What A Wolf King Watches
312 Words
TWO
What the Wolf King Watches**
Alaric had ruled long enough to forget what fear tasted like.
Yet when he caught the girl’s scent—warm blood, crushed thyme, rain—something sharp twisted beneath his ribs.
Human.
She should not have crossed the boundary.
From the shadows, he watched her run, watched the forest bend to test her, watched fate coil itself tighter with every breath she took. When she fell into the old altar clearing, he knew it was already too late.
The forest did not allow accidents.
When she collapsed, unconscious, he approached slowly. Her pulse fluttered against her throat, fragile, insistent. His instincts screamed to tear her open, to silence the intrusion, to spill blood upon stone as law demanded.
Instead, he lifted her.
Her head fell against his chest. Too warm. Too light.
Alaric carried her to the edge of the human lands before dawn, laid her where she would wake alive, untouched—except for the memory that would haunt her dreams.
As he turned back, the moon bled red through the clouds.
The Blood Moon approached.
And with it, his wedding.
Morwenna descended into the vault barefoot.
Torches flared to life as she passed, their flames pale blue, fed by old magic and older screams. Skulls lined the walls—wolves and men alike—each carved with sigils of binding, loyalty, obedience.
She stopped before the altar of marrow and knelt.
“He has seen her,” Morwenna said softly.
The bones rattled.
She sliced her palm and let blood drip into the bowl. The magic answered eagerly, hissing truths.
She is not human.
Morwenna inhaled sharply.
She sleeps as a wolf sleeps. Her blood remembers.
Rage cracked through her calm.
A hidden heir. A forgotten sin. A threat.
Morwenna rose, eyes cold and bright.
“Then she will remember pain,” she whispered.
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