Beneath Blood Moons

Chapter Three: The Reluctant Alpha

The woods felt too quiet the next morning.

No bird calling. No wind. No warning.

Just the persistent hum of blood in my ears as I crouched in the hollow of a mossy ravine, knees drawn to my chest, back pressed against rock. My side ached deeper, sharp and angry, but I didn't dare stop moving—not completely.

He'd seen me. Spoken to me. Stared at like I was his.

And I'd felt him too.

The mate bond still hummed under my skin like a song I didn’t want to hear. Not sweet. Not gentle. It was sharp. Insistent. A blade to the skin of my throat, whispering things I didn’t have the luxury to believe in.

I wasn't meant for someone like him.

I wasn't meant for anyone.

My wolf stirred restlessly inside me, pacing. Restless. The connection changed something in her, in both of us. Before last night, she'd only come out to fight or survive. She'd been savage. Detached. Now she was… alert. Aware. Tied to a presence that still lingered like heat on my skin.

I dragged myself up off the ground, leaning on a branch, and continued limping east—toward the border. I didn't mind that I was bleeding through my shirt. I didn't care if I collapsed halfway there.

I simply needed to get out of here.

But the forest had other plans.

I'd hardly gone a mile before his scent wrapped around me again—smoke and pine and metal. Subtle, but persistent. Not fresh. Not quite old. Just. here. Slicing through the trees like a ghost.

Was he watching me?

I wanted to snarl. Scream. Challenge him for stalking me like prey—but the deeper, darker truth was, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to stop.

I cursed and climbed up the hillside, hanging onto roots and broken rock. Every time I tried to reach out, my wolf growled, urging me turn around. Return to him. Submit.

No.

I would not surrender.

I had no idea what it was to be his mate. Did not understand why the bond had chosen him. All I knew was that I wasn't ready.

Could never be ready.

Not after what had been done to my pack. Not after what Moonfall wolves had done.

When I reached the top of the ridge, I collapsed in the shade of an old pine. My arms shook with fatigue. A breeze rolled in, rustling leaves above me, but my pulse only intensified.

I wasn't alone.

Again.

"Do you always run this far before breakfast?" came a familiar voice.

That voice.

It pricked my nerves the way velvet pricks knives. I stiffened but did not turn.

"You're following me," I said.

"I'm tracking you," he corrected, and then, almost apologetically, "For your safety."

I rose slowly, standing before him. "So what am I? A threat? A project? A stray you can muzzle?"

His face grew tight. "You're a rogue in my territory."

"Not for long."

Our eyes locked. His were darker in light, more bronze than golden. But still glowing. Still dangerous.

"You shouldn't be here," he told me.

"Then let me leave."

He came forward again, and this time I didn't move. I wanted him to notice that I wasn't weak. That I didn't want him. That the connection was an illusion of fate.

But when he was close enough for me to notice the scar under his collarbone—one I'd not been able to see last night—I lost the razor's edge of my resolve.

"I don't understand you," I whispered.

"I don't understand when I'm around you," he admitted.

I blinked, startled. He looked away first.

"I'm not supposed to feel this," he went on, voice dropping. "Not with you. Not now."

"So don't."

"It's not that simple."

"Make it simple."

His jaw muscle jerked. "You think I want this?"

"No," I told him. "I think you're terrified of it."

His eyes snapped back to mine.

"I'm not afraid of you," he said, his voice low.

"You should be."

We stood there in that charged silence for what felt like an eternity. The woods grew quiet again. Down in the distance, I could hear the river raging through the trees. The world did not care about us, about this bond, about two wolves entangled in something older than blood.

He finally spoke.

"Come with me."

I laughed—bitter, dry. "Where? To be paraded out before your pack as a trophy?"

"No," he said roughly. "To rest. To heal. To eat. I can take you to the old lodge. No one ever goes there anymore. You'll be safe."

"Safe?" I echoed, bitter. "From you?"

His voice dropped, a stark contrast to what I was anticipating. "From everyone else."

I searched for the trick. The lie. But there wasn't one. Only tension and frustration—and that same heat I couldn't force myself to acknowledge.

"What's your game, Alpha?" I asked.

He didn't flinch. "No game."

"Then why me?"

"I don't know," he said. "But I can't stop thinking about you."

The words hurt more than I would have expected. Not because they were romantic. But because they sounded so real.

Unscripted.

Unwanted.

Unavoidable.

"Just one night," he said. "One night to rest. And if you want to go tomorrow, I'll let you go."

"And your pack?"

"They'll never know."

I stared. At the determined line of his mouth. The faint shadow beneath his jaw. How his eyes darted to my side as I flinched in pain, not out of pity—but concern.

His scent was more overpowering now. Drowning. It wrapped around me, wrong and familiar and right all at once.

The mate bond pulsed like a bruise.

One night.

I didn't nod. I didn't speak. I simply started walking—past him, down the hill, following his scent like a trail of embers.

He did not smile.

He simply fell into step beside me.

The lodge was older than I'd expected-wood and stone, ivy smothering the sides like moss. The shutters creaked, one window broken. It was situated in an ash wood ringed with silence.

He opened the door, and it was stale inside, cold and clean.

I stepped in, one hand against the stone frame. The walls were lined with parched books and pelts, the fire pit still in use. He lit the fire with swift ease, and warmth seeped slowly over the floor.

He didn’t ask for my name. Not now. But he gave me water, food, and silence.

I sat on the bedside, a creaky low thing that was fur-covered. My muscles ached, but I was not going to let them be seen. I kept him in the corner of my eye as he stood against the doorframe with his back to it, arms crossed.

"You're really going to stand there all night?"

"I don't trust you yet." he said.

"Then we're even."

His mouth twitched as if he was about to smile, but did not. I tore at the bread he had brought, pulled off a piece, and ate slowly, savoring the grain and salt. I had not eaten in two days.

He noticed that. I could feel it.

"Don't look at me like that," I muttered.

"Like what?"

"Like you care."

"I don't know how I feel when I'm with you," he said. "But I know it's not indifference."

I stared at him. His eyes danced in the firelight, flashing gold on bronze. The air between us grew thick like sap.

He took a deep breath. "What happened to you?"

I didn't answer.

Not because I couldn't—but because if I did, I might never stop.

So I answered, "You should go."

He stood there, hesitating.

“I am Rowan”, he said.

And then, bending his head, he made his exit and closed the door behind him.

The silence that followed was absolutely deafening in contrast to the sound of his voice.

I spent that night in the bed with the fur drawn tight against my chin, listening to the crackle of the fire and the distant howl of a wolf. I didn't know if it was one of his. I didn't know if it was him.

But something deep inside me howled back .

Not with fear.

Not with hatred.

But something worse.

Hope.