Episode Seven: The Alpha’s Curse
1121 Words
(Darius Blackwood’s POV)
The room smelled of smoke, blood, and betrayal.
Darius stood in front of the war table, staring at the torn map of Silverfang territory. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white. All around him, the air was thick with tension. Warriors stood silently along the walls, not daring to meet his eyes.
Because they had failed him.
Because she had betrayed him.
Selene.
His destined Luna. His. And yet, she had run with the rogue—the cursed exile who dared lay claim to what belonged to Darius by right, by blood.
“Leave,” he growled.
No one moved.
“I said leave!”
The warriors scattered, the heavy doors slamming shut behind them.
Silence fell.
Except for the rhythmic dripping of blood from his palm to the floor. He’d dug his claws too deep into his skin—again. Pain no longer grounded him. Not when the ache in his chest refused to fade.
He turned toward the fireplace, where the flames hissed and cracked like angry whispers. The shadows cast by the fire twisted unnaturally across the walls, dancing like phantoms. He had once found comfort in fire. Now, it only reminded him of her.
Selene.
He saw her in every flicker of light. The curve of her lips, the storm in her eyes, the way she used to smile at him before everything changed.
Before she met him.
“Killian,” he spat, the name a curse on his tongue.
The fire flared, reacting to the fury burning inside him. The room darkened. The runes carved into the stone floor glowed faintly red.
He wasn’t supposed to use the blood magic. Elder Morrigan had warned him, had begged him.
But what had the old witch ever done to stop fate?
Fate had chosen Selene for him. Not for some exiled rogue. Not for a traitor.
His hand hovered over the ceremonial dagger resting on the obsidian altar. Its blade was etched with forbidden glyphs—ancient symbols of the First Moon, the ones even the Elders feared to speak aloud.
Darius gritted his teeth and picked it up.
The pain of slicing his palm open again was distant, almost welcome. He let his blood drip into the runes, chanting the incantation he had memorized in secret.
“Lunaris… vintrae… caros et umbros…”
The room pulsed.
A wind howled through the hall, though every door and window was sealed. The flames dimmed. Shadows bled from the corners, pooling around his feet like living ink.
And then, from the blackness, something stirred.
The spirit stepped forward—if it could be called that. A warped creature, neither wolf nor man, its form constantly shifting. Horns curled from its head, and its voice slithered through the room like smoke.
“You call on the Veil, Alpha Blackwood. You walk dangerous ground.”
Darius did not flinch. “I was promised strength. Power enough to claim what is mine.”
The entity hissed. “And you have paid the price. You carry the mark now.”
His hand burned. The crescent scar—once faint—had deepened, now pulsing red.
Darius bared his teeth. “Then give me more. I want to see her. I want to find her.”
The spirit tilted its head. “You desire your mate. Yet you would harm her.”
“She is mine,” Darius snarled. “She was chosen for me.”
The creature laughed, a sound like bones cracking. “Chosen? Destiny is not a chain. It is a blade. And you, Alpha, are already bleeding.”
The fire exploded behind him, casting the room in blinding red light.
And then—
He saw her.
Selene. In a forest glade, standing beside Killian. Her hair glowed like silver thread under the moonlight. Her hand was in the rogue’s. Their bond shimmered between them, golden and warm.
Darius roared.
The vision shattered.
He fell to one knee, gasping, the dagger clattering to the floor.
“Where?” he choked.
The spirit faded into the shadows.
“Where are they?!”
Only silence remained.
Later that night, Darius walked the upper balcony of the Silverfang stronghold, looking out across the territory that had been his family’s for centuries. The crescent moon hung low in the sky, veiled by clouds.
His second-in-command, Rhys, joined him. “You called the scouts back?”
Darius nodded once. “They’re blind out there. Killian knows how to disappear.”
Rhys hesitated. “What now?”
Darius turned to face him, eyes glowing faintly with power. “Now we prepare for war.”
“War?” Rhys blinked. “Against the rogue?”
“No,” Darius said darkly. “Against prophecy.”
Rhys frowned. “The Elders won’t support a full mobilization—”
“I don’t need the Elders’ approval.”
Rhys’s voice dropped. “Darius, we were raised to uphold the traditions. If you move against them—”
“They betrayed us first!” Darius’s voice echoed down the stone corridor. “They knew what Selene was. What we were. They lied. They tried to hide the truth.”
He stalked back toward the war room.
“They knew she was the true Luna—the prophesied one. But they were afraid. Afraid of change. Afraid of losing their control.”
Rhys followed, warily. “And what of the people? The pack still sees Selene as one of their own. If you turn them against her—”
“I’m not turning them against her,” Darius growled. “I’m reminding them who their Alpha is. Who leads this pack. Who protects them.”
He faced Rhys squarely. “And if I must destroy the bond she shares with that rogue to do it… I will.”
Rhys looked troubled but said nothing.
Darius turned back to the table, where a new map had been laid out.
The Temple of Ash and Moon.
He had seen it in the vision, in the fire, in the pages of forbidden texts he’d uncovered beneath the old Elder vaults. That was where Selene was headed. Where the prophecy would unfold.
Where she might be lost to him forever.
Unless he reached it first.
He touched the mark on his palm.
The blood magic would guide him.
That night, he dreamed.
Not of Selene. Not of the pack.
But of a throne made of bones, and a crown forged in fire.
He saw himself upon it—Alpha of all wolves.
And Selene at his side, her eyes empty, her will bound to his.
When he woke, the fire in the hearth had gone out.
But the mark on his hand still burned.
- Writer
