Run! Alpha Run!

*The Alpha King Arlo*

The trees are thinning.

That’s how I know we’re close. The pines are shorter here, more decorative than wild. There’s too much sky overhead and not enough dirt underfoot. 

Alpha Soren’s territory always felt too… clean.

Boring and staid. Just like him.

Our run slows to a walk as we shift, fur giving way to skin, claws retracting. The silence of paws replaced by the soft sound of boots on soil.

My men fall into formation behind me. We’ve covered the miles between my pack and Soren’s swift and silent. There’s no point in wasting energy now.

My Beta Percy appears beside me, his silver-threaded cloak resting over one shoulder. He resembles some prince from a fairytale. Perfectly groomed and neat as a pin.

“You look like you swallowed a whole porcupine,” he says, stretching like a cat.

“Just thinking,” I grunt.

“That usually means something dangerous is about to happen.”

I don’t answer. Instead, I watch the treetops sway as if they know what’s coming.

“Tell me again,” I say. “About Hilda.”

Percy hums. “I told you everything already. Soren’s former Beta and Luna. Got herself gutted on the battlefield, nearly died, vanished from public eyes for a year. Everyone thought she was never going to wake up. Then, ta-da. Miracle recovery. Only to find her mate had moved on to a new little golden bunny named Cerelia.”

I glare at him. “Hilda has never been a bunny.”

“No, I suppose not,” Percy muses. “Bunnies don’t lead war councils. Or punch visiting diplomats in the throat.”

That earns a twitch of my mouth.

I remember Hilda. Even if I only saw her once, three years ago, at a summit held to soothe tensions after Soren’s western border skirmishes.

She wasn’t Luna yet, just his Beta. But she moved like a queen. Lean, deadly, no tolerance for bullshit.

I remember her pacing in front of the war map, her voice a blade, slicing through the panic of a dozen trembling alphas. She didn’t flinch. Not once. She didn’t wait for permission. She commanded.

She owned the room and I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. A woman like that being mated to a wet blanket like Soren was a total waste.

Even Mother would have trouble subduing her.

“She had a reputation,” Percy says, reading my silence. “Not just for her tactics, though those were legendary and brutal. The warriors respected her. They had no qualms about following her orders.”

“She kept Soren’s pack from falling apart after his father died,” I murmur.

“And now,” Percy drawls, “he lets her walk the halls like a ghost.”

That part I don’t understand. Not fully. Mates don’t always make sense, but loyalty should. 

A wolf who almost dies for you doesn’t get left behind. Not without consequence.

“She’s still Luna on paper,” I say.

Percy clicks his tongue. “Awkward.”

I shoot him a look. “Do you think she’ll make a scene?”

He grins. “I hope so. I brought a front-row cloak just in case.”

I don’t know what I expect from her. But I know what I want.

I’ve spent too long surrounded by cowards and sycophants. Wolves who bare their throats too easily. I came to this position not because I was born to it, but because I refused to be ruled by them.

My mother saw to that. And I kept the crown with blood and teeth and threats that weren’t empty.

And still… I’m tired.

Tired of politics masked as ceremony. Tired of power handed down instead of earned. I don’t want to crush another spineless Alpha who flinches when I breathe wrong. I want something real.

Maybe that’s why Hilda lingers in my mind like an old scar. There was nothing tempered about her. She struck me as wild and untamed.

Cerelia, from what I’ve heard, is beautiful. Kind. Sweet-tempered.

The kind of Luna who smiles at the council and bakes honey cakes for spring rituals.

But kindness doesn’t earn my respect. And sugar doesn’t keep a pack from crumbling when the ice hits.

Hilda could. She already has.

“Do you think she’ll recognize you?” Percy teases. “You’ve grown even more terrifying since last time.”

I chuckle under my breath. “Terrifying is useful.”

“Don’t let your future wife hear you say that.”

I shoot him a look. “She’s not-”

“Not yet,” Percy says breezily. “But the way you’ve been brooding over this woman you saw once, three years ago… I’m getting suspicious.”

I roll my shoulders and stare ahead. A flicker of tension hums low in my bones. Not nerves. Anticipation.

I’m not here for romance. I’m here because power bleeds through cracks like this. Because if Soren thinks he can sweep a Luna under a rug and call it diplomacy, he’s more of a fool than I thought.

Because the old Hilda wouldn’t have gone quietly.

And if even a shred of her remains, the Beta who stood tall among men who towered over her, the warrior who would rather bleed than bow, then maybe this visit will be worth something.

Maybe I’ll find more than just a convenient alliance.

Maybe I’ll find the only wolf in this gods-forsaken world who hasn’t learned to fear me.

We crest the final ridge. The pack walls rise ahead of us, tall and pale, flanked by guards who stiffen at the sight of our approach.

I lift my chin.

Let’s see if the ghost still remembers how to bite.

*Hilda*

Soren is already at the ceremonial dais, standing tall and impassive beside Cerelia. Her hand rests lightly on his arm.

His jaw is tight, eyes scanning the perimeter. Not for me. For the King.

I wonder if he hopes I’ll stay hidden. That I’ll spare him the discomfort of facing the woman he abandoned.

But I don’t hide. I step closer. I let them see me.

Cerelia’s eyes meet mine as she climbs the final step, and for once, she doesn’t smile.

The High Priest raises the ceremonial circlet, the Luna crown, the same one Soren once promised would rest on my head.

“Today,” the priest begins, voice solemn, “we witness the passing of legacy. The Luna crown shall be placed anew, not by the Alpha’s hand, but by the one who held it last—Luna Hilda of the Silverclaw.”

I freeze.

This wasn’t part of any tradition I’ve known.

My jaw tightens. My pulse roars.

Cerelia watches me with serene expectation.

Of course. They want me to place it on her head. To relinquish it. Publicly. Willingly.

I step forward.

I lift the crown.

The silver is cold in my hands. Heavy with memory.

Before I can do anything impulsive, like throw the crown on the ground, a cry rises from the sentries stationed along the hill.

“The King approaches!”

Horns blare. The crowd turns.

The ceremony halts.

A hush spreads across the crowd like a disease. The banners tremble in the breeze. Even the wind seems to pause.

And then I hear it. The howl of wolves. A presence that coils through the air like lightning before a storm.

He’s here. The Alpha King.

The crowd splits like water, revealing a man cloaked in black, striding up to the doors of the great hall.

His warriors fan out behind him like shadows cast by war itself.

I’ve seen him before, but his size still throws me for a loop. Every move he makes drips with casual threat. His face is unreadable, save for the eyes. Golden, gleaming, like twin suns staring into your soul.

King Arlo.

His midnight black hair is tousled. His leather breeches molded to him like a second skin. He looks like danger made flesh.

Soren steps forward, posture stiff. “Alpha King. Welcome to our pack.”

Arlo doesn’t respond right away. He surveys the courtyard like he’s already calculating what he’ll burn down first.

Then his gaze lands on me.

And stops.

Something shifts behind those golden eyes. Disdain is replaced by interest.

I raise my chin and meet his stare with all the defiance I have left. If he’s come looking for weakness, he won’t find it here.

He finally speaks. His voice is low, unhurried, laced with power. “I was told I’d be meeting your Luna.”

Soren gestures toward Cerelia. “This is Cerelia, my mate.”

Arlo doesn’t look at her. He’s still looking at me.

A beat of silence stretches into a noose.

“She’s still Luna-in-waiting,” he says, nodding toward me. “On paper. That’s what the registry says.”

Soren’s throat works. “We are rectifying that right now.”

“Then let’s not rush,” Arlo murmurs, eyes never leaving mine. “I like knowing who holds power. Even if only on paper.”

And just like that, he walks past them all and into the heart of the pack house, his warriors trailing behind him like a second shadow.

I don’t move. Not yet. Not until I feel Soren’s eyes on me again. His gaze is no longer cold and indifferent.

He’s afraid.

And he should be.

Because the Alpha King just arrived and looked at me like I’m not broken at all.

He looked at me like I might matter again.

And everything is about to change.