The Cursed Alpha

Chapter1

The air smells like iron and pine sap, sharp enough to catch in the back of my throat. I tell myself it’s the cold doing that. Late autumn always carries a bite. Still, my chest feels tight as I step into the clearing, boots crunching over frost-stiff leaves, and I don’t like that I notice it.

The moon hasn’t fully risen yet, but its light is already wrong. Too red. Too heavy. It stains the tops of the trees like a warning I refuse to read.

The pack gathers in a loose ring around the altar, murmuring softly, shoulders brushing, breath ghosting white in the air. Familiar faces. My people. They look to me the way they always do—waiting, steady, trusting. That trust settles on my spine like a weight I’ve learned to carry without flinching.

I don’t flinch now.

“This will be quick,” Malachai says, voice calm, reassuring. He stands near the altar, hands folded loosely in front of him, robes dark against the pale stone. “A strengthening rite. Nothing more.”

I nod, because that’s what an Alpha does. He nods. He doesn’t question an elder in front of the pack. He doesn’t let doubt show its teeth.

Still, my wolf shifts uneasily under my skin.

I push the feeling down.

The altar sits at the center of the clearing, ancient and worn smooth by centuries of hands and weather. Moon symbols are carved deep into its surface, grooves filled with shadow. I’ve stood here dozens of times—for births, for bonds, for rites meant to protect and preserve. The stone has always felt solid beneath my palm.

Tonight, it feels cold in a way stone shouldn’t.

“Alpha?” Malachai’s eyes flick to me, subtle, polite. A reminder. The pack is watching.

I step forward.

The ground hums faintly as I place my hand on the altar. It’s probably my imagination. Probably the way the air vibrates before a storm. I’ve learned how easy it is to excuse unease when you’re responsible for everyone else’s sense of safety.

My mate stands just behind the circle, our son tucked close to her side. Rowan is too young to understand the weight of this place, but he feels it anyway. His small fingers curl into her coat, eyes fixed on me with that serious intensity he’s had since birth.

The bond between us—between all of us—thrums softly. Steady. Familiar.

“This is a night of alignment,” Malachai says, raising his voice just enough to carry. “The Blood Moon strengthens what already exists. It sharpens bonds. It seals protections.”

The word blood echoes unpleasantly in my head.

I glance at him, searching his face for… something. A c***k. A tell. I find nothing but composed patience. He’s been an elder longer than I’ve been Alpha. He was there when my father led this pack. When his father did. Trusting him is as instinctive as breathing.

That doesn’t stop my jaw from tightening.

“Begin,” I say, because hesitation would look like fear.

The pack quiets. Even the forest seems to lean closer, branches creaking softly as the moon finally crests the treeline. Red light spills into the clearing, thick and luminous, painting skin and stone alike.

Malachai begins to chant.

The words aren’t ones I recognize—not fully—but they follow familiar rhythms. Old magic always does. It curls around the bones, settles into muscle memory. The pack hums along instinctively, voices low, blending into something larger than any one of us.

I add my voice, grounding the sound, anchoring it.

The unease doesn’t leave.

It grows.

The hum beneath my palm deepens, vibrating up my arm. The altar pulses once, sharp and sudden, like a heartbeat that doesn’t belong to me. My breath stutters.

I don’t pull away.

Across the circle, Rowan shifts, frowning. Our eyes meet for a brief second, and something twists in my chest. He’s watching too closely. I should have sent him back to the den. I should have—

Focus.

Malachai’s voice threads through the chant, steady and precise. He moves closer now, steps measured, his presence warm at my side. He smells faintly of ash and herbs, a scent I’ve always associated with safety, with healing.

“Place your other hand,” he murmurs, just for me.

I hesitate.

It’s barely a pause. A heartbeat. No one else would notice.

But Malachai does.

His gaze flicks to mine, and for the first time tonight, something shifts there. Not impatience. Not irritation.

Anticipation.

The thought is absurd. I shove it aside and place my other hand on the stone.

The altar flares.

Pain lances up my arms, sudden and blinding. I suck in a sharp breath, muscles locking as the magic surges, no longer a hum but a roar. The chant falters around me, voices breaking, confusion rippling through the pack.

“Hold,” Malachai says softly. Too softly. His hands close around my wrists, fingers digging in with unexpected strength. “This part is… intense.”

The moonlight burns brighter, the red deepening until the world seems submerged in it. I try to pull free.

I can’t.

My wolf slams against my ribs, snarling, panicked. This is wrong. This is—

“Malachai,” I growl, voice rough. “Release me.”

He doesn’t.

Instead, he leans closer, breath warm against my ear.

“It’s already begun.”

Understanding crashes into me like ice water.

Not fear.

Not confusion.

Betrayal.

The altar’s light surges again, and this time I feel it reach deeper, clawing into something old and vital. Blood sings in my veins, answering a call it shouldn’t recognize.

Around us, the pack shouts, the chant collapsing into chaos. I hear my mate call my name. I hear Rowan cry out.

I strain toward them, toward him, fighting against hands that are no longer gentle, against magic that coils tighter the more I resist.

Malachai’s voice rises, no longer woven into the pack’s harmony but standing alone, sharp and commanding. The words are clear now. Too clear.

This isn’t protection.

It’s a binding.

The moon hangs heavy overhead, red and unblinking, as the altar drinks deep—

—and the first c***k splits something inside me I won’t be able to put back together.