Marked By The Alpha

Chapter Three – Shadows at the Edge

The storm that had stalked Ravenglade all day finally broke that night. Rain hammered the Crossroads Inn, rattling shutters and dripping through cracks in the roof. Cora lay in her small attic room, staring at the water stains on the ceiling. Sleep had become a foe lately. Every time she closed her eyes, the dreams returned: the forest, the howls, and the glowing eyes burning through the trees. Sometimes they chased her, sometimes they spoke her name, but always, always, they ended with her standing alone in the clearing, heart pounding like prey caught in a snare.

She rolled over, clutching the thin quilt around her shoulders. The inn creaked as the wind slammed against its old bones. Somewhere downstairs, a door slammed. Her breath caught. For a heartbeat she thought someone had come into her room, but it was only the storm. Still, she couldn’t shake the sense of being watched.

With a frustrated sigh, she sat up. Maybe tea would settle her nerves.

The corridor outside was dark, lit only by the flickering lantern near the stairwell. She padded down in her nightdress, footsteps muffled on the threadbare carpet. The inn was silent now, save for the groan of the timbers in the wind. In the kitchen, she lit a small oil lamp and busied herself with the kettle.

But when she turned, she froze.

There, in the corner of the kitchen, stood a man.

He was half-shrouded in shadow, tall, his shoulders broad beneath a dark coat. For a moment she thought he was part of her dream again—too sharp, too unreal. But then he moved, stepping into the lamplight.

His eyes.

They weren’t brown or gray but a startling shade of silver, glinting in the dim light. His face was pale, all hard angles and controlled tension, like a sculptor had carved him from stone and then given him breath. He regarded her in silence, not speaking, just watching.

Cora clutched the kettle to her chest. “Who—who are you? The inn is closed. You can’t just”

“Cora Vale.” His voice was low, velvet-dark, and carried a weight that made her knees weaken. “You don’t belong here.”

Her mouth went dry. “Excuse me?”

“You should leave Ravenglade,” he said simply. His eyes flickered over her face, lingering on her neck and her hands, as if cataloging her. “Before it’s too late.”

The kettle slipped from her grip, clanging onto the table. “What are you talking about? Who even are you?”

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped closer, the scent of rain and iron following him. For an instant, she swore she heard a low growl, not from his throat but from somewhere beneath his skin.

Her heart thudded. “Get out. Or I’ll”

“You’ll what?” His lips curved, not into a smile but something darker, a hint of mockery. “You don’t even know what you are.”

Before she could demand more, the back door banged open. A second man stormed in, this one golden where the other was pale, with sun-browned skin, dark hair damp with rain, and eyes the color of storm clouds. He froze when he saw them.

“Step away from her, Ash.”

Cora looked between them, confusion sharp as glass. “You—you know each other?”

Neither answered her. The one called Ash tilted his head, silver eyes narrowing. “You shouldn’t meddle, brother. Not with her.”

“Leave.” The golden one’s voice was a growl, low and controlled but dangerous. “Now.”

For a heartbeat, Cora thought Ash might resist. His gaze lingered on her again, unreadable, before he finally turned. Without another word, he walked out into the rain, vanishing like a shadow swallowed by the storm.

Her knees nearly buckled. “What the hell was that?”

The man left behind exhaled sharply, running a hand through his wet hair. He looked younger than Ash, but there was something steadier in him, something that pulled at her like gravity. He turned to her, and when their eyes met, the breath left her chest.

The air between them shifted.

It was impossible to explain, like being struck by lightning and embraced all at once. His eyes widened slightly, mirroring the shock in her own.

“You should sit down,” he said finally, his voice softer now. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” she lied. But her hands trembled. “Who are you people? Why do you—why do you know my name?”

He hesitated. “My name is Elias.” His gaze flicked toward the door, where Ash had vanished. “And the man you just met… was my brother.”

Cora blinked. “That—that was your brother?”

“Yes. Ash Draven.” He dragged in a breath, steadying himself. “And you need to stay away from him. Promise me that.”

Her head spun. Two strangers, one threatening, one protective, both knowing her name, both stirring something she couldn’t explain. The wolves in her dreams, the eyes in the shadows—it all came rushing back.

She pressed a hand to her chest. “What’s happening to me?”

Elias looked at her, a flicker of sorrow in his storm-gray eyes. “You’re caught in something older than you realize. And if Ash has marked you with his attention… things are about to change.”

Cora gripped the back of the chair as if it might anchor her against the storm in her head. Elias’ words circled through her mind like vultures: “If Ash has marked you with his attention…”

“What does that even mean?” she demanded. “He broke into the inn in the middle of the night, stared at me like—like I was some kind of specimen, and you expect me to just accept that?”

Elias’ jaw tightened. “He doesn’t need doors to find you.”

Her skin prickled. “You’re not making sense.”

“No.” He rubbed a hand over his face, the storm dripping from his hair. “I shouldn’t even be here. But once I saw him near you…” He trailed off, glancing toward the door as though expecting Ash to return at any moment. “You deserve a warning.”

Cora’s breath came quick. “A warning about what? About your brother?”

Elias’ storm-gray eyes darkened. “About all of us.”

For a heartbeat, the kitchen seemed smaller, the air thickening around them. Outside, thunder cracked. Cora’s heart pounded so hard she thought he might hear it.

“You should leave Ravenglade,” Elias said finally. “Before this place swallows you whole.”

Cora shook her head. “I can’t just leave. This is my job, my home now.”

“You think this is home?” His voice cut like glass. “This town is a cage. The moment you stepped into it, the Circle noticed.”

Her blood ran cold. “The… Circle?”

Elias cursed under his breath. “Forget I said that.”

But she couldn’t forget. Not when his words seemed to stitch themselves into her very bones. A Circle. Something watching her. Something that noticed her.

Her hand went to her throat. “You and Ash—what are you? Because no normal person has eyes like his. Or or strength like yours.”

Elias’ gaze locked onto hers, the storm in them turning raw, vulnerable. For a second, she thought he might tell her everything. But then his expression shuttered, steel replacing the flicker of openness.

“You don’t want that answer,” he said quietly.

“Yes, I do.”

The kettle hissed faintly behind them, forgotten on the stove. The rain beat harder, as though the storm was straining against invisible bars. Elias stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, the warmth of him somehow more terrifying than Ash’s cold menace.

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

He leaned down, his lips a breath from her ear. “We’re wolves, Cora. Not the kind you’ve read about in fairy tales. Not the kind you lock away in cages. We are the nightmare that howls beneath your skin.”

Her whole body went rigid. She pushed him back instinctively, heart hammering in her ribs. “That’s—no. That’s insane. You’re insane.”

Elias’ face was grim. “Insane would be safer.”

Her knees buckled, and she stumbled back into the chair, clutching its arms. Wolves. A Circle. Dreams of glowing eyes. It couldn’t be real. And yet, somewhere deep inside her, the words fit. Like puzzle pieces snapping together.

“You’re lying.”

“I wish I were.” Elias crouched in front of her now, his expression softened with something she couldn’t name. “Ash is dangerous, Cora. He’s always been dangerous. But if he’s chosen you, if he’s seen something in you…” He trailed off, searching her face. “You’re not safe anymore.”

She pressed her hands to her ears. “Stop. Just—stop.”

But her body betrayed her. She could still feel Ash’s gaze on her skin, silver eyes stripping her down to marrow. She could still feel the pull in her chest when she’d locked eyes with Elias, like gravity had shifted and tethered her to him.

None of this was real. None of this could be real.

A crash of thunder shook the inn, rattling the shutters. Elias’ head snapped toward the door, nostrils flaring as if he could smell something through the storm. His shoulders tensed.

“He’s close,” he whispered.

Cora’s pulse spiked. “Who?”

But she already knew.

Elias grabbed her arm, his touch hot against her skin. “Go upstairs. Now. Don’t open your window. Don’t answer if you hear him calling. Do you understand?”

Cora wrenched her arm free. “Why are you both obsessed with me? I didn’t ask for this!”

Elias’ eyes flashed with something fierce. “Because fate doesn’t ask. It chooses.”

And then he was gone—vanishing into the rain-soaked night with inhuman speed, leaving Cora trembling in the kitchen, the storm battering the walls of the inn.

For long minutes, she sat frozen, the kettle still hissing behind her. Her mind reeled. Wolves. Circles. Fate. None of it made sense, yet all of it did.

When she finally crept back upstairs, every shadow seemed to hold silver eyes. Every gust of wind carried a growl.

And that night, when she finally collapsed into bed, the dream came again—this time sharper, more vivid.

The forest. The clearing. The glowing eyes.

But this time, two figures stood at the edge of the trees.

One with silver eyes that froze her blood.

One with storm-gray eyes that pulled her forward.

And somewhere deep in the shadows, something older than both of them whispered her name.

Cora.

She woke screaming.

Morning came gray and heavy, as if the storm had wrung all color from the world. Cora sat at the inn’s front counter, head propped on her hand, staring into her untouched cup of tea. Her eyes were ringed with shadows, proof that sleep had been little more than a battlefield of dreams.

She kept replaying the night over and over. Ash in the kitchen, Elias warning her, the word "circle" echoing in her mind like a curse. Wolves. Fate. Marked.

She wanted to believe it was all a fever dream, a mind cracked by exhaustion and stress. But the way Elias had moved was faster than human. The way Ash’s voice had thrummed like a growl beneath the words. No nightmare could leave her with gooseflesh still prickling hours later.

Mrs. Winlow bustled out from the back, carrying her account book, her hair pinned in its usual crooked bun. She gave Cora a sharp once-over. “You look like death warmed over, girl. Did you even sleep?”

Cora forced a smile. “Not much.”

“Hmph. This town’ll do that to you.” The old woman flipped her ledger open, squinting at the numbers. “Ravenglade has a way of keeping its secrets. Best not to dig too deep.”

Cora’s heart skipped. The words struck too close to what Elias had said. “What… what kind of secrets?”

Mrs. Winlow glanced up, her faded eyes narrowing. For a moment, Cora swore the woman’s gaze was sharper than age should allow. Then the innkeeper chuckled dryly and waved a hand. “Oh, nothing worth bothering with. Ghost stories, superstitions. This town feeds on them like bread and butter.”

But the way she avoided Cora’s eyes told another story.

Cora pressed. “Do you believe in them? The stories?”

Mrs. Winlow paused mid-page, lips thinning. “Belief isn’t the point, dear. Survival is.” She snapped the book shut. “Now, I need to fetch more bread from the cellar. Tend the desk.”

Cora watched her shuffle away, suspicion crawling over her skin. Mrs. Winlow knew more than she let on; Cora could feel it. Everyone in Ravenglade seemed to wear masks, and Cora was sick of being the only one left in the dark.

The bell over the door jingled. A man stepped in, shaking rain from his coat. He was broad-shouldered, with a scar tracing his jawline. His eyes flicked to Cora, then to the shadows of the inn as if measuring every corner.

“You must be the new girl,” he said. His voice was too casual, too smooth. “Cora, right?”

Her pulse jumped. “Yes. And you are…?”

He smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just a traveler. Passing through.”

But something in his tone felt wrong, like a wolf wearing a man’s voice.

Before she could reply, Mrs. Winlow returned from the cellar, holding a loaf of bread. When she saw the man, her face paled. The loaf slipped from her hands, hitting the floor.

“You,” she whispered.

The man inclined his head, still smiling. “Always a pleasure, Winlow.”

Without another word, he strode past the desk and vanished out the door into the mist.

Cora stood frozen. “Who was that?”

Mrs. Winlow stooped to grab the bread, her hands shaking. “Nobody.”

“That wasn’t nobody,” Cora shot back. “You knew him.”

The innkeeper’s face hardened, the lines around her mouth deepening. “Let me give you a piece of advice, girl. There are names you don’t ask, doors you don’t open, and people you don’t follow in Ravenglade. If you want to last here, keep your head down.”

Cora’s frustration boiled over. “And if I don’t want to keep my head down? If I want to know what’s happening to me? Why does everyone seem to know my name before I even tell them?”

Mrs. Winlow’s eyes flashed with something like pity and fear. “Then, child… You’d best be ready to bleed for the answers.”

The words chilled Cora to her core.

She left the counter as soon as Mrs. Winlow turned away, her chest tight, her thoughts spiraling. The man, the storm, Ash, Elias, and the Circle—it was all connected. She could feel it pressing in on her, like the walls of Ravenglade were alive and closing in.

By the time night fell again, she sat at her attic window, staring into the woods. The trees loomed like sentinels, their branches clawing the sky. The silence was worse than the storm.

Then she heard it.

A howl. Long, low, and mournful, threading through the night air.

Cora’s breath hitched. Another answered it, closer this time, the sound vibrating through her bones.

And then—so soft she almost missed it—a whisper carried on the wind.

Cora.

She clutched the windowsill, knuckles white, staring into the endless black of the trees.

For a moment, she thought she saw them. Two pairs of eyes glowing in the dark. One silver. One gray.

Watching. Waiting.