KING ALCHIE MONISTER

The silver fever

The Silver Fever the dangerous state when a bonded Alpha shifted while his mate was absent tore through him.

​The Vordstarwood forest didn't just contain trees, it contained secrets.

​As the black SUV screeched to a halt at the edge of the tree line, Alchie practically fell out of the door. The air here was different thick with the scent of pine, damp earth, and the nervous energy of hundreds of wolves.

​His skin felt too tight. Every hair on his arms stood up as the moon reached its peak, a glowing silver coin in the sky.

​"Alpha!" a voice called out.

​It was Silas, one of the Pack Elders. He was waiting near the ancient stone circle where the ritual was held every month. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Alchie’s face. Alchie wasn't wearing his mask now, and his expression was one of pure, raw agony.

​"You're late," Silas began, his voice stern. "The Pack is waiting for the howl. The transition cannot begin without you…"

​"I saw her," Alchie gasped, doubling over as his ribs began to c***k and reform. The first stage of the shift was always the most painful. "Silas... I saw Ophelia."

​The Elder went deathly still. "That’s impossible. We all watched the flames. We felt the bond go dark."

​"It didn't go dark," Alchie roared, his voice dropping into a register that made the nearby leaves tremble. "It was sleeping. And tonight, it woke up."

​Silas grabbed Alchie’s shoulder, looking him in the eyes which were now glowing a fierce, predatory gold. "Listen to me, King. The moon is high. Your blood is hot. Do not let a ghost lead you into madness. You have a Pack to protect."

​Alchie wanted to scream. He wanted to tell Silas that "Sophie" wasn't a ghost. She was warm skin and terrified eyes. But the silver fever took hold.

Bones cracked and reshaped, clothes shredded with a single tearing sound, and in moments, the King of the Vordstarwood Pack was gone replaced by a massive wolf, fur black as midnight, eyes burning like twin suns.

​He threw his head back and let out a howl that ripped through the night. It wasn't a call to hunt. It was a cry for a lost soul.

The aftershock of the Silver Fever still burned through him.

​​

​Alchie bolted.

​He didn't run toward the pack, he ran away from them. He moved like a shadow through the Vordstarwood trees. Every jump covered ten feet.

The wind rushed past his ears, carrying a thousand smells damp moss, squirrels, old wood but he was only searching for one.

​Vanilla and rain.

​He ran until his lungs burned. He wanted to outrun the image of Sophie’s face. He wanted to forget the way her skin felt against his. But the wolf was smarter than the man. The wolf knew.

​Mate, the beast inside him whispered. She lives.

​As he reached a high cliff overlooking the city lights, a soft sound made his ears twitch. He spun around, his lips pulling back to reveal white, lethal fangs.

​A smaller wolf stepped out from the shadows.

​She was beautiful in a way that most wolves in the pack admired. Her fur was a sleek, shimmering silver-grey, and she moved with a graceful, feminine pride.

She carried the scent of high blood and old power.

​Eliora.

​She was the daughter of one of the high elders, and she had made it clear for years that she wanted to be Alchie’s Queen. To the rest of the pack, they were a perfect match.

But to Alchie, she was just another wolf… though a spark of curiosity flickered in her golden gaze, as if sensing something he could not yet see

​Eliora trotted toward him, her head lowered in a sign of respect, but her eyes were playful. She let out a soft whine, nudging her head against his shoulder. She was trying to soothe him, to draw him into the "Full Moon run" that usually ended with the pack celebrating their strength.

​She nipped at his ear, a clear invitation to play, to run together, to forget his grief.

​Alchie didn't respond. He stood as still as a statue.

​Eliora whined again, circling him. She smelled like the forest and wild berries a strong, healthy wolf scent. But she didn't smell like her. She didn't have the scent that made Alchie’s heart stop.

​Frustrated, Alchie let out a warning growl. It was deep and vibration-heavy, a king’s command to be left alone.

​Eliora flinched, stepping back. Her ears flattened against her head. She looked at him with hurt in her eyes. She couldn't understand why, after three years, the King was still a statue of ice.

​She didn't know that tonight, the ice had cracked.

​Alchie turned his back on her, looking down at the distant city. Somewhere down there, in a cramped apartment, a girl named Sophie was sleeping.

He didn’t care about the pack. He didn’t care about the elders. He didn’t care about Eliora’s pleading gaze or her silver fur brushing against the wind. All he could smell, all he could feel, was her Sophie somewhere out there.

​He only cared about the "human" girl who had seen his memories.

​As the moon began to set, Alchie made a silent vow. He would find her. He would find out why she didn't remember him. And he would find out what had turned his Queen into a stranger.