THE ALPHA UNMARKED

The Funeral Mira I told myself I would never return to Frostfang. Not after what happened five years ago. Not after the Alpha I loved looked me in the eyes and said I wasn’t enough. "You’re not my mate. You carry no mark." That moment broke me in ways I still haven’t recovered from. I walked out of that circle humiliated, my bond left unanswered, my wolf silent. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I disappeared. And I stayed gone until today. --- The letter came folded in half, sealed with no name, no scent. Just a few cold, printed words: "Your mother is dead. Come if you must." I stared at it all night, my hands shaking, my son fast asleep beside me. The girl who ran away from Frostfang would’ve burned the letter. But I’m not that girl anymore. I packed one small bag, wrapped my son in his warmest cloak, and paid a passing merchant to let us ride with his goods through the northern border. I told myself I was only going to say goodbye. But the moment the snowy trees of Frostfang rose ahead of us, my heart started racing like it remembered pain before my mind did. --- “Name?” the border guard growled, stepping in front of the wagon. The merchant grunted. “Just bringing salt and herbs. Two passengers under my pass.” The guard’s eyes narrowed. His wolf instincts kicked in. I could feel it, his nose twitching as he caught my scent. The scent I thought I’d buried for good. Then everything stopped. A tall figure stepped out from the tree line. My stomach dropped. Black armor. Pale eyes like smoke. Broad shoulders. A silver claw emblem on his chest. Alpha Cian Drevan. My former Alpha. My mate who never marked me. The man who shattered me with a single sentence. My fingers clutched the edge of the wagon. I wanted to disappear into the wind. But I didn’t move. He stopped just feet away from the cart, his eyes locked on mine. I pulled Luka close against me. My son stirred, his head resting on my chest. Cian’s gaze dropped. He blinked once. Twice. And his whole body went still Luka’s eyes fluttered open. His tiny voice yawned, “Mama?” Cian’s mouth parted slightly. His wolf flared so sharp in the air I could taste it. Because Luka didn’t just resemble him. He was him. His storm-gray eyes. His sharp jawline. Even the same half-smile when confused. Cian looked at me like I’d just stabbed him in the heart. “Who is he?” His voice was hoarse, low, like he already knew the answer but still couldn’t believe it. I didn’t blink. “My son.” His fists clenched. “Yours… and whose?” I met his eyes squarely. “Mine.” “Don’t play with me, Mira.” I wrapped my arms around Luka tightly. “I don’t owe you answers.” Suddenly, Cian stepped up into the wagon in one swift, fluid motion. The merchant backed away, muttering, “I want no part of this.” Cian grabbed my wrist, not rough, but firm. “He’s mine.” “He’s mine,” I said again, voice cold. “You lost your right to ask anything the day you rejected me.” His face twitched. Around us, the guards stood in silence, unsure whether to intervene. No one dared stop an Alpha. Not here. “I want a blood test,” he said. “You want a child now?” I snapped. “After five years of silence? After what you did?” “I had no choice!” he growled. “There’s always a choice.” The cart shifted as he stepped back down. I held Luka close as he gave a sharp nod to the guards. “Take her to the South Wing. Assign two guards. Full access to the palace. No one touches her without my order.” “What?” I said, stunned. “I’m not staying in your walls.” “You are now,” he said, his voice iron. “Until I have answers.” And then he turned away and disappeared into the forest without looking back. --- Later That Night The South Wing bedroom is cold. Too cold. I haven’t been here since I was eighteen when I still believed bond marks appeared like magic, when I still believed love meant something to alphas. Luka sleeps beside me on the wide stone bed. He’s curled into a ball, clutching the sleeve of my cloak like it’s his whole world. I run my fingers through his dark curls. I can’t believe Cian saw him. I didn’t plan for this. I didn’t want him to know. He wasn’t supposed to know. But now that he does, everything changes. I shift my weight on the bed and pull my cloak tighter. That’s when I feel it. A faint, tingling heat on the back of my shoulder blade right where the Moon Mark is supposed to glow when you're chosen. It’s burning. Not a mark. But a memory. My bond. The one that never lit up for him when I was eighteen is flickering now. Now, after five years. Now, when I have his child, and a life of my own. I grit my teeth and press my hand to my back, willing the sensation to stop. Too late. The bond is waking. --- A soft knock echoes at the door. I tense. “Who is it?” A male voice murmurs, “Message from the Alpha.” I hesitate. Then open the door just a c***k. A young guard hands me a folded note and quickly walks away. I opened it. "Meet me at the Moon Garden. Midnight. Alone." It’s unsigned, but I know that handwriting. Sharp. Controlled. Cian. I clench the paper in my fist. He doesn’t get to call me now, like nothing happened. But part of me is already reaching for my boots. --- Midnight comes fast. The Moon Garden hasn’t changed. A ring of silver trees, glowing under the light of the full moon. The wind whispers through the branches like it remembers old heartbreak. Cian waits in the center, hands behind his back. I step into the clearing slowly, my voice calm. “You should be sleeping.” “So should you.” “I didn’t come here for games, Cian.” He turns, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. He walks toward me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “You rejected me.” His jaw tenses. “Because you didn’t have a mark” “You didn’t wait. You didn’t even ask.” Silence. “I wasn’t Unmarked,” I whisper. “I was just… hidden.” The words fall between us like thunder. Suddenly, I feel it again. That heat is searing now like something’s clawing at my skin from inside. Cian gasps and grabs his chest. “Do you feel that?” he whispers, stepping closer. I back away, breathing hard. My hands tremble. “I don’t want this.” “I do,” he says, voice breaking. “I’ve wanted this every night since you left.” Then something crashes through the trees. We both spin. A growl cuts through the air. Luka’s scent hits me. No. I run through the trees, heart in my throat, branches tearing at my arms. And then I see him, my son standing in the snow, eyes glowing with light that’s not natural, hair lifted by wind that doesn’t blow. His little voice is calm. Too calm. “Mama,” he says. “There’s something wrong with the moon.” Then he collapses.