Marked By The Alpha

CHAPTER FOUR

The forest was alive in ways I hadn’t noticed the day before. Not just alive in the sense of rustling leaves or birdsong, but alive with something older, something aware. The moment I stepped further into its shadowed depths, I felt it pressing on me from all sides. The air was thicker here, scented with moss, damp earth, and something I couldn’t identify—sharp, metallic, almost like iron. My skin prickled.

I adjusted my backpack and took a cautious step along the narrow trail. Sunlight filtered through the high canopy in scattered beams, highlighting patches of moss and fallen leaves in gold and green. It was beautiful. But it was dangerous. I knew it. Every instinct screamed at me to be careful.

The deeper I went, the more the forest changed. Trees grew taller, their trunks gnarled and twisting as if shaped by time itself. Some had bark darkened by centuries, others were scarred by lightning strikes long ago. Vines curled around the trunks like silent serpents, and thick underbrush threatened to snag my boots with every step. The path was almost completely hidden now, covered in a blanket of fallen leaves and pine needles.

I paused to take notes, crouching beside a cluster of prints that were unlike anything I had studied before. They were too large to be a deer, too deliberate to be a bear. Deeply clawed, spaced with purpose. I traced the edges lightly with my fingers, feeling the impressions in the soft earth. My pulse quickened. What could have made these?

The forest was unusually quiet. Even the birds, usually chirping at this hour, were silent. A breeze stirred the canopy above, rattling leaves and causing shadows to shift in strange patterns on the forest floor. My stomach tightened. This isn’t normal.

I straightened and glanced around. The trees seemed to close in the deeper I went, their long shadows stretching across the forest floor. Every snap of a twig underfoot sounded deafening, every rustle of leaves amplified in my ears. My breath caught in my throat. Something—or someone—was watching me.

I tried to tell myself it was just an animal, a deer or a fox, but my instincts were sharper than logic. My muscles tensed. My heartbeat quickened. Every nerve ending in me screamed that I wasn’t alone.

And then I saw it—a shadow darting between the trees, fast and silent. My eyes widened, and I froze mid-step. My first thought was to run, to turn and retreat back to the cabin, to the safety of sunlight and open space. But curiosity, stubborn and reckless as ever, won over.

I took another careful step, scanning the underbrush for movement. Nothing. But the sensation of being watched persisted. My fingers tightened around my notebook.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I whispered to myself, trying to convince myself that I had done enough for the day. But a deeper part of me—the part that had always sought the unknown—refused to leave.

The tracks grew more frequent as I moved deeper into the forest. I crouched again to examine them. This set was different—larger, clawed, deeper. Recent. Something had passed here not long ago. My pulse spiked. The air seemed to hum with tension.

I rose and continued, taking notes, snapping photos with my camera. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, every whisper of wind kept me on edge. My senses were sharper than usual; I could hear things I hadn’t noticed before—the distant drip of water from a hidden creek, the faint flutter of wings overhead, the subtle scrape of claws against bark.

And then I smelled it.

The scent was unmistakable this time. Metallic, earthy, primal. My stomach tightened. It wasn’t an animal. At least, not any animal I knew. Something more. Something intelligent. Something aware.

My mind raced. It could be a bear… no. Too quiet. Too precise. Too… deliberate. I shivered. I need to be careful.

I stepped lightly along the trail, eyes scanning the shadows. My curiosity conflicted with my fear. Every instinct screamed to leave, but I couldn’t. Something drew me forward. Something invisible, pulling me deeper into the forest.

The forest thickened, the light dimmed. The path was almost nonexistent now. I found myself navigating by memory, by intuition, following the faint trail of broken branches and crushed leaves. The underbrush scratched at my arms, snagged my backpack, tugged at my hair.

I paused near a fallen tree trunk to catch my breath, leaning heavily against the rough bark. I could hear my pulse in my ears, my heart hammering against my ribs. My hands were slick with sweat, my fingers trembling as I adjusted my notebook.

Something shifted in the shadows nearby. A low rustle, deliberate. I froze. My eyes darted around. Not a deer. Not a fox. My stomach knotted with dread.

Then it came again—a faint movement, fleeting, almost invisible. My pulse spiked. My breath caught.

I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. My mind was screaming danger! but my body refused to move. I was rooted to the spot, caught between fear and fascination.

A deep growl echoed from the shadows. Low, resonant, primal. My stomach lurched. My chest tightened. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my shaking hands. Run. Hide. Retreat.

I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Something large emerged between the trees. Broad shoulders, powerful limbs, and a presence that made my knees weak. I could see its eyes—glinting in the dim light, intelligent, aware, and dangerous.

I took an involuntary step back, tripping over a root. My notebook fell to the ground, and I scrambled to grab it, heart hammering.

The figure moved closer, slow, deliberate. Every step it took made the forest seem to hold its breath. The growl came again, softer this time, but no less threatening.

And then I heard it—a low, almost imperceptible sound, like a whisper carried on the wind. My blood ran cold.

Something was coming. Something intelligent. Something… not human.

I turned to run, but the path I had followed was gone. The forest around me had shifted, shadows stretching like fingers, twisting trees, and tangled roots making escape difficult.

Panic surged. My breath came in ragged gasps. My pulse thundered in my ears.

And then I remembered the tracks. The large, clawed prints I had been following. They’re not leading away—they’re leading me deeper.

A chill ran down my spine. Every instinct screamed that I was walking into danger, but I couldn’t stop. The curiosity that had brought me here, that had made me brave enough to leave the cabin this morning, propelled me forward.

I stumbled through a thick patch of brambles, tearing my jacket and scratching my arms. Pain flared, but I barely noticed. The forest seemed alive around me, watching me, guiding me, pushing me forward.

Another growl echoed, this time closer. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I froze again, straining my ears, scanning the shadows.

Something moved. Fast. Too fast. My pulse skyrocketed. I wanted to scream, to turn back, to flee, but I couldn’t. My legs refused to move.

Then it appeared, stepping into a shaft of light filtering through the canopy. Massive. Muscular. A creature unlike anything I had ever seen. Its eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, piercing, intelligent, and primal.

I could barely breathe. My heart raced uncontrollably. My mind tried to reason, to analyze, to escape with logic—but instinct overrode everything.

And I knew, deep in my bones, that my life had just crossed paths with something far older, far stronger, far more dangerous than I had ever imagined.

Something that would change everything.