The Wolf King is My Mate

The Burning Mark

Liah had been in the Outlands for almost a month, and the wild, untamed territory had shown to be pretty much as fierce as the stories she'd heard murmured among the slaves in the Iron Claw’s pack.

The Outlands was a place full of rogues and outcasts, where endurance was an everyday fight, and trust was an extravagance nobody could afford.

In her most memorable long stretches of opportunity, Liah had been attacked various times by different rebels wolves, who had either lost their packs or been banished for wrongdoings too extreme to even think about excusing.

They had attempted to kill her for her little belongings, their eyes flickering with desperation and madness. In any case, Liah had retaliated, her impulses sharpened by years of servitude and endurance.

She had moved rapidly to protect herself, utilizing the knife she'd taken from the Iron Claws’ kitchen and her newly discovered agility to get away or fight off her assailants.

The experiences had left her battered and wounded, however each battle just strengthen her purpose. The Outlands were cruel, and Liah had acknowledged almost immediately that if she had any desire to get by, she would need to be similarly as heartless. She had figured out how to conceal her food, to move quietly through the forests and fields, and to sleep with one eye open.

The Outlands was a distinct difference to the existence she had known inside the pack. There were no laws, no hierarchy, simply raw, primal battle for endurance.

She had seen horrors she would never have envisioned: wolves turning on one another over pieces of food, others running mad from confinement or hunger.

The actual scene was unforgiving, with cruel breezes and slippery territory that tried her every step of the way.

But, the worst of it all, all things considered, was the burning pain in her arm. Since the second she had crossed the boarder into the Outlands, the slave crest, the horrible imprint consumed into her skin as a young girl , had been tormenting her. The crest had been an image of her servitude to the Iron Claws, a sigil that guaranteed her devotion to her masters. Presently, as time passes, the mark burned hotter, as though it were tormenting her for getting away.

Liah had a go at everything to stop the pain, from diving her hand into cold streams to wrapping it in leaves and spices she found in the forest, yet nothing worked. The pain was tenacious, a steady indication of the role she had broken however not yet gotten away. It grew constantly, to the point where Liah could hardly do anything else.

She needed to find somebody who could eliminate the crest, somebody with the information or ability to save her from the last remnants of her enslavement. But, in the Outlands, such assistance was difficult to come by. The rebels she experienced were more keen on taking what little she had than in helping her.

At some point, as the pain became excruciating, Liah fell in a desolate stretch of land, her vision swimming from the pain. Her hand felt like it was ablaze, the crest sparkling an irate red. She attempted to push through it, to continue to move, yet her body wouldn't comply. The final thing she remembers before the obscurity claimed her was the immense pain in her hand and the weak sound of moving toward strides.

At the point when Liah woke up, she was no longer lying on the cold ground. she was being carried, her body thrown over the broad shoulder of a man. Fear flooded through her as she understood she was bound, her arms tied firmly and her eyes were covered by a blindfold, diving her into darkness.

She whipped fiercely, her senses shouting at her to fight, to get away. In any case, her battles were vain; the ropes clung tightly, and the man carrying her did not break his step.

Liah's brain dashed with fear and disarray. Had the Iron claws seen her?.

Is it safe to say that she was being hauled back to the pack to deal with a fate much worse than death?

"Let me go!"

She shouted, her voice dry. She threw out, attempting to land a blow, however it was to no avail. The man carrying her was stronger than she was, too sure of himself. Liah's heart sank as she understood how defenseless she was.

After what felt like hours, the moving stopped. Liah heard the sound of doors squeaking open, trailed by the mumbles of voices. The blindfold was torn from her eyes, and she squinted against the unexpected brightness, disoriented.

She wound up in a huge, open yard encompassed by high stone walls. The air was thick with the fragrance of different wolves, and Liah's heart skirted a thump. She was an in another pack's territory. Her eyes shot around, taking in the new faces that gazed back at her with a blend of interest and doubt.

Before her stood a tall man with an instructing presence. His dim hair was streaked with silver, and his puncturing blue eyes bore into hers with a force that made her uncomfortable. There was no mixing up what his identity was — the Beta of the pack.

"Who are you, and what were you doing on our lands?"

The Beta requested, his voice quiet yet firm. His look flicked over her rumpled appearance, looking at the ropes that bound her hands.

Liah's brain hustled. She needed to proceed cautiously, uncovering enough to protect herself without saying to much.

"I'm simply a rogue, passing through,"

she said, her voice consistent regardless of the fear twisting her insides.

"I didn't intend to intrude. I was… searching for help."

The Beta's eyes limited, doubt clear in his look. He made a stride nearer, his eyes filtering her from head to toe, as though attempting to recognize reality in a way that would sound natural to her. Then, something grabbed his eye. He reached out and grabbed her hand, turning it over to uncover the slave crest that burned brightly against her skin.

Liah winced as his fingers brushed against the burning mark, yet she was unable to pull away. The Beta gazed at the crest briefly, his demeanor indistinguishable. Then, his look moved to a second blemish on her hand — one that Liah hadn't even seen in her agony confounded state.

The Beta's eyes augmented somewhat, and he murmured something softly that Liah couldn't exactly get. He gazed toward her once more, his demeanor moving from doubt to something different — something like acknowledgment.

Without a word, he went to his men.

"Loosen her," he requested.

"And, see that she's taken care of. She'll stay with us for the time being."

The men obeyed right away, cutting the ropes that bound her wrists. Liah scoured her irritated wrists, her mind turning with questions. She had expected to be tossed into a cell, or worse. Yet, the Beta had arranged for her to be made comfortable. Why?

As the watchmen took her away, Liah couldn't shake the inclination that something was horribly wrong — or maybe, horrendously right. She was given a little room in the pack house, with a bed and food — more than she had in weeks. Interestingly since entering the Outlands, this is the first time she felt a good sense of security even if it’s only for a moment.

As she sat in the room, eating the food that had been put before her, Liah really wanted to think about what the Beta had found in her. What had made him alter his perspective so abruptly? She set out to remain careful, to rest and recover her strength before choosing her best course of action.

In the meantime, the Beta, whose name she had learned was Eric, advanced toward the pack's Alpha. The Alpha, Josh, was a strong and regarded person, known for his sharp brain and his relentless feeling of justice.

Eric entered the Alpha's quarters, his mind dashing with what he had just seen. He welcomed Josh with a deferential gesture prior speaking about his report.

"Alpha, we've caught a rogue on our lands — a young lady. However, there's something you need to see."

Josh raised an eyebrow, captivated by the Beta's unique desperation. "What is it?"

Eric took a full breath, proceeding with caution

"She has a slave crest, one that shows she was bound to a master. However, that is not all."

He wavered, then proceeded,

"There's one more mark on her hand — a birthmark. One that looks like the mark of the Night Moon royal house."

Josh's eyes widened in shock. The Night Moon pack had been one of the most remarkable and worshipped in the region before they were wiped out in a horrendous war a long time back. The imperial house had been assumed terminated, their bloodline lost for eternity.

"If peradventure that this lady genuinely bears the mark of the Night Moon royals, she could be much more important than we think,

"Eric said, his voice low. "And, she additionally has the slave crest, and that implies she's had to deal with a lot of hardships. We need to figure out more about her, Alpha. She could be the key to something a lot bigger."

Josh gestured, his brain previously turning over the potential outcomes.

"Keep her safe and comfortable . While we figure out who she truly is — and how her presence affects us."

As Liah sat down to rest that evening, not aware of the meaning of the birthmark on her hand, she set out to leave the Blood Moon pack when she was well rested. But, destiny, it appeared, had a different plan for her.