Blood Of The Alpha

Chapter 1 - The Alpha's Daughter

Aria

The moon is too bright tonight.

It spills through my window like water, pale and cold, soaking the stone floors of my room in silver. Most nights, I’d sleep through it. But not tonight. Tonight, something hums beneath my skin, soft and steady, like a heartbeat that isn’t mine.

I push the blankets aside and cross to the window. From here, I can see the entire valley — the Blackwood pack lands, my father’s forests, the river glinting like a vein of light in the distance. It should make me feel safe. It never does.

Beyond those trees, everything changes.

That’s what Rhea always says, with that perfect, practiced smile that means she’s already dismissed me. She was born for this — heir to the Alpha, trained since she could walk. I was just born beside her. The older twin, but never the chosen one.

Father says the moon marked her for leadership. That I was marked for something else.

He never says what.

I rest my hand on the glass. The air outside is sharp and cool. Somewhere in the forest below, wolves are running — I can hear the rhythm of their paws, the low song of their howls rising through the night. The sound should comfort me. Instead, it makes my chest ache.

There’s something wrong with the way the world feels tonight. The air tastes strange — heavy, electric. My pulse stutters.

And then it happens.

A pull, deep and sudden, low in my chest. Like a string tightening.

My breath catches. The mark on my palm — the faint birthmark Father says is nothing — burns. The air hums around me, too alive. For a heartbeat, the world flickers. I see flashes: a river under the moon, a figure kneeling beside it, golden eyes cutting through the dark.

My hand jerks back. The vision breaks.

“Aria?”

Rhea’s voice slices through the silence. The door opens without knocking. She’s still in her patrol leathers, braid perfect, every inch the Alpha’s daughter she was meant to be.

“You’re awake,” she says, voice smooth. “Strange dreams again?”

I school my face into calm. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Her gaze flicks to my hand. I tuck it behind my back, too late. “You’re trembling.”

“I said I’m fine.”

She smiles — the kind of smile that cuts without showing teeth. “You should be careful, sister. The moon’s heavy tonight. It makes lesser wolves restless.”

Lesser.

I bite back the retort clawing its way up my throat. “Don’t you have a council meeting to charm?”

“I do.” She lingers at the doorway, eyes glinting gold in the moonlight. “Father asked for you. Try to look like you belong there.”

When she’s gone, I let the mask fall. My pulse won’t slow. The mark on my palm throbs again, softer now, like it’s echoing something — someone — far away.

I press my hand against my heart and close my eyes.

Thunder rolls faintly over the mountains.

For a moment, I swear I hear a voice — low, rough, certain.

Mine.

My eyes snap open. The room is empty, silent except for the sound of my own breathing. But the word lingers, curling through the dark like smoke.

I don’t know what it means.

I only know it feels like the beginning of something I’ve been waiting for my entire life.