ALPHA'S LAST REBIRTH

“The Alpha Who Killed Me”

The first thing Lyra noticed was warmth.

She wasn’t in the forest anymore. She wasn’t cold. Her skin no longer burned. There was no dirt beneath her fingers—only something soft. Fuzzy. Animal fur?

A heavy blanket lay over her. She blinked, slowly, staring at the wooden beams above her. A stone ceiling. Dim candlelight flickered on rough gray walls. Her body ached like she’d fallen from a mountain, but the pain wasn’t sharp anymore. Just sore, deep in her bones.

Her wrist throbbed.

The mark.

She sat up too fast and winced. Her body resisted, but she pushed anyway, lifting the blanket and glancing down. Her arms were clean, mostly. Scraped, but bandaged. Her wrist… was wrapped in cloth. She reached to peel it back—

“Don’t,” said a voice.

She froze.

A woman sat in the corner, half-shadowed, stirring something in a clay bowl. Her hair was tied back in a tight braid, and her face was lined with faint scars. Her eyes weren’t cruel, but they were sharp.

“You’ll tear the flesh,” she added. “It’s still healing.”

“Where am I?” Lyra asked.

The woman stood slowly and moved closer. She set the bowl on a table and crouched beside the bed.

“You’re safe,” she said. “You’re with your people now.”

Lyra frowned. “What people?”

The woman smiled, just a little. “You don’t remember.”

“Remember what?”

There was a pause. The woman studied her face, as if trying to decide how much truth she could give.

“You were found in the forest,” she said. “Bleeding. Barely conscious. The others brought you back. You’re lucky to be alive.”

Lyra looked down at her hands. “That mark on my wrist…”

“It’s yours,” the woman said. “It always was.”

That didn’t make sense. None of this did.

“Who are you?” Lyra asked.

“My name is Rhea. I’m the healer.”

Lyra’s mouth felt dry. “And me?”

Rhea tilted her head. “Your name is Lyra.”

She didn’t know why, but that didn’t feel right. It felt… given. Like a costume someone had dressed her in.

“Lyra,” she repeated. The name sat on her tongue like a stranger.

“You should rest,” Rhea said, standing.

But Lyra wasn’t tired anymore. Something in her chest had started to tighten. An unease. A warning.

“Where is this place?” she asked.

The healer turned to the door. “Ferndusk.”

“What is that? A town?”

“A territory,” Rhea said over her shoulder. “A pack.”

Pack.

The word sent a strange chill down her spine.

Before Lyra could ask more, Rhea opened the door. Cool air rushed in. And voices—dozens of them, muffled and tense—echoed outside.

“They’re waiting,” Rhea murmured.

“For me?

“No,” the healer said softly. “For him.”

Lyra pulled the blanket tighter around herself as Rhea left.

The door closed with a dull thud, leaving her alone in the dim cottage. She stared at the fire crackling in the hearth, trying to steady her breathing. Her head still felt heavy, like it was full of smoke. Her limbs weren’t her own. Her thoughts didn’t sit right either.

Lyra.

She whispered it under her breath again. The name should have brought comfort, some spark of recognition—but it didn’t. It felt too clean, too new. Like a label.

Outside, voices murmured in short, tense bursts. She couldn’t make out the words. She stood slowly, wobbling a little as her bare feet touched the cold stone floor. Her legs were weak, but working.

A small wooden table stood nearby with a pitcher of water. She drank straight from it, not caring if it was meant for her or not. Her throat was sandpaper.

The bandage on her wrist tugged slightly as she moved. She sat on the edge of the bed and slowly peeled it back, ignoring the sting.

Beneath the cloth, the mark was still there.

Golden lines shaped like a crescent moon and a wolf’s eye. Strange symbols curled outward, glowing faintly beneath her skin as if lit from inside.

It didn’t look like a wound. It looked like it had grown from her.

She touched it with trembling fingers.

Who did this to me?

The door creaked open again. Rhea stepped back inside, holding a bundle of folded clothes.

“Put these on,” she said. “They’ll fit.”

Lyra took them wordlessly—a simple tunic and dark pants. The fabric was coarse but warm. She dressed slowly, the aches in her body reminding her with every movement that she’d survived something violent.

When she was done, Rhea handed her a pair of boots.

“You’ll need these too. There’s a gathering.”

Lyra looked at her. “Why?”

Rhea hesitated. “Because the Alpha is returning.”

“Alpha?”

Rhea nodded. “The leader of this pack. He’s been gone for days. He’ll want to see you himself.”

Lyra’s mouth went dry. “Why me?”

Rhea didn’t answer. She just opened the door again and said, “Come.”

The cold night air hit Lyra like a slap as she stepped outside. The cottage was surrounded by trees and low stone buildings tucked into the woods. Dozens of people stood in clusters near a bonfire, all watching the path that led into the forest.

Some turned to stare at Lyra.

She felt their eyes crawl over her. Judging. Questioning.

None of them smiled.

None said hello.

“You said this was my place,” Lyra whispered to Rhea as they walked. “That I belong here.”

“You do,” Rhea said quietly. “You just don’t know why yet.”

Lyra looked up at the moon overhead.

It felt… familiar.

But that didn’t make her feel safe.

It made her feel hunted.

The path from the cottage led deeper into the village—or whatever Ferndusk truly was.

Buildings here weren’t modern. They were stone or wood, built into the trees, moss creeping along the corners. No cars, no power lines. Just firelight, smoke, and the distant sound of howling.

People moved in shadows. Some sat by fires. Some sharpened weapons. Some watched Lyra like they’d seen her before, but didn’t trust what they were seeing.

Her pace slowed, but Rhea kept walking.

“Don’t stop,” the healer said quietly.

Lyra kept going.

Every few steps, someone whispered.

“That’s her.”

“The girl with the mark.”

“She should’ve died.”

Lyra tried not to listen, but the words sank into her bones. She wrapped her arms around herself and glanced at the forest beyond the camp.

She could run. Maybe make it to the trees, maybe vanish before anyone could stop her.

But deep down, something told her she wouldn’t make it two steps.

“You said this was my home,” she said again to Rhea. “But no one here looks happy to see me.”

“They’re afraid of you,” Rhea answered.

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

Not the most comforting answer.

They turned a corner, and the crowd grew larger. A ring of people gathered in an open clearing. Firelight lit up the space, throwing flickering shadows across their faces. Men, women, and even teenagers stood silent, forming a loose circle.

Waiting.

At the center stood the big man from the woods. The one who had spoken first when she woke up.

He looked even bigger now in the light. Broad shoulders, short dark hair, and a long scar over one eyebrow. His arms were crossed, his face grim.

Lyra stopped at the edge of the circle.

“Who is he?” she asked Rhea.

“That’s Dagen. Kael’s second.”

“Kael,” Lyra repeated. “That’s the Alpha?”

Rhea nodded. “You’ll know him when you see him.”

Something about the way she said it made the back of Lyra’s neck prickle.

The people quieted more, shoulders straightening, heads turning toward the forest entrance.

Then she heard it—footsteps. Calm. Heavy.

And the entire circle opened.

The footsteps grew louder.

They weren’t rushed. They weren’t hesitant. Each one landed like it belonged to someone who never had to move for anyone else.

Lyra didn’t know why her heart started to pound.

Then she saw him.

He stepped out of the shadows like he’d been carved from them—tall, broad, and wrapped in black from collar to boots. His coat moved with the breeze, open just enough to show the curve of a muscular chest, marked with thin scars like old claw marks.

His hair was dark, short, slightly messy. But it was his face that made her breath catch.

Sharp angles. Rough stubble. A long scar cutting through one side of his face, just above his cheekbone.

And his eyes.

Gold.

Even brighter than she remembered. Like the sun had melted into them.

He said nothing as he entered the ring of firelight.

People stepped back without being asked.

Lyra didn’t notice she was holding her breath until he walked past Rhea—and looked straight at her.

It was only a second.

But that second stretched forever.

The fire reflected in his eyes. His expression didn’t change. He didn’t smile. Didn’t frown. Just looked.

And everything in her chest twisted.

Not from fear.

From something older. Deeper. She didn't recognize him, but her body did.

Something inside her pulled tight, like a string that had been waiting too long.

She tore her eyes away.

The crowd stayed dead silent as he walked to the center of the clearing.

Dagen stepped forward. “Alpha,” he said with a short nod.

Kael didn’t answer. He simply turned toward the others, scanning the crowd.

Then his gaze landed on her again.

Longer this time.

Lyra stared back. She didn’t know what to say. Her skin felt hot. Her heart thudded in her ears.

Was he angry? Curious? Confused?

He took a step toward her.

She tensed.

Another step.

He stopped a few feet away—close enough for her to see the fine scar beneath his left eye. His voice, when it finally came, was deep and low.

“You,” he said, his tone unreadable.

She blinked. “Me?”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

Then he spoke again—slow and sharp like a blade drawn from a sheath.

“You should be dead.”

The words hit harder than a slap.

You should be dead.

Lyra didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her breath caught in her throat like a snare had pulled it tight. All around her, the circle of wolves stood perfectly still. Not even a whisper passed between them.

Kael stood there, tall and unmoving, his golden eyes fixed on her like she was something broken. Or dangerous. Or both.

“I—I don’t understand,” she said quietly.

He didn’t answer.

“I don’t remember anything,” she added. “Why would I be dead?”

Still, no reply.

He was just watching her, searching her face for something. Doubt? Truth? A lie?

Finally, Kael spoke again—calmer this time, but colder too.

“Because I killed you.”

The ground shifted beneath her feet.

Lyra took a step back without meaning to. “That’s not possible.”

“I saw your body burn,” he said, voice still low. “I smelled the ash. I buried the bones myself.”

Her stomach turned. “You’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“No.” His head tilted slightly. “Not someone else. You.”

“I’m not—” She stopped. Her mouth couldn’t finish the sentence. Because something inside her wasn’t sure he was wrong.

“You know me,” she whispered.

Kael said nothing.

But in his silence was something terrifying.

Rhea stepped forward then, placing a hand on Lyra’s arm. “Alpha, she doesn’t remember. Her body returned, but her mind—”

Kael’s voice cut her off like ice.

“She’s Asha Blackthorn.”

The name rang through the clearing like thunder.

Gasps. A few curses. Someone backed away.

Lyra looked around at the faces—now all of them staring, not just with suspicion, but with fear. The name meant something to them. Something terrible.

“I don’t know who that is,” she said, though her voice trembled.

Kael’s eyes never left hers.

“You will,” he said.

Then he turned his back to her and walked away.

The circle broke slowly, people scattering in silence.

Rhea’s grip on her arm tightened. “Come. Now.”

Lyra didn’t move.

She watched Kael’s retreating figure disappear into the darkness of the woods.

The man who claimed he’d killed her.

And the part that scared her most?

Something inside her believed him.