Awakened by the Alpha's Divorce

CHAPTER TWO

Amara’s POV



I don’t stop walking.

If I stop, I’ll think.

If I think, I’ll break.

The ground hums faintly beneath my boots, a low vibration I feel more than hear. The wind tangles in my hair, tugging at loose strands like curious fingers. Somewhere above the trees, the Moon retreats from fullness, but I still feel her attention, quiet, distant and watching.

“She’s still there,” I murmur.

My voice sounds wrong in the open forest; it was too small, too alone.

She hasn’t abandoned us, my wolf answers, her presence is faint but steady.

“That’s not comforting.”

She doesn’t respond.

By midday, the forest changes, the trees press closer together, their trunks dark with moss and age. Roots twist across the ground, forcing me to watch every step or risk falling. The air grows heavy, damp, carrying a sharp metallic tang that prickles at the back of my throat.

Magic, old magic.

“I don’t like this place,” I whisper.

Neither do I, my wolf says, unease bleeding through her words. We should have eaten. We should rest.

“We didn’t exactly pack for exile.”

A bitter edge slips into my tone before I can stop it.

The forest answers with the sudden thunder of wings.

Blackbirds explode from the canopy overhead, dozens of them scattering at once. I freeze, heart leaping into my throat.

“Spirits,” I mutter. “Warn me next time.”

The birds vanish, leaving silence behind, too much silence.

Hours blur together, my legs ache, and my mouth feels dry no matter how often I swallow. When I finally hear the sound of running water, relief crashes through me so hard my knees nearly give out.

I drop beside the stream and cup the water in my hands.

The first swallow burns.

I gasp, choking slightly. “What in the—”

Careful, my wolf warns. This land doesn’t know you yet.

“That makes two of us.”

I wipe my mouth and lean closer for another drink. When I lift my head, something shifts behind me.

Not wind.

Not birds.

My muscles lock.

“Don’t,” I whisper, unsure whether I’m speaking to myself or whatever lurks in the underbrush.

A low growl ripples through the clearing, Rogues.

My fingers close around the hilt of my dagger as I rise slowly to my feet.

“Three heartbeats,” I murmur, counting by instinct as shapes emerge from the trees. “No, four.”

We can’t take them, my wolf says urgently. Not like this.

“I know.”

The first rogue steps into view, fur matted and patchy, eyes clouded a sickly yellow. It bares its teeth, lips pulled back in a snarl too feral for pack speech.

Then another appears.

Then another.

My pulse roars in my ears.

“Easy,” I say softly, palms open for a heartbeat before tightening again. “No need for this.”

The rogues don’t understand language anymore.

They understand hunger.

The nearest one lunges.

I pivot on instinct, dagger flashing. The blade slices across its shoulder but its cut was too shallow, not enough. It howls and stumbles back, more surprised than hurt.

The others circle me.

“Run,” my wolf hisses.

“No.”

I move before fear can root me in place. The forest blurs as my training takes over; step, strike, pivot. One rogue goes down hard, the sound of its body hitting the ground echoing too loud in the clearing.

The third one leaps.

I’m too slow.

Claws rake across my arm, white-hot pain tearing a scream from my throat.

Something answers, something I have never felt before. It was not fear, nor anger, it was Power, surging through me.

It surges up from my chest, flooding my veins with burning light. I don’t have time to think instead, I react, throwing my hands forward, silver explodes from my palms in a blinding wave.

The rogue flies backwards as if struck by lightning.

The forest goes dead still; there were no birds, no winds, no sound at all.

When my vision clears, the clearing is empty, ash drifts where bodies should be.

I stare at my hands.

They glow faintly, silver-white, trembling as if they don’t belong to me.

“What did I just do?” I whisper.

What we remembered, my wolf says, awe threading her voice. The Moon’s flame was never gone, it was only sleeping.

Immediately, my knees buckle, I drop to the ground, my heart hammering so hard it hurts. I clutch my injured arm and freeze.

The wound is closing.

Skin knits together beneath my fingers, leaving behind a thin silver scar that gleams softly in the dim light.

“That’s not possible,” I breathe.

It is now.

Fear curls tight in my chest, sharp and electric. But beneath it, beneath my pulse, I felt more alive than I have ever felt in my life.

I laugh once, shaky and breathless, adrenaline washing through my system “I should be terrified.”

You are, my wolf replies. But you’re also awake.

The forest seems to listen.

The air hums, no longer hostile but… curious.

I tilt my head back, searching the sky through the canopy. A pale curve of moonlight slips through the clouds.

“Then let them think I’m broken,” I whisper. “I’ll survive their mistake.”

The wind sighs through the branches.

I find shelter beneath the roots of an ancient pine as evening creeps closer. The trunk is wide enough to block the worst of the coming storm, its needles thick and dry beneath me.

I lower myself to the ground and press my forehead to my knees.

For a long while, I don’t move.

“Are you still with me?” I ask quietly.

Always, my wolf answers, stronger now. You fed me.

“Good,” I murmur. “Because I have no idea what I’m becoming.”

Not something new, she says, Something forgotten.

Night presses in fast beneath the trees. Clouds bruise the sky, thunder rumbling somewhere distant.

I reach into my satchel and pull out the map.

The Witchlands.

The ink is smudged and the edges torn, but the path south from here remains clear.

“Exiles,” I whisper, “Old magic. Dangerous answers.”

Answers are worth danger, my wolf says.

I fold the map and stand, muscles protesting but resolve burning hotter than pain.

“South, then,” I say aloud, “Toward truth.”

As I step back into the forest, every shadow feels alive. Every sound sharpens my senses. I almost screamed ‘I’m alive!’

The moon slips through the clouds one last time, a thin silver crescent like a blade.

Warmth spreads through my chest, and I feel a sense of purpose I couldn’t wait to explore.

You are becoming, my wolf whispers.

I take one final look north, toward the pack that cast me out, toward the Alpha who wouldn’t give his Luna the benefit of doubt.

Then I turn away.

Tomorrow, I will enter the Witchlands.

Tonight, I walk alone.

Not as a Luna.

Not as a mate.

But as something the world was never meant to wake.