Chapter 6 – The Rival Alpha

The gates groaned as they opened, iron scraping stone. A single rider entered, his horse coated in mud from the borderlands. The man sat tall in the saddle, though one shoulder sagged where a scar twisted the muscle. His eyes gleamed amber, but not with warmth. They burned with the kind of pride that came from serving a ruthless master.

The stronghold’s courtyard bristled as Kaelen’s pack gathered, wary and silent. Even the wolves pacing the shadows lowered their heads, hackles stiff, as if they sensed the stench of another Alpha on the man’s skin.

The rider dismounted with deliberate calm, tossed the reins to a waiting hand, and stepped forward. His voice carried, low but sharp.

“I bring words from Lord Eryndor Veyric.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Kaelen stood at the top of the steps, his presence quiet but undeniable, storm-gray eyes locked on the messenger.

“Then speak them here,” Kaelen said. His voice cut the air, steady as steel.

The rider unrolled a parchment, though he hardly needed it. The words had been drilled into him, each one edged with menace.

“My lord offers peace. An alliance between your fractured pack and his. All he asks in return is the girl. The one with the mark.”

Gasps broke the silence. All eyes turned, almost in unison, toward Serenya. She stood at the edge of the gathering, wrapped in Kaelen’s cloak, her chestnut hair stirring in the cold wind. She had tried to shrink back, but there was no hiding when her name was spoken without being spoken.

Kaelen’s jaw tightened. He descended the steps slowly, each footfall measured.

“And if I refuse?”

The messenger’s lips curved in a smile that did not reach his eyes.

“Then he takes her himself. And burns your villages until nothing remains but ash and carrion.”

The words landed heavy. Growls rolled through the pack like a storm tide, but fear underpinned the sound. Wolves shifted their weight, uneasy, eyes flicking between Kaelen and the stranger.

Kaelen stopped a breath away from the envoy. Taller, broader, every inch an Alpha, though he held himself with restraint that made the moment more dangerous.

“Tell Eryndor this,” he said, voice low enough to force the man to lean closer. “If he crosses my borders, he will not leave alive.”

The rider’s smirk faltered, though only for an instant. He tucked the parchment back into his cloak and bowed mockingly.

“Your pride blinds you, Drazmir. But my lord enjoys breaking the stubborn. Perhaps you’ll amuse him.”

The rider turned, mounted, and rode out as suddenly as he had come. The gates shut behind him with a shuddering slam.

Silence stretched. Then the whispers began.

“He’s right.”

“She’s cursed.”

“She’ll bring war to us all.”

Serenya felt the weight of their stares, sharp as blades. Her hands trembled where they gripped the cloak around her shoulders. She could not remember her past, but she knew shame when it settled like frost in her bones.

Kaelen’s voice cut across the mutters.

“Enough.”

The courtyard stilled. His gaze swept his pack, hard as iron.

“No one speaks her fate but me. And I say she stays.”

That should have ended it. But unease lingered in the hunched shoulders, in the eyes that slid away from Serenya’s face. Loyalty cracked under fear, and Kaelen felt the fracture widening.

Serenya stepped forward, her voice soft, but it carried.

“Kaelen—”

He turned, and something in his eyes stopped her. Not anger. Not yet. But a plea.

Not here. Not in front of them.

She closed her mouth, swallowed hard, and lowered her gaze.

Kaelen faced his pack once more.

“Return to your duties. Tonight we stand ready, in case Eryndor mistakes silence for weakness.”

The wolves dispersed in uneasy knots, some casting glances sharp with doubt, others with sympathy. But no one spoke openly against him. Not yet.

Serenya lingered, her breath unsteady. The wind carried a scent, faint but unmistakable—the musk of wolves she had never met, but somehow remembered. A whisper slid through her mind, not hers, not quite real.

Serenya.

She flinched, her eyes darting to the gates, though they were closed. She knew that voice. Or thought she did. It echoed from the shadows of her half-formed dreams.

Her skin chilled, and her fingers brushed against her arm, where the hidden mark pulsed faintly beneath fabric.

Kaelen stepped close, his tone lower now, meant only for her.

“Inside. Now.”

She hesitated, then nodded. He guided her toward the hall, hand at her back, protective yet taut with restraint.

Behind them, Mireya stood watching, golden eyes narrowed. She caught Kaelen’s stare before he disappeared into the hall and gave a slight shake of her head. Warning. Doubt.

Kaelen ignored it. But the sound of the rider’s words clung to him like smoke.

An alliance for Serenya.

A threat of fire for refusal.

And in the silence of his mind, a truth he would not voice aloud: Eryndor had just declared war, and his pack was already divided.

The hall doors closed, shutting out the cold—but not the unease that had seeped into every stone of the stronghold.

The fire in the great hall had burned low, its glow throwing shadows against stone walls. Serenya sat on the edge of the long bench, fingers pressed tight together in her lap. Kaelen paced before the hearth, his boots striking a slow, deliberate rhythm on the flagstones.

“You shouldn’t have stood out there,” he said finally, voice clipped. “Not when every eye is already searching for a reason to turn on you.”

Serenya lifted her gaze. The flames etched gold into her gray eyes, but there was no steadiness in them.

“What should I have done? Hid behind your back forever? They’ll never trust me if I—”

“They won’t trust you regardless,” Kaelen cut in, sharper than he intended. He stopped, exhaled, forced his tone lower. “Not yet. They need time. And Eryndor gave them fear instead.”

His words stung, but she couldn’t deny their truth. She drew her cloak tighter, though the chill was not from the air. It came from the hollow beating inside her chest.

“I heard a voice,” she whispered.

Kaelen’s head turned, eyes narrowing. “What voice?”

“At the gate. After he left.” She swallowed, fighting to steady herself. “It said my name. I… I think it was him.”

Kaelen moved closer, every line of his body tense.

“You think Eryndor reached into your mind?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head, strands of chestnut hair falling loose around her face. “But it felt like I knew him. Like I had seen him before—”

Her breath faltered. The mark on her arm flared beneath her sleeve, a pulse of heat that made her gasp.

Kaelen caught her wrist, pulling back the fabric. Faint silver light glimmered under her skin, the sigil alive against her flesh. His thumb hovered over it, careful not to press.

“It reacts to him,” he muttered. “To his presence. Damn it, Serenya…”

The mark flared brighter, and her vision broke.

The hall dissolved around her, replaced by a forest drenched in moonlight. Wolves circled her, their eyes burning gold. And in the clearing’s heart stood a man—towering, scarred, hair streaked with silver. His amber eyes caught hers, and her knees nearly gave beneath the weight of them.

Serenya. His voice filled the vision, smooth as silk, sharp as a blade. You are mine. You always were.

She stumbled backward, but roots snared her feet. Flames erupted behind him, licking the trees, turning sky to ash. The wolves howled as one, their cries shattering the night.

She screamed—

And snapped back into the hall, trembling, Kaelen gripping her shoulders hard enough to anchor her. His storm-gray eyes searched her face.

“What did you see?”

Her lips parted, but the words stuck. She pressed a hand to her chest, still feeling the echo of fire. Finally, her voice broke free, hoarse.

“Him. Eryndor. He—he knows me. He said I belonged to him.”

Kaelen’s jaw clenched. For a heartbeat, the room seemed to shrink, air tightening with his fury.

“He won’t touch you.”

Her eyes lifted to his, desperate. “What if he already has? What if my past—”

“No.” His hand tightened briefly at her shoulder before he released her. “We’ll find answers. But you are not his.”

The words steadied her, but doubt still gnawed. What if her memory proved him wrong?

The heavy doors creaked open. Mireya entered, her golden eyes flicking from Kaelen to Serenya. Her expression was cool, but tension coiled beneath it.

“She cried out loud enough to stir half the stronghold. The council demands to know why.”

Kaelen straightened, stepping instinctively in front of Serenya.

“Tell them nothing.”

Mireya arched a brow. “You think silence will hold them? They’re already fracturing. If you keep secrets, they’ll turn that fracture into a wound.”

“Let them try,” Kaelen growled.

Serenya rose, unsteady but resolute. “No. She’s right.”

Both turned toward her.

“They already doubt me. If we hide this, they’ll believe worse than the truth.” She drew a breath, voice trembling but firming as she forced herself to continue. “If I am a danger, they deserve to know. If I’m not… then I have nothing to fear.”

Kaelen’s eyes hardened. “You don’t understand what they’ll do with it.”

Mireya stepped forward, crossing her arms. “She understands enough. Better than you give her credit for.”

The fire cracked, sending sparks upward. The silence that followed was taut as a drawn bow.

Kaelen turned, meeting Serenya’s gaze. For a moment, neither spoke. Then, with a grim nod, he gave way.

“Very well. We’ll tell them. But you don’t face them alone.”

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor beyond, voices rising in heated argument. The council was coming.

Serenya’s mark pulsed again, faint but insistent, as if sensing the storm about to break.

The council chamber was a cavernous space cut into the mountain’s heart, lit by torches that painted the walls in restless amber. A long table of oak scarred by years of claws and fists stood in the center. Around it, Kaelen’s council waited, their faces lined with suspicion and unease.

Serenya felt every eye pierce her as she stepped inside, Kaelen at her side, Mireya close behind. She kept her chin lifted, though her hands trembled within the folds of her cloak.

Edrath, the oldest among them, leaned forward, knuckles pressed against the table. His gray hair hung in thin strands, his eyes sharp as broken glass.

“So. The girl screams in the night, light spills from her skin, and you expect us to sit idle?”

Kaelen’s voice was even but hard. “You’ll hear it from her mouth, not from whispers.”

A murmur rippled through the chamber. Some shifted in their seats, others narrowed their eyes, waiting for the smallest crack to strike at.

Serenya drew a breath, steadying her voice. “I had a vision. Not a dream. A vision. Lord Eryndor spoke to me. He knew my name.”

Gasps broke the stillness.

“And what else?” Edrath pressed, his tone biting.

She met his gaze. “Fire. Wolves. Blood. He claimed I belonged to him.”

A low growl rose from one of the younger councilors, Arven, his fists clenched on the table. “This proves it. She’s his spy, or worse—his weapon.”

Mireya’s hand slammed down before Kaelen could speak. “Enough. If she were his weapon, Eryndor would not waste time with riddles.”

“Or perhaps this is how he works,” Edrath snapped back. “Lure the Alpha with a pretty face, sow division, and when the time comes, he strikes through her.”

Kaelen’s chair scraped loudly against the stone as he rose, towering over them. His storm-gray eyes burned.

“You think I don’t know Eryndor’s games? You think I haven’t bled enough under his claws to recognize his schemes? She is not his. She is under my protection.”

“That’s the problem,” Arven shot back. “Your protection weakens you. Weakens us. Every day she stays, the pack fractures further.”

The tension cracked like ice beneath weight. Half the council murmured agreement, the other half shifted uneasily.

Serenya felt the words like blows. Her nails dug into her palms, and she forced herself to step forward. Her voice shook, but she made no attempt to hide it.

“I never asked for this. I never asked to be found at your borders, or to bring danger with me. But I will not run from it either. If my past threatens you, I want to face it here, not cower in the shadows.”

For a moment, silence reigned.

Then, slowly, Mireya’s stern gaze softened. She inclined her head. “Braver than most I’ve seen at this table.”

Edrath sneered. “Bravery means little if it leads to ruin.”

Before Kaelen could lash back, the heavy doors banged open. A scout stumbled in, blood on his sleeve, panting from the climb.

“My lord—” His chest heaved. “The border fires. Eryndor’s men… they’ve crossed the pass.”

Every voice erupted at once. Some cursed, others shouted for weapons. The chamber filled with the thunder of rising panic.

Kaelen’s roar cut through it. “Silence!”

The room stilled. His jaw was tight, his shoulders squared with cold resolve.

“How many?”

“Too many to count,” the scout rasped. “They didn’t attack. They just… stood there. Watching. As if waiting.”

Edrath turned, eyes gleaming with vindication. “Waiting for her. Do you see it now? He marches because she’s here.”

Kaelen’s hand slammed against the table, rattling the torches. “He marches because he is a vulture who scents weakness. With or without her, he would come.”

Serenya’s mark flared under her sleeve, a burning throb that made her gasp. Kaelen’s eyes flicked to her, then back to the council.

“He wants her,” Edrath hissed. “Give her up, and we buy peace.”

Kaelen’s voice was ice. “Peace bought with surrender is no peace at all.”

Mireya stepped forward, golden eyes locked on Kaelen. “Then decide quickly, Alpha. Because whether you keep her or cast her out, the pack needs unity. Without it, we fall before the first blow.”

The torches sputtered as a draft swept through the chamber. Serenya shivered, though the heat of her mark only grew stronger. She knew what it meant.

Eryndor was not waiting at the border. He was calling her.

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a blade.

“He’s not going to stop. Not until he has me.”

Kaelen looked at her, the weight of his choice heavy in his storm-gray eyes.

The council chamber emptied in chaos, voices still echoing off the stone long after the last councilor stormed out. Only Kaelen, Serenya, and Mireya remained. The torches burned low, their flames bending in the draft, as though even the fire itself braced for what was to come.

Kaelen paced the length of the table, hands flexing at his sides. The weight of his decision pressed on every step. Serenya stood near the wall, fingers clutching the fabric of her cloak, her mark searing hotter with each heartbeat. Mireya leaned against the far pillar, silent, watchful.

Finally, Kaelen stopped, turning toward Serenya. His voice was rough, low.

“You heard them. Half the council is ready to throw you to Eryndor to save their own hides.”

Serenya swallowed, her throat tight. “And the other half?”

“They’ll follow me… for now. But if he pushes harder, they may break. Fear is a weapon sharper than any blade.”

Mireya pushed off the pillar, arms crossing. “Then the question is simple. Do we wait for him to strike, or do we strike first?”

Kaelen’s jaw clenched. “To march against him now would be suicide. His numbers are greater, his wolves hungry for war. We need time.”

“Time you don’t have,” Serenya said softly.

They both looked at her. Her hand had slipped free of her cloak sleeve, and the glowing mark burned on her skin like molten silver.

“It’s not just a mark,” she whispered. “It’s a summons. I can feel him pulling at me, like a chain around my bones. If I stay, he’ll keep coming until your people are ash and blood.”

“No,” Kaelen snapped, stepping closer, his voice vibrating with fury. “You think I’ll hand you over? That I’ll watch him tear you apart just to keep peace for a day?”

Her eyes lifted to his, steady despite the tremor in her body. “I think you’ll lose everything if you don’t face the truth. I am the reason he’s here.”

For a moment, silence hung heavy between them. Mireya shifted, golden eyes flicking between the two of them, but she stayed quiet. This wasn’t hers to answer.

Kaelen’s hand rose, hovering as if to touch her cheek, but he stopped short, fist tightening instead.

“You are not the reason he comes,” he growled. “Eryndor was coming long before you walked into my valley. You are simply the excuse he needed.”

Serenya’s breath caught, torn between relief and despair.

Mireya’s voice cut in, sharp as steel. “Excuses don’t matter when soldiers are at the border. He won’t wait long. And neither should we.”

Kaelen turned to her, storm-gray eyes flashing. “And what would you have me do? March my pack into slaughter?”

Mireya didn’t flinch. “No. But you can’t sit and wait. If you won’t give her up, then you need to rally them. Every wolf, every ally, every village that still bows to your banner. Show them you are Alpha, or Eryndor will take that role for you.”

The words settled like stone in the chamber. Kaelen’s shoulders lifted, then fell with a long breath. His gaze returned to Serenya, and for the first time, she saw not only anger but weariness—an exhaustion that no sleep could mend.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“You trust me?”

Her heart skipped. “Yes.”

“Then trust this: I will not let him have you. Not while I still breathe.”

The mark on her arm flared violently, sending a jolt of heat up her veins. She gasped, clutching at it. Kaelen caught her before she stumbled, his grip iron around her waist.

Her eyes widened, silver light dancing in their depths. “He’s closer. I can feel him—like he’s already here.”

Mireya’s head snapped toward the door, nostrils flaring. She went still, then cursed under her breath.

“Not closer. Here.”

Kaelen’s ears pricked, catching it too—the faint echo of a howl rolling down from the mountain pass, low and mocking. It reverberated through the stone, chilling the chamber air.

Eryndor’s voice, carried on the wind, taunting them all.

Serenya’s mark seared white-hot, burning so fiercely she cried out, clutching her arm. Kaelen pulled her against him, shielding her as though his body alone could block the call. His own chest vibrated with a growl, deep and furious.

The howl faded, leaving silence, but the air remained charged, heavy with promise.

Kaelen looked toward the dark mouth of the doorway, his eyes hard as flint. “He’s made his move.”

Mireya drew the blade at her hip, steel catching the torchlight. “Then we’ll answer it.”

Kaelen tightened his grip around Serenya, his jaw set. “No more waiting. No more council debates. At dawn, we prepare.”

The torches hissed as if in agreement, their flames bowing in the draft. Serenya’s mark pulsed once more, then dimmed, leaving her breathless.

But the message was clear.

Eryndor wasn’t waiting at the borders anymore. He was coming for her.

And the next clash would decide more than just her fate—it would decide the survival of the pack.