Claimed by The Lost Alpha

Chapter 1: The Heir Disappeared

The thunder of footsteps rolled down the corridors of the ancient Umbra Dominian palace, clashing with frantic cries that cleaved the stillness of night. Flames along the torch-lit walls whipped and shivered as if afraid themselves.

A maid came running, breath ragged, her gown trailing across the stone floor. Her voice cracked and shook every heart that heard it.

“The heir—our Alpha’s heir—has vanished from his chamber!”

A hush fell for a heartbeat, then panic exploded through the halls.

Broad-shouldered guards with eyes like embers barked orders and scattered: some sprinted for the nursery, others for the main gates. A wolf’s howl rose from the tower—a warning cry sounded only when the Alpha’s blood was threatened.

The great hall that had witnessed the birth of the pureblood successor the night before was now a scene of chaos. Ceremony tables lay overturned; black banners draped from the rafters like mourning fog. Everyone understood the terrible truth: this was not merely a missing infant, but the stolen fate of the entire pack.

Yet deeper in the innermost wing of the palace, a woman lay weak upon a bed carved with ancient motifs. A white veil shadowed her pale face; her eyes were swollen from weeping. Her breaths came heavy after the long struggle of giving birth to her first son.

Ivy June—Luna of the Alpha.

Pain still knifed through her body, but her heart was shattered far more completely. Her trembling hand groped the empty space at the bedside where her tiny child should have been. Tears spilled unchecked.

“What of my son?” she whispered in a hoarse voice that broke into a wail. “Has he been found? Tell me — tell me now!”

Beside her stood a man of towering presence, his gaze sharp yet torn by doubt. This was Ashael Zolani, the High Alpha—leader of the Umbra Dominian pack, husband and father to the lost child.

He sat on the edge of the bed and clasped Ivy’s trembling hand in both of his. He studied his wife’s weary face, striving to mask the turmoil of fury and fear that churned within him.

“My best warriors have combed every corner of the palace,” he said softly, but with commanding authority. “No one would dare harm our son. He will be returned. I swear it by blood and moon.”

Ivy shook her head violently; her sobs grew more fierce.

“No, Ashael… I feel it. The bond—our blood bond—has been severed, as if a black shadow swallowed him! Something has taken him away!”

Ashael fell silent. His jaw tightened; for a fleeting moment his fangs flashed. He knew a mother’s instincts rarely erred. If Ivy sensed darkness, then an enemy had dared to penetrate to the very heart of their power.

He lifted his face and stared at the ceiling as if to contain a rage about to erupt.

“If any hand dares steal my blood,” he muttered through clenched teeth, “I will answer with an ocean of blood. I will find him, Ivy. No shadow, no forest, no foreign fortress will hide the kidnappers from me.”

Ivy covered her face with both palms, her body trembling. “Ashael… bring my child back… bring back our heir…”

Ashael held her close, gentle in the way he cradled her, though a savage heat radiated from him—an aura of wrath ready to burst at any moment.

A long, answering howl rolled outside the chamber, echoing from the tower into the skeleton of trees that ringed the palace. That night the moon hung low and blood-red, casting an uncanny light over the land.

From the black of the woods a cloaked figure hurtled through the shadows, clutching a small white bundle. Eyes like amethysts flashed beneath the hood; a sly curve lifted the thief’s lips.

“The heir of Alpha Umbra Dominian… you are mine now,” the whisper hissed.

Between the tall trunks the hooded silhouette ran without sound, cleaving the dark with unnatural speed. The white-wrapped bundle trembled against its chest; a baby’s thin cry leaked into the night—sharp and urgent, yet seemingly swallowed by the surrounding gloom, as if the darkness itself had learned to hush sound.

At last the runner reached the cliff’s rim.

He halted and turned, standing tall under the red moon. With slow deliberation he opened his cloak. Bones popped and skin tore as a coarse pelt sprouted where flesh had been; in the span of heartbeats a werewolf rose in place of the man, eyes burning a fierce purple.

His breaths steamed in the cold air. In his clawed hands the infant remained—Umbra Dominian’s lost heir.

The crying ceased.

Beneath the blood-moon’s glow the newborn’s eyes, barely opened, fixed on the sky…and then gleamed, silver threaded with red. An alien light danced there, a promise of powers the child could not yet comprehend.

The cloaked werewolf let out a low, satisfied hiss.

“Pure blood of Umbra Dominian… heir of the moon…”

He lifted the baby high—directly over the yawning abyss, a throat in the earth that seemed to swallow the stars. The night wind rose, as if the world itself protested what was to come.

But a savage smile split the creature’s face.

“Umbra Dominian will never hold an Alpha again,” he muttered, voice thick with vengeance. “All your glories… will end by my hand.”

Then, without a sliver of hesitation, he released his grip.

For a heartbeat the infant hung suspended, its eyes reflecting the final flare of the moon—then the tiny body fell into the black mouth of the gorge.

Atop the cliff the kidnapper—still in his lupine form, purple eyes blazing—watched downward. A cruel grin carved his features.

“It’s over…” he breathed.

He turned and vanished into the forest, a streak of ferocity swallowed by trees, leaving the cliff in an eerie, stunned silence.

Fate, however, had other plans.

The infant did not strike stone. The child landed upon a tangle of dry wood dislodged by a minor landslip along the cliffside. The driftwood softened the impact and cradled the fragile form. Carried then by the current, the logs and the bundle drifted downriver, the water snaking like silver under that crimson moon.

A muffled cry broke free again, subdued by the roar of the river. The strange light in the baby’s eyes flickered and then waned, as if whatever hidden power lay dormant now withdrew to hide and wait.

The river flowed far, cutting through forest until it reached a small village nestled at the valley’s lip.

There, by the water’s edge, a man stood—broad-shouldered, garbed plainly in animal hides. He was Norman, a hunter and fisher of that remote settlement, living a life untouched by the pomp of wolf-noble courts. He was gutting his catch—still writhing fish laid along the shore—when a faint sound pricked his ears.

He turned, brow knitting. “What’s that…?”

Norman’s eyes widened as something bobbed between branches and current. He ran, waded waist-deep into the river, and snatched up the white-wrapped bundle.

When he opened it, the sight stunned him: a drenched infant, cold to the touch, eyes just parting to stare at him with an unnerving intensity—an old, too-keen look in a newborn’s gaze.

Fear might have held him back, but compassion won. The child’s frailty called louder than any dread. Norman wrapped the baby in the hide cloak he’d been wearing and gently patted the little body.

“Easy now, little one… you’re safe,” he murmured.

He looked up at the scarlet moon hanging like a watchful sentinel, drew a heavy breath, and made a decision.

“I don’t know who you truly are,” he said, “but I won’t leave you to die. Come with me. You’re coming home.”