Married To The Alpha Fluxwalker

Myrcella’s POV The forest was too quiet. Not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the kind that made your skin crawl with unease. Fog wrapped around my feet like cold fingers, pulling me down as I moved barefoot through the trees. The moonlight above cut through the branches in sharp streaks, lighting my skin as though I didn’t belong here. The air smelled like pine… and something darker. Sweet and metallic. Like danger. Then I heard it, breathing. Low. Heavy. Right behind me. I froze. Every hair on my body stood up. “Myrcella,” a voice whispered. It wrapped around my name like silk and steel, soft at first but full of warning. Then it came again, deeper now, and it burned straight through me. I turned slowly. My heart slammed in my chest. I couldn’t see him yet, but I felt him watching, waiting. “Who’s there?” I whispered. The trees groaned as if they knew what was coming. The fog shifted, curling like smoke. And then he stepped out. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in black that shimmered like shadows. His hair was wild, tousled, touched by wind or war. But it was his eyes that rooted me to the spot. Silver. Piercing. Wild. Something ancient stirred behind them. Something powerful. He walked toward me without a sound. As he reached out, moonlight hit the inside of his wrist. That’s when I saw it. A mark. Not a tattoo, not exactly—this one moved. Silver and alive, twisting across his skin like it breathed with him. My blood turned cold. Only one kind of creature was born with a living mark like that. Fluxwalkers. The old stories called them legends. Or warnings. Shifters of shadows and storms. Ruthless. Rare. Said to have died out long ago. Feared even by their own kind. They didn’t mingle. They didn’t mate outside their bloodline. They didn’t leave survivors. So what was he doing here? With me? “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, voice low and sure, like he was used to being obeyed. I stepped back. “I don’t know you.” His smile was slow. Possessive. Like he’d already claimed me. “But I know you, little wolf,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ve dreamed of your name for a hundred years.” He said my name again—“Myrcella”—and it landed inside me like a promise. Or a threat. I should’ve run. I didn’t move. His fingers brushed my cheek. His touch burned. Then he dragged his knuckles down—lightly. Teasing. From my face to my collarbone… down over my chest. I gasped as his fingers passed over my n****e through the thin fabric, circling, pressing just enough to make heat bloom low in my stomach. He didn’t stop. His touch trailed down, slow and deliberate, gliding over my stomach to the curve of my thigh, where his fingers paused just for a moment before tracing their way back up, higher this time, making me tremble. And then back to my cheek. Like he was memorizing me. Or branding me. “You’re mine,” he whispered. “And I am yours. Bound by blood. Marked by fate.” I trembled. “You’re not real.” He leaned in, eyes burning with something unspoken. The wind around us stilled. Time held its breath. His lips met mine—soft, slow, then rougher. Like he was claiming every piece of me. Then His teeth sank into my neck. I cried out. My body arched. Fire poured through my veins. Pain. Heat. Power. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t stop the bond wrapping around me like chains made of light. His voice echoed in my head, “Now you’ll never forget me.” I shot up in bed, breath torn from my lungs. My heart pounded like war drums. My sheets were damp with sweat. I touched my neck. It burned. But there was nothing there. No blood. No bite. Only the echo of his voice… And the glowing tattoo still burned in my memory. A Fluxwalker. He couldn’t be real. They were just myths. Right? I sat there for a while frozen. My breath came in sharp little gasps. The sheets clung to my skin, damp with sweat. My heart hadn’t slowed. My body hadn’t either. Something felt… off. No. Not off. Different. I shifted under the covers and gasped again. My thighs were slick. I felt wet and warm between my legs in a way I didn’t understand. Not fully. Not really. It was more than wetness. I could feel it there—my most private part, throbbing softly, aching like it wanted something. Like it had been left waiting. Touched, teased… and abandoned. A slow, pulsing need that made me press my thighs together instinctively. My fingers trembled as I brushed them down, grazing the damp heat between my legs. My lips parted on a shaky breath. It wasn’t just wet, I was soaked. And the ache… it wouldn’t stop. It sat low in my belly, deep in my core, like a secret I didn’t know how to name. “What the hell,” I whispered. I didn’t even know what to call this feeling. I’d never woken up like this before. Never felt this… pulled. Open. Desperate. It was him. That man. That monster. That Fluxwalker. The word itself made my stomach twist. I’d heard stories—every wolf had. About the freaks that shifted into beasts no one had seen before. They were born with magic in their blood, violence in their bones. Monsters in wolves' skin. Unnatural. Untamed. Unwanted. They didn’t talk to others. They didn’t come into packs. They didn’t mate outside their kind. They were dangerous. And yet he’d kissed me like I belonged to him. Touched me like I was made for him. Marked me like… No. I shook my head and shoved the covers off. “This is crazy.” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and sat there, shivering. My skin still tingled from where his fingers had touched me in the dream. The dreams had started a week ago. Always shadows. Always whispers. Sometimes his eyes. Sometimes his voice. But never like this. Never this vivid. Never this… real. Today, something had changed. I didn’t just see him. I felt him. In my chest. In my skin. In the aching heat that still pulsed between my thighs. And now I was sitting here like some heat-crazed pup drenched, breathless, and shaking. “What does this mean?” I whispered. Was I going insane? Was this some curse? Or something worse? Because the only thing I knew for sure was that Fluxwalkers didn’t just appear in dreams. They invaded. They claimed. And they never let go. A knock tapped gently against the door. “My lady,” Helen’s soft voice came through, followed by the creak of the door opening. “It’s time to get ready for the day.” I barely had time to wipe the sweat from my brow before she stepped inside. Helen was already carrying a folded gown and a basket of fresh linens. As always, she avoided eye contact at first, as if she knew I’d just come out of another dream. Maybe she did. Helen always knew more than she let on. She smiled faintly, a little weary from years of dealing with me, and set everything down by the bath stand. “Come now, girl,” she said gently, as she started pouring warm water into the copper tub. “Let’s get that strange look off your face before the guards start whispering again.” I stood slowly, still aching in places I didn’t want to think about. Still flushed from a dream I didn’t dare speak aloud. Helen began undoing the buttons of my nightdress, her fingers careful and precise. “Did you sleep well?” she asked without looking up. I hesitated. “I… think so.” That wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the truth either. She helped me into the warm water, and I sank into it with a sigh. The heat soothed my body, but it did nothing for the storm inside my head. She started scrubbing gently, pouring rose water into my hair. For a while, the only sound was the splash of water and the occasional caw of a crow outside the high, narrow tower window. My tower. The one I’d been locked in for seventeen years. Hidden away behind the farthest wing of the castle. It wasn’t a prison—not technically. But it felt like one. Because when you’ve been rejected by seven mates in a row, each one walking away without a word, without a reason—people start whispering. They called me cursed. Corrupt. Tainted by my mother’s blood. The witch’s daughter. Never mind that I was the most beautiful girl most people had ever seen. Not that it mattered—I never even knew what being beautiful meant. Every time I dared to show my face, it had to be covered by a veil. “Hide her.” “She’ll curse your eyes.” “She turns men into beasts.” That’s what they said. They called me “ugly witch,” even as their eyes lingered too long. Even as they feared and desired and hated me all at once. Because I wasn’t just a werewolf. I was a half-blood. A blend of wolf and something darker. Something the Elders didn’t talk about unless forced to. Witchcraft. Magic. They said it ran through me like poison. Said my beauty was just a trap, a cursed illusion meant to pull others to ruin. So they locked me away. Like a secret. Like a shame. Like a weapon they were too afraid to use. Helen never judged me for it. She was the only person who didn’t flinch when I looked at her without my veil. The only one who never treated me like a ticking bomb. And maybe that’s why I found myself asking her what I did next. When the bath was done, and she was drying my hair in careful, slow strokes, I finally spoke. “Helen…” I turned to look at her. “What do you know about Fluxwalkers?” Her hands stilled. She met my gaze for the first time that morning, and I saw something flicker in her eyes. Something old. And afraid. “Why would you ask that?” she said quietly. I swallowed. “I saw one. In a… book.” She didn’t believe me. I could tell. Still, she stood and walked over to the fire, stoking it a little harder than necessary. “You want to know what they are?” she said, her voice low. “They aren’t just beasts.” I waited. “They’re s*x demons, Myrcella.” My breath caught. Helen turned back to me, her face pale. “They don’t just mark their mates. They consume them. Body, mind… and soul.”