The Alpha’s Eyes

The training field echoed with the sound of fists hitting flesh, bodies thudding to the ground, and breath being pushed out in sharp exhales. Morning mist clung to the treetops above, and the scent of dew-drenched earth filled Liora’s lungs with every inhale. She moved through the drills like her body had been sculpted for it—lean, quick, precise. Every strike and dodge was calculated, every motion fluid. She didn’t move like a guest in this pack. She moved like a warrior.

And yet, the whispers still followed her.

“She wasn’t born here.”

“She hasn’t even shifted yet.”

“Bloodlines don’t lie.”

Liora shoved the thoughts away as she swept Jonas’s leg and brought him down hard onto his back. He grunted, winded, and stared up at her with a rueful smile.

“That’s six,” he muttered.

She offered him a hand. “And six times you dropped your shoulder too soon.”

“Maybe I just like falling at your feet.”

She rolled her eyes, but a smirk tugged at her lips. Jonas was one of the few who didn’t treat her like she had something to prove. He saw her as she was: a fighter, not a charity case.

Across the field, Alpha Elias watched in his usual quiet way. His arms were crossed, his silver-streaked hair pulled into a tight knot, his amber eyes unreadable. Next to him stood Maren, his Beta, and two of the elders. Their presence at morning drills was unusual.

Liora’s heart sank a little. They were preparing for something. And she had a feeling she knew what.

“You can take a break,” Elias called out, voice steady and low but commanding. “Form up in twenty. We’ll have company soon.”

The company.

Liora’s blood turned cold.

The Shadowclaw Pack.

She’d heard the rumors of their brutality, their isolation, their young but ruthless Alpha. They weren’t a friendly pack. They were territorial, secretive, and strong. And Crescent Moon had once been their enemy.

They were still their enemy, in many ways. Except now, political necessity had forced a temporary truce.

Jonas nudged her elbow. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

But her wolf stirred restlessly beneath her skin.

Twenty minutes later, the Crescent Moon pack gathered in the clearing just outside the Alpha’s home, an open, circular space ringed with smooth stones and carved wooden benches. Liora stood near the back, arms folded tightly across her chest, scanning the treeline.

She had grown up here, yes. She’d trained, fought, and bled beside the wolves of this pack. Elias had taken her in when she was six, after rogues had slaughtered her family. He had fed her, clothed her, and taught her how to fight. He’d never treated her like a stranger.

But belonging wasn’t a gift. It was something she had to keep earning.

Always earning.

And now, with Shadowclaw approaching, the air was charged with tension. She wasn’t sure if it was excitement or dread.

The horn sounded.

A single, low note that cut through the trees like a blade.

Every muscle in Liora’s body tensed.

Then they appeared.

Dark shapes moved between the trees—ten, maybe twelve wolves, all tall and hard-eyed, dressed in leathers dyed black and gray. The Shadowclaw warriors walked like wraiths: quiet, controlled, radiating danger.

And then he stepped into the clearing.

At first, Liora saw only movement—a ripple through the pack, a presence that made everyone else seem less.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with hair as dark as midnight and eyes like storms—gray-blue and ice-cold. A long scar cut down one side of his face, curling just beneath his eye. He wore a black coat lined in wolf fur, and every step he took was silent, lethal.

The Crescent Moon wolves straightened at once. Even Elias tilted his head in acknowledgment.

The Alpha of Shadowclaw.

And then it happened.

The moment.

His eyes swept the gathered wolves, and landed on hers.

Time ruptured.

The world narrowed to that single gaze. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Heat bloomed in her chest. Her knees nearly gave out.

Her wolf rose so violently within her that she gasped. A wave of scent hit her: pine smoke, frost, lightning.

Mate.

The word roared through her being, undeniable. Her skin prickled. Her pulse raced. Every sense sharpened.

She took a half-step forward before she even realized it.

His eyes widened. For a heartbeat, something—recognition? Pain?—flickered across his face.

And then…

It disappeared.

Replaced by cold fury.

He took a slow step toward her, and the gathered wolves turned to watch.

Liora’s lips parted.

But before she could speak, he did.

“No,” he said, voice cutting.

The crowd fell deathly silent.

“This is a mistake.”

His tone was cold. Flat. Dismissive.

Liora’s breath hitched. Her body went rigid.

What?

He looked her over once more, then turned his back to her completely.

“Let’s begin the talks,” he said to Elias. “I don’t have time for Crescent tricks.”

A low growl rose in her throat, unbidden. She clenched her fists to stop herself from shaking.

Her wolf howled inside her, scratching and snarling to be acknowledged.

But the Alpha of Shadowclaw didn’t turn back.

Didn’t even flinch.

Just like that, he rejected her.

Rejected the bond.

Rejected her.

The ache that followed was unlike anything she’d felt. A phantom tearing in her chest. The sensation of something precious being snapped before it had ever truly formed.

Jonas stepped toward her. “Liora—”

She raised a hand. “Don’t.”

Her voice was raw, her vision blurred.

But she didn’t let herself fall apart.

Not here. Not in front of him.

Let him think she was a mistake.

She’d prove him wrong.

She always did.