Alpha King's Broken Mate

The Call of Stone

BRISEIS

Sleep would not come.

Lyra was curled tightly against my side, her little hand resting on my arm, her breath warm and even. I should have felt comfort in that steady rhythm, but my mind refused to quiet. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the carvings. The wolf with flaming eyes, the crescent moon, the strange warmth that had pulsed beneath my palm.

It was foolish to think of it, even more foolish to let the thought take root. Orion had told me not to return. His voice had not been cruel, not like the alpha I had once known, no, his voice had been steady, protective. He hadn’t scolded me. He had told me he wasn’t angry. Still, the weight of his words pressed down on me like a chain.

And yet…

The ruins whispered. Not in sound, but in a pull deep within me, as though the stones themselves remembered my touch and were calling me back.

I turned my head, pressing my lips against Lyra’s soft hair. “Sleep well, little one,” I whispered. My heart pinched at leaving her, even for a while, but the urge was unbearable. I slipped carefully from the bed, tucking the blanket around her small body before I rose.

Barefoot, I moved through the quiet palace. The stone beneath my feet was cool, torches flickered dimly in their sconces, and the hall stretched long and silent before me. I felt like a thief sneaking through a home that was not mine, though no one stopped me. My heart pounded at every distant sound, the shuffle of a guard’s boots, the whisper of wind at the high windows, but my feet carried me forward.

When I reached the doors to the courtyard, I hesitated. This was foolish. Disobedient. Orion had told me to stay away. I should turn back.

But then I remembered the warmth of the stone, the way it had pulsed like a heartbeat beneath my palm, and the hesitation dissolved.

I slipped into the night.

.....

The forest welcomed me.

The moon hung high above, silver light pouring through the canopy. The air felt heavier than before, thick with a quiet hum that I could almost feel against my skin. The path was not a path at all, no beaten trail, no markers, and yet my feet seemed to know the way. Every twist of the trees, every dip of the earth guided me closer.

I should have been afraid. In my old pack, the forest at night had been a place of danger, where rogues prowled and shadows swallowed the weak. But this forest was different. The deeper I walked, the more I felt a strange sense of belonging, as though the trees were leaning in, watching, urging me forward.

By the time the first stone appeared, jutting out from the earth like a broken tooth, my breath was shallow, my chest tight.

The ruins were clearer than before. No longer half-hidden by shadow and moss, the carvings glowed faintly in the moonlight, their shapes sharp and undeniable. Wolves bowed to the crescent moon. Stars spilled across the stone like scattered jewels. And at the center, the great wolf with eyes like flames.

I stepped closer, drawn as though invisible hands pulled me. My fingers trembled as I reached for the carving once more.

The stone was warm.

Warmer than before.

Not just warm, alive. A pulse throbbed beneath the surface, steady and strong, like the beat of a heart. The sensation rushed up my arm, into my chest, and I gasped, stumbling forward.

Whispers rose around me. Not words, not quite, but feelings. Sadness. Hope. Longing. It was as though the stones themselves were trying to speak, their language older than sound.

My knees weakened. I pressed my forehead against the stone, closing my eyes. “What are you?” I whispered. “Why do you call to me?”

The answer came in silence, in the rush of heat through my veins, in the shiver that danced along my spine. I didn’t understand it, but I felt it.

I could have stayed there forever.

“Briseis.”

The sound of my name jolted me. My eyes flew open, my heart leaping into my throat. I spun around, and found him there.

Orion.

Moonlight poured over him, catching in the hard lines of his face, the dark intensity of his eyes. His presence filled the ruins more fully than the stones themselves, a force of nature wrapped in flesh.

“My King,” I stammered, stepping back from the wall. Shame burned through me. “I—I’m sorry, I know you told me not to—”

He lifted a hand, silencing me. His voice was low, steady, without anger. “I am not here to scold you.”

Tears pricked my eyes, relief and guilt tangling inside me. “I couldn’t stay away,” I confessed softly. “It’s like they… like they want me here.”

His gaze flickered to the carvings, his jaw tightening. For a long moment he said nothing, and I feared I had disappointed him beyond repair. But then he stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly against my shoulder, not a command, not a grip, only an anchor.

“I believe you,” he said at last.

The words made my chest ache. No one had ever said that to me before.

His eyes softened, though shadows lingered in their depths. “But you must be careful, Briseis. These ruins are not as harmless as they seem. They hold power older than both of us, power that can wound as easily as it can call.”

I swallowed hard, nodding. “I’ll try. I didn’t mean to…” My voice cracked, and I dropped my gaze.

He tilted his head slightly, lowering his voice to something gentler. “I know. You are not in trouble. But promise me you won’t come here alone again.”

My throat tightened. I wanted to promise, I wanted to obey, but the ruins pulsed behind me, warm and alive, whispering still. “I… I promise to try,” I whispered.

He studied me, then nodded slowly. “That is enough for tonight.”

He guided me away, his hand never leaving my shoulder, his presence a shield as we stepped back into the forest.

I looked over my shoulder once, just once. The stones glimmered faintly in the moonlight, and for a heartbeat, I thought I saw the flaming eyes of the great wolf blaze brighter.

A shiver ran through me, equal parts fear and wonder.

I knew, deep in my bones, this would not be my last visit.

No matter what I promised, the ruins would call me again.

And next time, I wasn’t sure I would have the strength to resist.