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The Rogue Heir
Last Updated:
2025-09-29 22:29:38
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SHADOWS OF THE ALPHA The Rising Wolf
Blood Moon is a lie and a truth at once. The moon doesn’t bleed; we do. But the sky does turn to a bruise, and the light does arrive wrong—thick, red, as if the night has held its breath too long and is ready to exhale something we can’t swallow.They led me back to the hollow as evening thinned to a rim. The torches were already staked, the twelve notches carved cleaner, the sinew lines retensioned until they hummed. The iron basin had been scrubbed bright, an altar pretending it wasn’t a bowl. Ronan stood with his hands behind his back like a man about to give a lecture at a school he burned, and the shard heir waited in the center like a punctuation mark that believes itself a sentence.The bone shackles had learned me by then. They sang before I stepped into the circle. The cords between wrists—mine and my mother’s, mine and Ronan’s, mine and the boy’s—vibrated with the excitement of creatures that believe they’re about to be promoted to myth. Cameras winked at the edges, red, red
SHADOWS OF THE ALPHA The Ritual
They took me through a forest that did not know my name.The path was not a path so much as a decision the rogues kept making with their boots. We moved in a file that swallowed noise. Nets hissed along branches and gathered back like patient spiders. The bone shackles sang under my skin, a cold hum that taught my wolf the shape of a cage. Every time she lunged, the hum tightened. Every time I breathed, it counted.The shard heir walked ahead as if the trees had been taught to part for him. His shoulders were straight in the way boys learn when someone corrects them with silence. He didn’t look back. Ronan didn’t need him to. The rogues flanking me smelled of cheap electricity and old river iron and a discipline I didn’t want to admire.We broke from pine into stone. The hollow was not a camp; it was a diagram. Torches stabbed the ground in a twelve-point ring, notched at each post with old symbols—wolf, river, blade, moon, home, debt. Between the posts, corded lines of sinew stretche
SHADOWS OF THE ALPHA The Taking
The day began without warning it would be stolen from me. That’s the way abductions work—ordinary first, then sudden. Morning smelled of bread and damp ash. The rebuilt kitchen smoked politely, children chased each other with sticks too short to be swords, and the Holdfast carried itself like a house still bruised but determined to look steady for its guests. I was halfway through mending a ripped sleeve when the first thread of wrongness pulled tight.The wrongness wasn’t noise. It was absence. A bird cut off its song mid-phrase. The dogs at the fence stiffened but didn’t bark, as if someone had taught them manners with a blade. My mark warmed once, not in alarm, but in recognition: he’s near.Vivian noticed too. She was stirring a pot when her wrist paused, spoon held like a weapon. “Where’s Jason?” she asked.“North fence,” Jasper said. He hadn’t been looking at her, but he always knew the ledger of our bodies. “Lyra?”“Hunting mushrooms with the twins,” I said. I stood, sleeve for
SHADOWS OF THE ALPHA The Broken Pact
Morning broke like a verdict. The air had that tightness it gets before a storm, except the storm was us—our tempers, our suspicion, our need for a name that would make fear manageable. The Holdfast had rebuilt just enough of its routines to remember what disruption felt like, which is why the sound in the yard landed like an axe.Two men dragged a third between them, his wrists bound, his lip split, his shirt ripped at the shoulder. His eyes were wild, not with guilt, but with disbelief at how fast loyalty had turned into spectacle. Jason walked behind them, rope coiled neat, jaw tight, fury braided into his spine like extra vertebrae.They threw the captive down in the ash-ring where the hall had burned. His knees hit hard enough that dust lifted and drifted like smoke. He spat blood into it. Someone’s cousin. A boy who had laughed too loud last festival. His crime was not yet named, but the crowd was already making him guilty with their eyes.Jason raised his voice, and it cracked
SHADOWS OF THE ALPHA The Kiss of the Moon
The moon came up thin but insistent, a slice sharp enough to peel old stories from their fruit. The Holdfast held its breath the way a body does when a doctor’s hand hovers above the wound and hasn’t yet touched. Children drifted to sleep early, exhausted by the day’s new word—heir—and the shadow of the other one, the one on the ridge. The creek widened its shoulders as if to make more room for our nerves.I told myself I would walk the line and return. A loop, not a pilgrimage. Lyra grinned when I said it—she has a tax on my good intentions—and flicked water at my face. “When the moon is this cat-scratch thin,” she said, “it likes to sharpen its claws on love.”“I’m not in love,” I said.“Of course not,” she said. “You’re in an oath. Love’s nastier cousin.”Jason, passing with his rope and his relentless count, snorted. “Oaths pay rent,” he said. “Love eats rent money.” He didn’t look at me when he said it, which was a new courtesy he had taught himself since the fire.I walked anywa
SHADOWS OF THE ALPHA The Rogue Heir
The first word came on a damp morning, when the smoke from the Holdfast’s new hearths still smelled like apology instead of wood. A scout staggered in from the north ridge, clothes shredded, face white as paper. He carried no trophies, no blood on his spear, only a story too heavy for his lungs. When he tried to speak, the words came out in pieces, like bones rattled in a tin.“There was another,” he said, over and over. “Another like her.”Vivian had him sat down, water pressed to his mouth, Lyra crouched close enough to scare truth loose if it hesitated. Jason leaned against the fence, rope coiled, waiting for confirmation that suspicion belonged to him again. I stood apart, because the crescent had begun to hum under my skin, and humming is what you do when you recognize a tune before you remember its name.“What did you see?” Jasper asked, calm but direct. He has a way of setting a question down like a cup of water. People drink without noticing.The scout shivered. “A boy—no, not
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