Alpha of the Bloodmoon Vow

The forest was too quiet for a night like this. The Bloodmoon hung low—red, heavy, pulsing like a wound in the sky. Every instinct in Arlena Veyra’s body knew what that meant: Tonight, every creature would feel her return. Boots sinking into the frost, she stepped out of the shadows, her black coat fluttering behind her like a dark whisper. Two years ago, this land smelled of betrayal—blood, smoke, and the lies of those who claimed to love her. Now it smelled like fear. Arlena smirked. Good. Let them tremble. She brushed a strand of dark hair from her cheek, the moonlight catching the faint silver marking on her collarbone—the birthmark of the True Alpha, a symbol everyone thought had vanished with her death. Fools. They never understood what she truly was. Arlena wasn’t born to kneel. She was born to rule. A howl echoed in the distance—panicked, sharp, a warning sent across the packs. “They know,” she murmured, voice low and velvet-soft. “Perfect.” Her wolf stirred beneath her skin, restless, eager. It wanted to run, to tear, to reclaim what was stolen. But Arlena? She wanted something far more dangerous. Revenge. And she would begin with the man who had once sworn loyalty to her. The man who watched her burn. A twig snapped behind her. She didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. Her senses stretched out like woven silk, feeling the presence stalking her—heavy steps, controlled breathing, the scent of cedar and smoke. Only one man walked like that. Only one man carried that dangerous calm. Dorian Kael. Alpha of the Midnight Pack. Her former protector. Her once–almost–everything. “Are you done hiding, Arlena?” he called out, voice dark, rough, too steady for someone who should be terrified. “You came back under the Bloodmoon. You must know what that means.” She smiled, slow and lethal. “It means you should be kneeling.” He stepped closer, and the moon revealed his face—sharper than she remembered, eyes storm-grey, jaw tense, the kind of masculine beauty that made most wolves drop their guard. Arlena wasn’t most wolves. “You’re supposed to be dead,” Dorian said quietly. But his heartbeat told her the truth: shock, confusion… desire. “I was,” she answered. “But unfortunately for you, I don’t stay dead.” His eyes dropped to the mark glowing softly on her skin—the mark of the Bloodmoon Alpha, the mark he thought he'd buried with her. And for the first time, Dorian Kael took a step back. Arlena tilted her head. “Surprised? Don’t be. Miscalculating me was your first mistake.” “What do you want?” he asked. She walked right up to him—close enough for him to feel her breath, close enough for him to smell the danger clinging to her like perfume. “I want everything you stole,” she whispered. “Starting with my throne.” Before he could speak, the wind shifted—carrying the scent of more wolves approaching. Dorian’s eyes darkened. “You shouldn’t have come back.” Arlena smiled. “Oh, Dorian,” she said softly, almost tender. “I came back to burn your world.”