

A black wolf.

Its fur bristled like razors, eyes glowing gold with fury and pain. Saliva frothed between bared fangs. Every time it thrashed, iron links groaned, and blood leaked from raw flesh where the shackles bit.

“Run,” the wolf growled in a voice that was more human than beast. “Run before it’s too late.”

The voice thundered in her head, not spoken aloud. The sound of it split the air, like claws raking through her thoughts. She fell to her knees, clutching her skull.

“Stop,” she whispered.

But the vision wouldn’t obey.

The wolf lunged. The chains yanked it back, ringing like church bells. It snarled and howled, screaming for her. The noise rose until the world vibrated with its rage.

Selene gasped and woke in her cot, sitting upright.

Her nightdress clung to her with sweat. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her racing heart. The hut was dark, lit only by the ember-glow from the banked fire. Outside, the wind howled as if echoing the chained beast’s cry.

She buried her face in her hands. She’d been here six months, apprenticed to old Mira, the Crescent Vale’s healer. She’d wanted peace. A fresh start. Safety from the arranged marriage her mother tried to force on her in the city.

Selene sobbed. Her breath misted in the cold air. This was just another nightmare. She’d had them for weeks now—ever since entering Crescent Vale’s sacred forest to gather herbs and brushing against that old standing stone. Ever since then, the dreams had hunted her.

But there was no safety here.

Not in this cursed forest.

Not when every night was haunted by that wolf.

---

She forced herself to breathe. In. Out. Mira had taught her to calm her nerves after a nightmare. Her fingers trembled as she wiped them across her damp brow.

She tried to speak aloud, grounding herself. “My name is Selene Lowell. I’m twenty-three. I’m alive.”

The dream was over. But even so, the whisper of black wolf lingered in her head like a ghost.

She lit a candle. The small flame pushed back the shadows, but they seemed reluctant to go. Selene moved to the wooden wash basin, splashing water on her face. Her reflection stared back, drawn and pale. Silver-gray eyes, her mother’s legacy, looked too bright in the candlelight. Her hair, black and tangled, clung to her skin like a shadow trying to consume her.

She hated seeing fear in her own face.

She braced both hands on the basin’s edge, shutting her eyes. For a moment she saw chains again glinting in moonlight, wet with blood. She shuddered.

She opened her eyes and exhaled sharply. “It’s not real,” she whispered. But that wasn’t true. Because something in those golden eyes felt terrifyingly real. Like a promise she didn’t want.

---

She dressed quickly, pulling her cloak over her nightdress. She didn’t want to sleep again. She grabbed her herb pouch and stepped outside.

The cold night air slapped her awake fully. Crescent Vale lay quiet, the healer’s cottage at the edge of the settlement. The forest beyond loomed, black and impenetrable. Wind rattled the branches, making them clack like bones.

She inhaled deeply, the scent of pine and frost filling her lungs. She hoped it would wash away the memory of blood and chains.

But the wind shifted.

And for a second she smelled something she couldn’t explain.

Musk. Wild. Warm. Like the thick fur of a predator. It made her mouth go dry, her pulse flutter. Fear or something too close to it curled in her belly.

She spun to look behind her. Nothing moved. The path was empty.

“Get a hold of yourself,” she snapped under her breath. She squeezed the herb pouch so hard the dried lavender cracked in her fist.

---

Inside the cottage, Mira stirred at the noise.

The old woman’s voice was hoarse with sleep. “Another dream?”

Selene swallowed, wiping her eyes. “Yes.”

Mira sighed, levering herself up on one elbow. Her long gray braid spilled over her shoulder like a pale snake. “Same one?”

Selene nodded mutely.

Mira’s face darkened. She made a warding sign with gnarled fingers. “You should never have gone near that ruin, girl. That place is older than our gods.”

Selene’s voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to.”

Mira’s eyes softened. She gestured for Selene to come closer. The younger woman obeyed, sitting by the bed. Mira took her hand in hers—dry, warm, solid.

“Tell me everything again,” Mira urged. “Leave nothing out.”

Selene shuddered but spoke. The black wolf. The chains. The blood. The voice. She didn’t omit the scent she thought she smelled tonight.

Mira listened, grave as a priest. When Selene finished, Mira squeezed her hand.

“The old stories,” she murmured. “About the Sacred Forest. They say there are spirits trapped there. Beasts. Curses.”

Selene winced. “So you think it’s real.”

Mira didn’t answer directly. “Dreams have power. And here, the Veil is thin. If something calls you —it has chosen you.”

Selene recoiled, tearing her hand away. “I don’t want it!”

Mira sighed. “Few of us choose the spirits that claim us. But heed my words, child. Don’t go near that ruin again. Don’t answer it. Don’t free it.”

Selene’s mouth trembled. She shook her head. “I won’t.”

But in her heart, something twisted. A wrongness. A certainty that it was too late. Because it wasn’t her answering.

It was the wolf.

And it would not stop calling until she listened.

---

Outside, in the deep woods, something howled.

The chains rattled.

And somewhere in the darkness, eyes opened—gold and hungry.