Marked by the Enemy Alpha

Chapter 5: Secrets and Scars

Thalia

My room—if you can call eight feet of rotting wood and a straw mattress a room—has never felt smaller.

Yara moves around the cramped space with frantic energy, shoving my meager belongings into a worn canvas bag. Two spare shirts. A pair of pants with patched knees. The rough wool blanket that's kept me from freezing through five winters.

"This can't be everything you own," she says, voice cracking. "Thalia, you can't go to the capital with just this."

"What else is there?" I'm sitting on the mattress, numb, watching her pack up a life that never really belonged to me anyway. "It's not like I had much to begin with."

Yara stops, turns to face me. Her copper curls are wild, her eyes red-rimmed. "You have to be careful. The capital, the royal court—those wolves are dangerous. They'll eat you alive if you show weakness."

"More dangerous than the Alpha King who just claimed me like property?" The bitterness in my voice could strip paint.

She flinches. "Thalia..."

"I'm sorry." I press my palms against my eyes, trying to hold back tears that won't help anything. "I'm sorry. You're just trying to help. I know that."

Yara sits beside me, taking my hand. Her touch is warm, steady—everything I'm not right now. "Tell me the truth. Please. There's something you're not saying. I can see it in your face."

For five years, I've kept the secret locked behind my teeth. Five years of biting my tongue, swallowing my rage, pretending to be nobody.

But Yara is the only friend I have. The only person in this goddess-forsaken pack who's shown me kindness.

She deserves the truth.

"My name isn't just Thalia," I hear myself whisper. "It's Thalia Silvercrest. Daughter of Alpha Marcus Silvercrest. Last surviving heir of the Silver Crest Pack."

The silence stretches between us like broken glass.

"The pack that was destroyed five years ago," Yara breathes. "The m******e. That was—oh, gods. Thalia, that was him. That was—"

"Draeven." His name tastes like ash and blood. "He led the attack himself. I watched from hiding while his forces slaughtered everyone I loved."

The memory hits like a fist to the gut:

I'm thirteen years old, crouched in the narrow crawl space beneath my parents' bed. Outside, the screams have stopped. There's just smoke and the crackle of flames and footsteps—so many footsteps.

Through the gap, I see boots. Black. Military-grade. They stop in the doorway.

"Alpha Marcus's quarters," a voice says. Young. Male. Cold. "Search everything. I want proof of the sedition."

More boots enter. They're tearing the room apart, looking for something. Documents? Evidence? I don't understand. My father wasn't a traitor. He was loyal to the crown. He—

"Your Majesty." Someone else, older. Deferential. "The pack is neutralized. No survivors found."

"Good." The young voice again—the one giving orders. "Burn it all. Every building, every record. I want no trace of Silver Crest left by dawn."

The boots turn to leave, and I catch a glimpse: a young man, maybe nineteen, with midnight-black hair and eyes that gleam silver even in the firelight. Devastatingly handsome. Absolutely merciless.

Alpha King Draeven Stormborn, newly ascended to the throne after his father's sudden death.

The monster who just ordered my family's extinction.

"How did you survive?" Yara's voice pulls me back to the present.

"I hid until they left. Then I ran." I pull up my sleeve, showing her the faded scar that runs from wrist to elbow. "Spent three months in the wilderness, barely surviving. When I finally found Crescent Moon, I claimed to be a rogue omega whose pack was destroyed by disease. No one questioned it."

"But you're not omega," Yara says slowly, understanding dawning. "You're Alpha-born. That means—"

"I've been suppressing my bloodline with nightshade and wolfsbane for five years." I gesture to the small pouch of dried herbs tucked into my bag. "Low doses. Enough to mask my scent, weaken my wolf, make me appear omega to anyone who doesn't look too closely."

It's been killing me slowly. I know that. The herbs are poison, and five years of steady consumption has taken its toll. But the alternative—being recognized as the Silver Crest heir—would have gotten me executed immediately.

"Thalia, this is—" Yara grips my shoulders. "You have to tell him. If he finds out you've been hiding this—"

"He won't." I meet her eyes, letting her see the steel beneath my fear. "He thinks I'm just some random omega. Let him believe it."

"Why? So you can what—kill him in his sleep?"

The question hangs between us.

Yes, part of me whispers. Exactly that.

"I don't know," I admit. "But maybe... maybe fate gave me this bond for a reason. Maybe I'm meant to be close to him. To learn his weaknesses. To—"

"To get yourself killed," Yara interrupts. "That's what you mean."

I don't answer, because she's probably right.

Instead, I reach for my mother's necklace—the silver moon that's never left my throat. My fingers find the tiny clasp I discovered years ago, the one that opens the hollow pendant.

Inside, folded smaller than should be possible, is paper.

"What is that?" Yara breathes.

"My mother's journal. Last pages." I unfold it carefully, the cramped handwriting blurring through my tears. "I've read it a thousand times. It doesn't make sense, but..."

I find the final entry, dated the day before the m******e:

"The prophecy speaks of two wolves bound by fate—one of light, one of shadow. The true Alpha Queen will rise not from strength, but from ashes. She will be both victim and victor, omega and origin. When the Blood Moon marks her, the kingdoms will tremble."

"The true Alpha Queen?" Yara reads over my shoulder. "Thalia, what does that—"

A knock on the door silences us both.

Not a tentative omega knock. A command.

"Miss Thalia." The voice is deep, controlled, unfamiliar. "I'm Beta Castor, second to the Alpha King. His Majesty requests your presence. Now."

My hands move on instinct, shoving the journal back into the pendant, snapping it shut. But when I look up, the door is already opening.

Beta Castor is tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and eyes like chips of amber. He radiates controlled power—not as overwhelming as Draeven, but still dangerous.

His gaze sweeps the room, cataloging everything in seconds: the sparse belongings, Yara's protective stance, my white-knuckled grip on the necklace.

His eyes linger there. On the silver moon against my throat.

"Interesting piece," he says softly. "Family heirloom?"

My mouth goes dry. "No. Just... something I found. Years ago."

"Mm." He doesn't sound convinced. "The Alpha King is waiting at the north gate. I suggest you don't keep him waiting longer. He's not known for his patience."

It's not a threat. Just a statement of fact. But it makes my skin crawl anyway.

"I'll be there," I manage. "Five minutes."

"Two." Castor's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "And Miss Thalia? The King asked me to remind you—running won't help. He'll find you. He always does."

He leaves, but the threat lingers like smoke.

Yara grabs my arm. "Thalia, that necklace—if they realize it's Silver Crest royal jewelry—"

"They won't." I tuck it back beneath my shirt, feeling the weight of my mother's words against my heart. "It's just a necklace. I'm just an omega. That's all anyone sees."

But as I shoulder my pathetic bag and walk toward the door—toward Draeven, toward the kingdom built on my family's bones—I can't shake the feeling that Beta Castor saw more than I wanted.

That he knows I'm hiding something.

And in Draeven's court, secrets don't stay buried for long.