Episode Two
1058 Words
Part 4: The Alpha's Den
The journey to Shadowcleft was silent, but it was the loudest silence I had ever known.
I walked on my own feet, as I’d promised myself. Still, Draven’s presence pressed against my senses—solid, inescapable. He didn’t touch me, didn’t crowd me, yet I felt the weight of every breath he drew, every shift of muscle beside me. His warriors moved in formation, grim and disciplined, their glances sharp and questioning. Who is this rogue walking at our Alpha’s side?
The pine forests of Moonridge faded behind us, replaced by the stark, wind-bitten highlands of Shadowcleft. It wasn’t a village nestled in comfort—it was a fortress carved into the mountainside, all dark timber, black stone, and towering watch posts. Everything about it spoke of vigilance and control. Of Draven.
As we passed through the high gates, work stopped. The wolves who turned to stare were not the warm, familiar faces of my youth. These were fighters—scarred, lean, and hard-eyed. They studied me with open suspicion. A rogue among them was anomaly enough. Walking beside their Alpha was blasphemy.
A tall woman broke ranks, her scent sharp with authority. A Beta. Her dark hair was braided tight, her scar cutting clean through one brow.
“Alpha,” she greeted, tone crisp. She bowed her head, but her gaze slid to me with open disdain. “You’ve returned. With… baggage.”
A low growl rumbled in Draven’s chest. “Beta Kaelen,” he warned, voice low. “Mind your tongue.”
He stopped then, turning to face the gathered pack. The air thickened with expectation.
“You have been without a Luna for too long,” he said, his voice carrying easily across the courtyard. “The wait is over.”
He didn’t look at me, but the heat of his words branded my skin.
“This is Lyra of Shadowcleft—my mate. Your Luna. You will show her the respect she is due.”
The courtyard went still. A collective breath held. Kaelen’s face paled, her jaw tightening around disbelief, fury… and something sharper. Jealousy, maybe. I had just made my first enemy.
Draven didn’t wait for their reaction. “Come,” he said, already turning toward the upper ridge.
The Alpha’s lodge sat at the summit of the stronghold, a command post overlooking miles of forest and fog. Inside, the air smelled of pine smoke and steel. The space was stripped of warmth—functional, clean, austere. Furs covered the stone floor, and an enormous hearth stood unlit.
An adjoining chamber held a single, massive bed.
My body tensed. The bond that had been a pulse beneath my skin since the moment we met surged—hot, insistent, binding. My wolf stirred restlessly, whining to close the distance between us. I dug my nails into my palms.
“I’ll take another room,” I said, my voice tight.
Draven turned, amusement flickering across his face. “This is the Alpha’s lodge,” he said evenly. “It has one room.”
“Then I’ll sleep with the warriors.”
His reply was a single word, quiet but immovable. “No.”
Anger rose sharp in my throat. “You can’t just drag me here, declare me your Luna, and expect me to fall into your bed!” My voice cracked, raw from years of swallowed fear. “You don’t even know me!”
In two long strides, he was standing before me. He didn’t touch me, but his power was a storm pressing against my skin. His voice dropped, dangerously soft.
“I don’t know you?” he murmured. “I know you were born to Moonridge. I know you loved a boy too weak to see the gift in front of him. I know he broke you the night of his ascension.”
The words hit like cold steel. My breath caught. “How do you—”
“I know,” he went on, eyes burning gold, “that you ran. That you survived three winters alone in the Unclaimed Lands. That you fought off the Blackfang rogues at the river bend and hunted with the precision of wolves twice your size. I know every scar on your skin and the name of the beast that gave it to you.”
He leaned closer, voice barely a whisper. “I have been watching you, Lyra. Hunting the rogue ghost who smelled of pine and sorrow for six months.”
My mind went blank. This wasn’t fate. It was pursuit.
“I am not that foolish boy,” he said. “I don’t see a broken omega. I see the strongest female in these mountains—a blade forged in ice and fire. My equal.”
He reached out, slow, deliberate. His hand brushed the scar on my arm, his touch calloused and reverent. Electricity shivered through me. My wolf melted into a low, helpless purr. I hated her for it.
“I won’t make you do anything,” he said quietly. “The bond is a fact. Your past is a fact. And so am I. But you are not my prisoner.”
Then he stepped back, and the spell broke. The cold rushed in.
“You are my mate, Lyra. This is your home. But I won’t share my bed with a woman who doesn’t come to me willingly—even if it takes the rest of my life.”
He crossed the room to a narrow alcove I hadn’t noticed and dragged out a simple cot, placing it beside the cold fireplace.
“This is my lodge,” he said. “I’ll not be moved from it. But I’ll give you space.”
His expression was hard, but his eyes held something raw—an edge of vulnerability I hadn’t expected.
“But make no mistake,” he said, voice low and certain. “You are home. And I will spend every day proving it. The Beta, the pack—they’ll test you. They see a rogue. I suggest you show them what I see.”
He left then, the door shutting behind him with a quiet finality.
I stood alone in the vast silence, my heart hammering, my wolf pacing under my skin.
He hadn’t just found me.
He had seen me.
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