The Wolf Who Shouldn’t Love

The Curse of the First Mate

•••

The forest of Nightbrae had never been silent. Even in the deepest hours of night, the wind whispered through the living trees, roots twisted beneath the soil, and the faint hum of magic lingered in the air. But tonight, the forest was holding its breath.

It began with a ripple, a pulse, almost like a heartbeat. The great oaks and ancient yews, older than memory, trembled ever so slightly. Their leaves shifted, brushing against one another in a sound that resembled a sigh… or a warning. Something was coming. Something that the forest itself feared.

Queen Lymera Varynthorn walked among the shadows, the hem of her silver cloak trailing behind her. Her golden hair shimmered in the moonlight, a bright contrast against the darkness that enveloped the northern ridge of Nightbrae Hill. She was both a vision and a weapon—royalty and predator, a mate of the Alpha King, Thalen Varynthorn, and the last hope to stabilize the delicate balance of the living forest and the Dominion below.

Lymera’s wolf had prowled ahead, ears twitching, nose quivering. The creature was silent, a shadow among shadows, perfectly attuned to the forest’s restless energy. Lymera herself felt the unease, a shiver running along her spine. She had lived in Nightbrae all her life and knew when the trees spoke in fear rather than curiosity.

Tonight, they spoke in terror.

She tightened her grip on the hilt of her ceremonial dagger. It was more than a weapon… it was a bond, forged in silver and moonfire, capable of piercing even the densest corruption. Yet as she stepped cautiously along the twisted roots of the Ridge of Whispers, she knew that even steel might not be enough tonight.

The warning had come in whispers from the Moon Seer, a trembling voice of prophecy that had haunted the halls of the Onyx Citadel for weeks.

“The forest recoils… shadows stir… the bloodline of the Alpha is threatened. Beware the hunger of the roots, and the betrayal of the night. The king’s heart will face darkness, and the mate he loves most may awaken the forest’s wrath.”

Lymera had dismissed it as superstition. Prophecies were often shadows of fear rather than truth. But the pulse in the soil, the way the trees leaned away, the whispers of the leaves… it was all too real.

Ahead, the clearing glowed faintly with moonfire, the living stones of the forest radiating a soft, warm light. But the glow did not comfort her. It trembled, flickered, as though the forest itself was struggling to contain something far older and far darker than any creature alive.

A low growl echoed through the trees.

Lymera froze, every nerve taut. The growl came again… closer this time, layered, multiple. Her wolf pressed against her leg, alert, muscles coiled. Shadows moved in unnatural ways, and she realized with a jolt that the forest was no longer protecting her. It was warning her.

And then, from the darkness between the gnarled trunks, they came… Hollow Wolves.

Not ordinary wolves, not even ordinary werewolves. These were creatures of corruption, twisted by the magic of Nightbrae’s deeper, older roots that thirsted for power and blood. Their eyes glowed a fierce, unnatural red. Their teeth were jagged, fangs gleaming like shards of obsidian. And their claws tore at the soft soil, leaving blackened gouges in the glowing ground.

Lymera’s heart raced, but she did not falter. She shifted into her wolf form, powerful and sleek, fur shining silver in the moonlight, eyes blazing with golden fire. The queen of Nightbrae, Alpha’s mate, protector of the forest’s heart… she was a force to be reckoned with.

She met the first Feral head-on, claws extended, fangs bared, and collided with it in a blur of silver and red. The creature’s jaws snapped toward her throat, but she twisted, letting her own teeth sink into its shoulder. A howl ripped from her throat, a challenge that reverberated through the living trees.

But there were too many. Too fast. Too feral.

Another Feral lunged from the left, teeth aimed at her flank. She turned, narrowly avoiding the bite, but her wolf claws raked across its chest, tearing deep enough to draw a hiss of pain. The creatures were relentless. Even as she struck down one, two more emerged from the shadows, drawn by the scent of blood and chaos.

The forest groaned around her. Roots writhed, branches snapping in warning. The ground beneath her paws seemed to pulse, thrumming with an energy that was neither alive nor dead. Lymera realized, with a cold stab of fear, that the forest itself was part of the battle.

It was not protecting her. It was testing her.

And it was winning.

A sudden lunge from behind caught her off guard. A root, thick as a man’s arm, shot from the earth, wrapping around her leg. She tumbled, wolf form collapsing back into human before she could even react fully. Pain shot through her leg as the root constricted, pulling her toward the heart of the clearing.

She struggled, twisting, tearing at the living root, but the forest held her firmly. Panic flared in her chest—not for herself, but for Thalen. For the Dominion. For the fragile balance she had sworn to protect.

And then, through the din of growls, snapping branches, and her own ragged breathing, she heard a sound she did not expect—a voice.

“Lymera.”

It was calm. Strong. Commanding.

The Alpha King.

Her heart leapt, and for a fraction of a second, she felt hope. But it was quickly replaced by dread. He was not supposed to be here at least, not yet. His presence alone could tip the scales of magic within the forest. The forest had not been shaped for two alphas to stand in the same clearing. Yet there he was, moving with the poise of royalty and the lethal precision of a predator, his fur already streaked with silver, eyes glowing with ember-gold as he shifted seamlessly into his wolf form.

Thalen Varynthorn, the Alpha King of Nightbrae, mate of the forest, ruler of the living woods. And tonight, savior or executioner… of his queen.

He tore through the Ferals with a ferocity that made the ground shake. Lymera watched, helpless and awed, as he moved like a shadow given life, claws flashing silver, teeth sinking into anything that dared approach. Within moments, the Hollow Wolves lay lifeless, their unnatural blood soaking into the soil, steam rising as it met the moonfire glow.

The forest, sensing the balance restored, relaxed slightly. Branches ceased their violent swaying, roots uncoiling, leaves settling like feathers. The danger had passed—or at least, it had been momentarily contained.

Thalen shifted back into his human form, chest heaving, eyes blazing with intensity. He advanced toward Lymera, every movement precise, deliberate, like a predator closing in on the only prey it could never devour.

“You should not have been here alone,” he said, voice low, rich, carrying authority that made the trees themselves shiver.

“I can protect myself,” Lymera replied, though her voice was uncertain. She could feel the warmth of fear crawling along her spine.

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “Not from what’s coming.”

Lymera’s eyes widened. “Coming? What do you mean?”

Thalen’s gaze was unwavering. “The forest is hungry. And it knows your heart. It has always known. It wants what it should never claim.”

Lymera swallowed. She had heard rumors of the forest’s possessiveness, its jealousy, but she had never understood the depth of its intelligence, its hunger. She had never thought it could challenge even the Alpha King himself.

“And you,” Thalen said, voice softening ever so slightly, “are the only one who can calm it. The only one it will listen to.”

Lymera’s heart thumped in her chest. She felt a pull… dangerous, magnetic, almost irresistible. “Why me?” she whispered.

Thalen’s eyes softened, fleetingly, before hardening again. “Because it knows what I cannot. Because it trusts you. And because… I cannot.”

The tension between them was almost unbearable. The forest hummed in anticipation, as if waiting for the next move, the next word, the next heartbeat that would change everything.

And then it came. A whisper. Not from Thalen, not from Lymera. From the trees themselves…

“You will choose. You will love. You will lose.”

Lymera’s blood ran cold. She looked at the Alpha King, golden eyes piercing into hers, and she knew whatever choice lay ahead would bind them together, for better or worse, against the very forest that had raised them both.

She did not yet understand the prophecy. She did not yet understand the danger. But the night had chosen her, and there was no turning back.

The forest exhaled, roots shifting beneath her, branches leaning protectively or perhaps threateningly around them. And in that moment, Lymera understood one thing… the Nightbrae Dominion, with all its living trees, warm villages, and secrets buried deep beneath the soil, would never be the same.

Because the Alpha King had returned.

And the first mate of Nightbrae was about to die.

•••

TBC.