The lost Alpha

The North didn’t forgive, neither does it forgets. That was the first thing Prince Kael Blackthorne learned when he crossed back over the Moonfang border after ten years. The wind off the Frostfang Peaks hit him like a blade, carrying the scent of pine, blood, and old snow. The same scent that clung to his childhood. The same scent he’d spent a decade trying to scrub from his lungs and never quite managed. Exile changed a wolf. It stripped away the polish, the arrogance, the belief that a name alone could keep you alive. Out there, beyond the pack’s borders, you were just meat and bone and instinct. You learned to sleep with one eye open. You learned that trust got you killed faster than a blade. Kael moved low and fast, keeping to the treeline. His boots made no sound against the frozen earth. Ten years in the wild had honed him into something quieter, leaner, harder than the prince who’d fled these woods. His coat was worn, his hands scarred, his eyes the color of storm clouds before they broke. He could feel the pack now. The pull of it was physical, a tether under his ribs that he’d spent years trying to sever. Moonfang blood ran deep. It didn’t care if you wanted it to. The patrol found him anyway. “Don't move." Three wolves stepped out from the shadows, shifting to two legs in one fluid motion that spoke of years of training. Moonfang warriors. Younger than him, but they wore the mark of the pack like armor. Silver eyes narrowed when they saw his face, and he saw recognition turn to something colder. “Kael Blackthorne.” The lead warrior said it like a curse, like spitting out something foul. “The traitor prince.” Kael didn’t shift. Didn’t draw his claws. He’d learned that control was the only thing keeping him human out here. The beast inside him was older now, hungrier, but it answered to him. Mostly. “I’m here for my parents’ funeral,” he said. His voice was rough from disuse, lower than it had been ten years ago. Harder. Like the rest of him. “Funeral’s over.” The warrior spat into the snow. “And you’re not welcome. Pack law’s clear. Exiles don’t return.” Pack law. Lucien’s law now, more likely. Kael took a step forward. The three warriors tensed, claws half-extended, muscles coiled to strike. He could see the fear in them beneath the bravado. Good. Fear kept you alive. Fear meant they remembered what he was capable of before he’d left. “I was born Moonfang,” Kael said quietly. “You can’t unmake that.” For a second, no one moved. The wind howled through the pines, and the silence felt like a held breath. Then the lead warrior’s jaw tightened. “Leave, or we make you leave.” Kael smiled, but there was no humor in it. It was the smile of a wolf who’d already decided how this would end. He didn’t shift. He didn’t need to. The fight lasted twelve seconds. The first warrior came in fast, swinging for his throat. Kael caught his wrist, twisted, and drove his elbow into the man’s jaw with a c***k that echoed through the trees. The second tried to circle behind him. Kael dropped, swept the man’s legs, and finished with a knee to the sternum that left him gasping in the snow. The third hesitated. That was his mistake. Kael closed the distance in two strides, grabbed him by the front of his tunic, and slammed him against a tree hard enough to rattle the bark. Their faces were inches apart. Kael could smell the boy’s fear, sharp and metallic. “You’re stronger,” the warrior rasped. “But you’re still alone.” Kael released him and stepped back. The warrior slid down the tree, blood trickling from his lip, staring up at Kael with something close to awe. “Tell Lucien,” Kael said, his voice flat, “I’m home.” He left them there and walked toward the gates. The Moonfang stronghold loomed ahead, black stone against a black sky. Torches burned along the walls, casting long shadows that looked like grasping hands. Ten years ago, he’d run from this place believing he’d never be strong enough to lead it. Believing his father’s disappointment was a verdict he couldn’t overturn. Now he was back. And the whispers started the moment he passed the gates. Traitor!, killer! He brought the vampires with him!!!! Just q Kael kept walking. Head high. Shoulders squared. Let them see the scars. Let them see the man exile had made him. Let them wonder if he was worse than the stories they’d told about him. The courtyard was full of wolves. Some turned away. Some stared. An old warrior near the armory, Garrick, his father’s captain went very still when he saw Kael. For a heartbeat, something like grief flickered across his face before it was locked away behind duty. Kael didn’t stop. His father’s throne was empty. His mother’s gardens were dying. And his brother sat in the Alpha’s seat, playing the grieving son for a pack that didn’t know they were being played. Something old and hungry was moving in the dark beyond the borders. He’d seen Something old and hungry was moving in the dark beyond the borders. He’d seen the signs on the road here. Burned outposts. Tracks that didn’t belong to any wolf. Symbols carved into trees in blood. The vampires were returning. And Lucien intended to make sure Kael never had the chance to stop them. Kael stopped in the center of the courtyard and let his gaze sweep over the crowd. Ten years ago, these were his people. They’d cheered for him when he’d taken his first kill at fifteen. They’d called him Alpha-in-waiting. Now they looked at him like he was a curse. “Let them whisper,” Kael muttered to himself. He’d come home to a war he didn’t start. But he intended to finish it. And if Lucien wanted a fight for the throne, Kael would give him one.