Marked By The Alpha

The coach jolted violently, rattling its iron wheels against the cobblestones. Cora Vale clutched the worn leather strap above her seat, her knuckles pale in the glow of the coach lamp. The driver’s voice barked at the horses, urging them forward through the thickening fog, while thunder rolled across the hills like a warning. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass window and tried to make sense of the town that slowly came into view. Ravenglade. Even the name carried a chill. Houses shuffled together at the bottom of the valley, their roofs dripping with rain, their chimneys coughing weak plumes of smoke that the mist immediately swallowed. Yellow light from lanterns flickered weakly through the fog, offering no warmth. The streets were narrow,crooked, and damp , like veins carved into the earth. Cora’s first impression was of a place that didn’t want to be found a place that held its secrets close. The coach slowed, and the driver snapped his whip in irritation. “End of the line, miss. Ravenglade doesn’t take kindly to strangers lingering.” Cora swallowed hard. She hadn’t expected a welcome, but his tone made her chest tighten. She gathered her single suitcase frayed at the corners, the last remnant of a life she had left behind and stepped down into the mud. The air hit her immediately: damp, heavy, and tinged with pine. And underneath it, something else. Something sharp. Metallic. As though the whole town had been built on old blood. The driver didn’t wait for her. With a snap of the reins, the coach lurched away, swallowed by mist before she could even wave. She stood alone on the uneven stones, her boots already wet. Around her, the town seemed to hold its breath. A handful of people passed, their heads bowed against the drizzle, their eyes lifting briefly to watch her. Cora tried to smile, but their expressions didn’t change. They kept walking. It wasn’t the first time she’d been looked at like that an outsider, someone who didn’t belong but here it felt different. Here, the stares were heavier, weighted with suspicion. She adjusted her grip on her suitcase and began walking. The streets twisted like a maze, but she had been told where to go: the Crossroads Inn, at the center of town. Her new life, however fragile, was supposed to begin there. As she walked, the sound of her boots echoed unnaturally, as though the streets themselves were listening. Wooden signs creaked above doorways. Dogs barked faintly in the distance, then fell silent as quickly as they began. And then came the howl. Long, mournful, low. It rolled down from the forested hills surrounding Ravenglade, threading through the mist until it reached her ears. Cora froze. The sound was unlike any she had ever heard. It wasn’t the bark of a stray dog or the cry of a wolf she’d read about in books. It was deeper, almost human in its grief, yet edged with a predator’s hunger. When it finally faded, she realized her hands were shaking. “Wolves,” she whispered to herself. “Just wolves.” But the words didn’t soothe her. By the time she reached the square, the lanterns had grown dimmer, their flames guttering as though fighting against the weight of the fog. And there it was: the Crossroads Inn, standing crookedly at the meeting of four narrow streets. Its wooden sign swayed in the wind, the painted image of a wolf’s head so faded it was almost invisible. Cora hesitated at the threshold. Something about the place felt watchful, as though the inn itself recognized her. Shaking off the thought, she pushed the door open. The common room was lit by a large fire in the hearth, its crackle a welcome sound after the silence outside.Warmth and smoke wrapped around her instantly. The scent of roasted meat and spilled ale lingered in the air. A handful of patrons sat hunched at tables, their voices low, their eyes darting toward the stranger who had just walked in. Cora forced her shoulders straight and moved to the counter. Behind it stood a woman of middle years, broad-shouldered with dark hair tied in a severe knot. Her sharp eyes appraised Cora in an instant. “You must be the Vale girl,” the woman said. Her voice was neither kind nor cruel, simply firm, like a blade striking wood. “Marta. I run this place.” “Yes,” Cora said, her voice catching. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes. I’m Cora Vale. Thank you for taking me on.” Marta’s gaze flicked to the suitcase, then back to her face. “Help is help. You’ll earn your keep. Room’s upstairs. You’ll serve meals, keep the rooms, scrub when I say scrub. Understood?” “Yes, ma’am.” A pause stretched between them. Marta’s eyes softened just slightly. “You’ll find Ravenglade… peculiar. Folk here don’t trust easily. Keep your head down, and stay indoors after nightfall.” Cora frowned. “Because of the wolves?” The room seemed to tighten. Conversations stilled. Someone’s chair scraped against the floor. Marta’s eyes narrowed, and when she spoke, her voice was low. “Because this town doesn’t forgive the curious.” Cora swallowed, nodded quickly, and picked up her suitcase. She climbed the narrow stairs, aware of every eye on her. Her room was small but clean. A narrow bed pressed against one wall, a window looking out over the fog-choked streets. She set her suitcase down and sank onto the bed, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She was here. At last. And yet, as the fire’s glow faded downstairs and the mist pressed against her window, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Ravenglade had been waiting for her. Watching her. Somewhere in the forest beyond the town, another howl broke the silence. This time, it sounded closer.