Claimed By The Alpha: The Forbidden Fruit

The first thing she remembered was falling. Wind shrieked past her as she tumbled through darkness, tearing through what remained of her tunic. Above, the moon hung swollen and crimson, bleeding its strange light across the sky. The stars were gone, devoured by whatever darkness had claimed them. Then impact. Branches snapped against her body, one after another, slowing her descent only to mark every inch of her skin with bruises and welts. She crashed through the canopy and slammed into the forest floor with such force that the world exploded into white light before fading to nothing. When consciousness returned, it came with pain, a throbbing ache along her spine that spread like fire through every limb. She lay there, chest rising shallowly, her mind as empty as unwritten pages. Except for one phrase and a single word echoing in the silence: If he finds you, run... Eiravelle. Eiravelle. The name felt both familiar and foreign, a ghost of who she might have been. She clung to it desperately, her only anchor in the sea of nothingness. She struggled to sit up, fingers probing the wet warmth at her back. Blood. Dark and sticky. But as she pressed deeper, her fingers brushed against something soft and brittle. White feathers, broken and stained crimson, clung to the back of her tunic. She stared, turning them over as if they might hold answers to questions she couldn't yet form. Nothing came. Only the same hollow emptiness where memories should be. The forest greeted her with silent judgment as she stumbled through trees that seemed to watch her passage. Instinct guided her feet until the woods thinned into marked borders, boundaries that screamed of ownership. They found her before she found them. Warriors emerged from shadows, broad-shouldered and watchful, hands resting on hilts. Their eyes took in the blood, the feathers, the wild scent that clung to her skin, something ancient and foreign to these woods. They led her in silence to a stone hall that dominated the territory, where he waited, Sylas Thornecrest. Tall and imposing, with eyes the color of gathering storms and a presence that made the very air bend around him. He ruled with unyielding discipline. Strangers were rare; unknown ones stained with blood were threats by default. "Who are you?" His voice was gravel and ice. She shook her head slowly. "I… I don't know." "Where did you come from?" "I don't remember." Her voice cracked. "Only… falling. And—" She bit her lip, afraid to say more. Sylas jaw tightened. To him, this made no sense, and no sense meant danger. An unknown girl with a trail of blood, was exactly the kind of trouble that had cost his pack dearly in the past. "Take her beyond the border," he told his warriors, tone sharp and final. "She's not our burden." The men grasped her arms, leading her away. She didn't fight, only looked back once, eyes wide and lost, before vanishing among the trees. Hours passed. The warriors never returned. Sylas sent out a second patrol. They found his men lying still in the grass, their faces frozen in masks of terror, eyes wide with something worse than fear, their skin pale and drained as if something had sucked the very life from them. No cuts, no bruises, no marks of any kind. Just… lifeless. And there, curled on the ground right where they'd left her, was Eiravelle. Sleeping peacefully, as if laid in a soft bed. Rage coiled in Sylas chest. Whatever had killed his warriors had done it silently, instantly… and had left her untouched. He strode toward her himself, boots crunching on fallen leaves. She stirred awake as his shadow fell over her, blinking up at him with no trace of guile, only that same empty confusion. "Did you do this?" he demanded, voice hard. She sat up fast, wincing. "Do what? I don't understand." "You tell me." He leaned down, close enough to catch every flicker of expression. "My men are dead. You're here, alive, exactly where they took you." Her face paled. "I swear… I don't know anything..." Sylas straightened, mind turning. Believing a stranger with no memory and a mysterious trail of death was reckless. But letting her roam free might cost more lives. If she was a pawn, throwing her out again would only invite whatever hunted her straight to his pack's doorstep. "I don't believe you," he said flatly. "But I won't send you away. Not until I know exactly what you are." He signaled his most trusted guard. "She stays, within the hall, under constant watch. No leaving without me. Every step she takes, every word she speaks, you report back immediately." He looked back at her. "Don't mistake this for kindness. You're here because I need answers." She stared at the still shapes in the grass, breath catching. Hands trembling, she pressed them to her temples as if force could bring clarity. "I don't know," she whispered. "They led me away… I felt tired, heavy… everything went dark. When I opened my eyes, they were already like this." But behind her eyes, something stirred,shards of memory cutting sharp and sudden. A flash of movement, shadows rushing fast, herself standing tall with fingers wrapped around a sword hilt... blade stained not just red, but glowing streaks of gold that ran down the steel and dripped onto the earth. 'You should never remember the past.' The voice rang inside her head, cold and hollow, nowhere and everywhere at once. She flinched back, unknowingly stepping closer until her shoulder brushed against Sylas arm. The contact was instant. For years, a slow, gnawing curse had coiled inside his bones, constant, throbbing agony that never let him rest. But the moment she touched him, the ache receded. Not gone… just lifted, light as mist blown away by wind. Relief washed through him so fierce it nearly stole his breath. He pulled back sharply, stepping out of reach like she was burning hot iron. His eyes narrowed, confusion warring with suspicion. What are you? he thought, but said nothing aloud. He watched her closely as her expression shifted, eyes unfocused, chest rising faster. The memory of the golden-stained sword swelled clearer, and with it, a sharp, tearing pain right over her heart. She gasped, clutching her chest, tears spilling over. "Please… I don't know… make it stop…" Her voice rose into a broken sob as she crumpled forward into darkness. Sylas caught her before she hit the ground. He wouldn't leave her there, not because he cared, but because curiosity burned hotter than caution now. He carried her back to the hall, set her down on a cot in a guarded room, and called for his healers. "The blood coating her back and clothes… none of it belongs to her," the lead healer reported quietly. "Her own injuries are shallow. This blood… it's not human or wolf." Sylas nodded slowly, staring down at her still form. He kept silent about the relief he'd felt when she touched him, locked it deep inside where no one could guess. Stranger origin, unknown power, a trail of unexplained death, and now blood that was not her, everything tangled further. "Keep watch," he ordered low. "Report every change." As he stepped out of her range, the familiar agony surged back. His bones snapped and lengthened, fur bursting across skin, ancient glowing marks coiling up his limbs like living script. He grew larger than any wolf his pack had ever seen, massive, towering, wild with pain. Warriors rushed in with heavy iron chains forged from old magic, locking him fast to reinforced pillars deep in the vaults. He thrashed until the memory of touching her came back, the way the ache had receded enough to let him think clearly. I don't want her, he told himself through the haze. I need her. The vault door creaked open. The healer stepped in, eyes wide with disbelief. "Alpha… it's only been hours. Usually you wouldn't return to yourself for days." Sylas shifted, the chains clinking softly. "I don't know," he said, voice rough. The healer nodded slowly. "The scouts returned at dawn. Strange things appearing in the woods, right where you found her. Tracks of creatures no one can name." Sylas gaze hardened. Everything out of place… all of it tied to her. Meanwhile, Eiravelle waited until late afternoon, when the guards' attention slipped. She slipped toward the window, found the bars loose enough to wiggle through, ignoring the scrape of stone against her skin. Once in the woods, she ran until the forest around her began to change. Trees twisted into shapes she'd never seen, red-glowing flowers bloomed where her feet touched the ground. Every step she took, the forest hummed louder, as if the land itself knew she was there. Then she stopped dead. Half-buried among roots lay a fragment of metal, shiny, sharp, stained with a faint, familiar gold. As her fingers brushed it, a memory slammed into her, a vast sky, hundreds like her falling together, and a voice, louder, clearer now, roaring above the chaos: "Hide your wings… or they will chain you forever." Behind her, a low growl rumbled through the trees. She spun around to find Sylas standing there, eyes burning bright silver, half-shifted, chains still coiled around his wrists. Sylas gaze fixed on her. Not on her face. Not on the fragment. On her. Like he was seeing her for the first time. "Tell me something," he said, voice rough with suspicion. She swallowed, clutching the metal fragment to her chest like a shield. "When your memories return..." His jaw tightened. "Will I regret letting you live?".