The Cursed Alpha’s Mate

The night pressed against the world like a heavy, damp blanket. The pine scented air of the highlands trembled with the low, mournful howl of a lone wolf far to the west. Silas moved silently through the dense thicket around his cabin, each footstep muffled by a carpet of pine needles and fallen leaves. The full moon, swelling and silver, loomed low on the horizon and cast an unwelcome pallor over the night. He could feel its cold tug at the backs of his bones before he even saw the sky. Silas paused at the edge of a clearing where the moon’s beams spilled in silvery ribbons through the foliage, illuminating the familiar path back to his cabin. His cabin was a humble dwelling of dark wood, its roof thatched with spruce and its walls reinforced with iron bands etched with protective runes his mother had cast long before the fateful event that cursed him. He slipped the iron latch of the front door and stepped inside. The old wooden floorboards groaned a welcome. The inside was simple but sturdy. A heavy table sat in the center, scarred by many nights, and a stone hearth at the far end still held warmth from the last fire he had built. Shelves lined the room, filled with jars of dried lavender, sage, and ironwort, the herbs he gathered each spring in a misguided attempt to mask the scent of the foul blood of night that clung to his pores after a change. At the far end of the room, a heavy iron door stood ajar, revealing a short flight of stairs that descended into the vault. Silas picked his way over the jumbled roots that littered the floor and the front stoop as he made his way to the iron door. He always wondered if the cabin’s solitude was a blessing or a curse. The shelves along the walls groaned with leather bound books, volumes of blackened leather that had been studied by generations long before his. He traced the spine of one book with calloused fingertips, running his hands along the familiar ridges of the raised letters. “Treatise on Lunar Binding,” “The Alchemy of Silver,” “Chronicles of Cursed Bloodlines.” Long nights spent poring over the works of ages past in search of even a glimmer of knowledge to help him defeat the curse his mother placed on him the night of the full moon. And it was here, in this desolate cabin, that he found his best work: one of the oldest books he had, a treatise on binding by an unnamed witch centuries before his line had even been born. Silas paused in his reading, his eyes coming to rest on words etched in careful script across the parchment. “A chain of silver, anointed with the blood of the cursed, shall bind the beast. But know that the heart will always beat, for it is the will of the cursed that holds the cage.” He took a deep breath. The cold press of the silver chain against his wrist kept him grounded. “That it shall,” he muttered under his breath, his mind drifting back to the night his mother had bound him the first time. The iron door groaned as he unlocked it with a simple twist of the wrist. The mechanism fell open with a deep, ponderous sigh. Taking the long steps two at a time, Silas was soon in a small chamber deep underground beneath the cabin. He paused at the bottom of the stairs and took a steadying breath at the frigid temperature that settled over his skin like a second layer. With each step he took deeper into the vault, the air grew colder, as if the moon’s frigid gaze fell lower with every step he took. His boots made quiet slapping noises against the stone as he descended. The deeper he walked, the more chilled the air seemed to become, the further down into the earth he traveled. By the time he reached the vault floor at the bottom of the stairwell, his breath was coming out in tiny clouds. Silas looked up at the ceiling, where fissures in the stone wavered with a strange, ghostly blue light. The vault chamber was circular, with walls of smooth, dark stone. At the center of it all, a large, intricate cage of interlocking silver bars stood waiting. A chain of heavy silver links hung from a small hook on the side of the cage. Silas ran his calloused palm along the metal, feeling the fine etchings that ran along each link, a script of containment runes he had designed himself. He reached up, unfastening the first link with nimble fingers and sliding the cool metal over his wrist. Memories assailed him as he pulled the first link over his wrist. His mother’s lined face, eyes burning with fierce determination, flashed before him. “May this bind you when you become the thing you fear, and may it remind you of the love you once held,” she had said, her voice low and urgent as she pressed the cold metal against his skin. His bones ached with a dull, gnawing pain as he slid another link over the first, and another. He continued, faster now, the cold links of silver pressing into his skin. With each link came the whisper of his mother’s voice, followed quickly by the cold press of the metal sliding over his skin and the sting where the leather bindings dug into his wrists. He worked his arms, sliding the chain around his upper arms and across his chest, feeling the bite against his ribs. Silas pulled the silver links across his stomach, making a complete loop around his torso. He inhaled sharply as the cool metal met his skin. The silver made his skin feel cold all over, as if a layer of ice had somehow found its way beneath his shirt. He moved carefully over to the side of the vault chamber, studying the large, haphazard pile of silver links and bars that had been carefully laid out before him. He ran his fingers over the links, the fine ridges catching on his calloused fingertips. He pulled one link up with slow deliberateness. His breath came out in small, measured paces. He unfastened the first link with quick precision, sliding the cold metal over his forearm. He worked his way down the length of chain, removing each link and sliding it over his arm. He worked faster, the metal catching on the rough fibers of his sleeves and cutting into his wrists. He pulled the silver links over his elbows, making a loop against his chest. Silas groaned, feeling the press of the metal against his ribs. He moved across the vault floor, laying the chain along the length of the bars of his cage. He continued until the links had all been accounted for and placed across the bars of the silver cage. Silas took a deep breath. The air in the vault grew colder. He moved slowly, his fingers curling around the cool chain. He paused at the far end of the vault chamber, eyeing the large, haphazard pile of silver links and bars that had been laid out before him. With practiced ease, he slid the links against the bars of the cage. He worked his way up with slow deliberateness. As he unfastened the links one by one, he moved to the far end of the chamber. He moved back into position, his feet sliding over the worn stone floor. His breath came fast now, but he forced himself to slow his pacing, his fingers brushing over the small, cool link that had just been slid over his shoulder. He felt his pulse hammering in his temple in time with the deep, steady cadence of the moon above. “Argentum vincula, sanguis ligatum, lunam custodi. In tenebris, pax sit. In luce, veritas.” Silas spoke the words as if they were a prayer, and he felt the chain tighten around his waist as he spoke. He took a steadying breath, pausing to listen to the low, thrumming sound that resonated from the silver links. He felt the vibrations running the length of the links, deep in his bones, matching his heartbeat. He took another slow, measured breath, steadying himself as a wave of emotion washed over him. This was the moment he had prepared for, the moment he had fought for, the moment he had sacrificed so much for. He tightened the links just enough to make his waist appear smaller, just enough to ensure that no part of him meant to remain covered was left exposed. Silas stood, the weight of the links pressing against his chest. He looked up at the ceiling of the vault chamber, where the moon’s beams spilled in thin, silvery tendrils over the vault floor. He studied the intricate carvings etched in the dark stone, words of protection long since lost to time. He turned slowly, his eyes coming to rest on the heavy, ornate box that sat on the far side of the room. He had built the box himself, a sturdy little piece of iron that could be lowered to floor level with the turn of a hidden lever at the back of the box. Once it was in place, the heavy flap of silver that covered the opening could be secured with a strong, twisting motion of the wrists. Silas placed his palm against the cool surface of the box, feeling the fine etchings of the binding script beneath his fingertips. He reached down with steady hands and pulled the hidden lever beneath the false floor of the vault chamber. The silver panel began to descend with a soft, melodic sigh. The vault chamber seemed to grow colder with each breath he took. He felt a strange vibration deep in his belly as the panel finally settled into place. The panel was just the right height, coming up to just below his waist, and he reached back with one hand to check the position. He moved back to the front of the chamber, his fingers brushing against the cool chain as he unhooked it from the wall. He stood at the front of the chamber, facing the vault wall. He ran his fingers across the cool, flat surface of the panel, feeling the fine etchings of the binding script. He took a deep breath, steadying himself as a wave of emotion washed over him. This was the moment he had fought for, the moment he had sacrificed so much for. He tightened the links just enough to make his waist appear smaller, just enough to ensure that no part of him meant to remain covered was left exposed. Silas spoke the words again, this time with more force, his voice stronger as it left his lips. “I swear by the moon that shall rise and bind me to this cage. I swear on the blood that runs through my veins and the life that courses through my body. In truth shall I bind this beast when its time comes, and in truth shall it hold me when I change into the creature I fear becoming.” He felt the link tremble in his grip as he spoke, the chain tightening just enough to pinch his wrist. He took a shuddering breath, his heartbeat quickening in his chest. The chain ran through his fingers, cool against his skin, and as the vibrations ran over his palm, he felt the magic binding the link.