The last Alpha

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The rain had not stopped in 40 days.

It came down in sheets over Oka'ru, turning the dirt roads to rivers and the fields to black swamp. The mist rolled off the forest and swallowed the huts whole. At night you couldn’t tell where the sky ended and the trees began.

Old Mama Ireti said it was a curse. The priest said it was the gods angry. The hunters from the Capital said it was proof.

"Beasts make bad weather," their captain had said 2 weeks ago, with silver on his belt and men at his back. "Beasts must be culled."

Three nights after he left, Alpha Doran was dead.

Kael stood at the edge of the forest, far enough that the torchlight didn’t reach him. Close enough that he could hear the prayers.

His father’s body lay on the stone in the village square. Wrapped in white. Rain running off him like he was still bleeding. A silver bolt through the chest. Hunters’ work.

The pack was there. 12 of them. Some in human skin, some barely holding it. Elder Mara, who was older than the oldest tree. Jorin, who’d been Doran’s second. Two pups who kept looking to Kael for answers he didn’t have.

He should be down there.

He was blood. He was next.

But his bones were on fire.

It started an hour ago, during the washing of the body. A deep ache behind his eyes. Then his jaw. Then every joint like someone was pulling him apart from the inside. He’d had to leave.

If he shifted now, in front of everyone, he’d be proof for the hunters. He’d be the reason they burn Oka'ru to the ground.

"Not yet," he whispered to the trees. Steam rose from his breath despite the heat. "Not tonight."

The full moon was up there behind the clouds. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. Tugging. Like a hook in his gut.

The smell hit him next. Wet earth. Iron from the burial. Fear-sweat from the villagers. And underneath it all, smoke from the hunters’ campfires, still lingering on the ridge 3 days away.

His vision sharpened. He could count the raindrops on a leaf 20 feet away. Could hear Elder Mara’s prayer crack halfway through.

Too much.

A twig snapped behind him.

Kael spun. Low growl in his throat before he even knew it. Claws pricked at his fingertips.

It was Amina.

Her green cloak was soaked through. Hair plastered to her face. In her arms: a bundle of wound-cloth and bitterleaf and the salve she always made for him when he came home bruised.

She didn’t flinch at the growl. Didn’t flinch at his eyes.

"Kael," she said softly. "Your eyes are gold."

He tried to look away. Couldn’t. "You shouldn’t be out here. The forest isn’t safe."

"It hasn’t been safe since they killed your father." She stepped closer. Rain dripped from her nose. "I saw you leave. You look—" She reached out, then stopped herself. "You look like it hurts."

"It does." The words came out rough. Not his voice. Not fully. "Amina, go back. Please."

She ignored him. Set the herbs down on a dry rock. "Breathe. Like I taught you when you fell from the mango tree."

"I’m 19. I’m not a kid."

"You’re shaking like one."

He was. His whole body was. Because the moon was rising and the Alpha blood in him had no one to answer to anymore.

The forest answered for him.

A howl.

Long. Low. It started far and rolled closer until the trees vibrated. It wasn’t pack. Kael knew every voice in his pack. This was wrong. Deeper. Wet. Like something had water in its lungs.

The torches in the village square went out all at once.

Screams. Then shouting. Then silence except for the rain.

Amina grabbed his wrist. Her hand was freezing. "That wasn’t—"

"No." Kael’s claws were out now. He couldn’t stop them. Blood welled where they pierced his palms. "Father said we were the only ones. He said the old rogues were gone 100 years ago."

Another howl. Closer.

And the scent. Gods, the scent. Rot and old meat and something muskier. Something big. Dragging through mud and leaving a trail of wrongness.

Kael dropped to one knee. The pain was white-hot now. His spine curved. Teeth felt too big for his mouth.

"Kael, look at me." Amina dropped to the mud with him. She cupped his face with both hands. Human hands. Soft. "In. Out. You’re not him tonight. You’re not the Alpha yet. You’re still my Kael."

He laughed, but it sounded like a snarl. "My father’s dead. The hunters come in three days. And there’s something in the woods that’s bigger than wolves." Blood dripped from his nose. "What am I supposed to be?"

"Alive," she said fiercely. "You’re supposed to be alive tomorrow. That’s all that matters."

A third howl. Then a fourth, answering it from the opposite side of the village.

They were circling.

From down below came a human scream. Sharp. Cut off.

The pups.

Kael’s head snapped up. The gold in his eyes burned. The ache turned to rage. To need. To _hunt_.

"Stay here," he told Amina. His voice was barely human.

She shook her head. "No. If you go, I go."

"Then run behind me."

He stepped out from behind the tree. The rain hit his face and for one second, just one, it felt good. The pain eased. The beast in him stretched and yawned.

In the distance, past the burial stone, past the dark huts, something moved between the trees. Too tall. Too broad. Shoulders like a boulder.

It stopped. Turned its head toward him.

Red eyes in the dark.

And then it was gone, back into the rain.

The funeral was over.

The hunt had started.

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