The Rogue Alpha and The Mute Omega

Chapter 2

Hunger and a burning thirst finally came upon me like a pair of gnawing beasts.

I did not know how long I had run blindly through the woods, but when I finally gathered the strength to look up, the position of the moon told me it had been for a very long time. The silver orb had traveled past its zenith, casting long, shadows across the forest floor.

Hunger and thirst were not the only things of worry.

There were deep cuts all over my skin, raw and stinging from the jagged thorns in the brambles that I had careened into during my frantic escape.

Under normal circumstances, the blood of a wolf would have already begun its work, knitting the flesh back together.

But the cuts were not healing. Not even slowly. The rejection had severed the bond to my inner beast, leaving me as fragile and slow-healing as a common mortal.

And it was not only my skin that the thorns had made ruinous work of.

My once beautiful blue ceremonial garment—the robe meant to signify my ascent to Luna—was torn in different areas, shredded into pathetic rags.

The silk hung in tatters, exposing a lot of my skin to the harsh, biting cold of the midnight wind. Every gust that slapped against my bare flesh was a cruel reminder of the public humiliation I had just witnessed, a physical echo of Bjorn’s betrayal.

My strength slowly left me, dripping away into the dark loam beneath my feet, until my knees buckled and I fell heavily to the ground.

My breathing slowed, shallow and ragged, as I stared up through the branches at the distant sky. My mind, swirling in a vortex of grief, hammered the same desperate questions over and over, hoping the Moon Goddess would answer.

Why? Why had Bjorn chosen a night of such importance and great history to reject me?

Why build me up to the very pinnacle of the pack’s hierarchy only to cast me down into the dirt before the eyes of everyone who despised me?

The sides of my eyes stung with unshed tears as the memories of what I thought we shared flowed through my mind like a mocking river.

I remembered the quiet nights when the pack was asleep, the nights we would sit together on the hand-carved oaken bench on his large porch, gazing out at the star-strewn sky.

"You see that one over the eastern ridge?" Bjorn would whisper, pointing to a single, brilliantly radiant star. "It compares not to your beauty, my love. Its light is dim compared to what I see in your eyes."

I would smile and would swoon in the soft, protective embrace that always accompanied such poetic words. In those moments, he was my only comfort, my solitary ray of hope in a village filled with cold shoulder and ancient hatred for my silence. I had trusted him entirely.

And then came that night. The night when he took my purity in his private bedchamber.

It had started with a sharp, blinding pain, which came as a terrifying surprise to me. Guila had never taught me about the biology of my own body, let alone the sacred importance of what I was to lose that night. I had wept from the sudden shock of it.

But Bjorn had been tender then. He had leaned down, kissing my hot tears away, whispering into my hair, "It is alright, my love. Be strong for me. The pain will pass."

And so the pain had passed, melting away into something fierce and pleasurable. Because it was him. Because I believed with every fiber of my being that he was my fated mate, the other half of my soul.

My eyes closed finally, the weight of the memories too heavy to bear. The evening wind beat further against my exposed skin, and the tiny stones on the forest floor stabbed into my flesh, adding more agony to the wounds birthed by the cuts from the thorns.

The will to live slowly faded into the dark earth, and I prayed in the silent spaces of my mind that the Moon Goddess would find it fit to simply end it all. I welcomed the numbness.

The snapping of a dry twig broke the silence. Footsteps came from somewhere deep in the woods.

My eyelids felt too heavy to open, weighted down by exhaustion and trauma, so I relied entirely on my ears.

The heavy, dragging footsteps—which announced the arrival of more than one person—grew louder, trampling the undergrowth, and then suddenly halted a few paces away.

"Look lads, there lies a woman," a gruff, gravelly voice spoke, smelling heavily of stale ale. "Or my eyes must be playing tricks on me in the dark. I’ve lost count of how much wine I took at the crossroads tavern."

"No, it is not your sight," came the sharper voice of another man. "No amount of wine is strong enough to cause such trick of the mind. It is indeed a woman. A young one, by the looks of her."

"Is she still alive?" a third voice spoke, his tone dripping with a sinister curiosity.

The footsteps began again, closer this time, before halting directly before my prone form. Thick, ragged breathing rained down from above me.

"Indeed, she is still alive," the first voice spoke, a boot nudging my hip. "Her chest is rising."

"What is a maiden doing out here past the boundary stones?"

"Who knows? But one thing is certain. She is a rare beauty."

"Indeed." A rough, calloused hand touched my face, fingers tracing my jawline with a greasy familiarity. "She must have run away from one of the border lords."

"A pity for her." Another hand, large and filthy, grabbed brutally onto my breast through the torn fabric of my robe. "And good fortune for us. How much silver do you think a piece like her would fetch in the slave markets back in the walled town?"

Terror struck my heart. Every instinct screamed at me to fight, to flee, but my attempts to move were utterly useless. My limbs were like lead.

In a panic, I tried to reach deep within my spirit to summon my wolf, to beg her for a surge of adrenaline, but no response came from the hollow emptiness inside me. I was completely alone.

"There are wounds on her skin ." Calloused hands danced uncomfortably down my thighs, gripping the flesh tightly, and then began to spread them apart. "But she is still fresh. And her body is exquisite, built like a high-born lady. She will fetch a high fortune from the merchant guilds."

"But you know what is better?" Another chuckled, his hand grabbing onto my other breast, squeezing until it bruised. "Why not test the equipment ourselves first, to see her true worth? Then we can take her to town and sell her off. This, my lads, is a win for us all."

Their crude, guttural laughter echoed through the trees, matching the suffocating darkness of the woods. My thighs were parted wider against the damp earth, and the distinct, terrifying sound of a leather belt unfastening clinked in the quiet air.

"Make sure not to tarry too long," the second voice spoke, a wicked anticipation in his breath.

"I cannot make such a promise," the first man growled, his heavy weight shifting over me. My thighs were spread wider still. "With a body like this, I intend to enjoy my fill for as long as possible."

The collective laughter of the bandits rung into the air again, loud and mocking.

'Goddess, please help me,' I sent a frantic, weeping prayer to the very entity that I had prayed to earlier to take my life.

Now, faced with the horrific reality of desecration, the primal urge to survive flared.

I had already been broken and humiliated once tonight in the village. I did not know how much more shame my heart could take before it stopped beating entirely.

A low, vibrating growl suddenly tore through the darkness of the woods. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated malice—so deep it vibrated through the earth itself.

The laughter of the men came to an abrupt halt.

"What... what was that?" one of the voices shook, his bravado vanishing in an instant.

Immediately, my thighs were released from his tight hold. The hands that had grabbed my breasts departed so quickly it felt as though they had been burned by holy fire.

"Is it a bear?" the third voice whispered.

"No. It is something larger."

"What...what...what could be bigger than a bear?" The voice of the second man shook violently.

Despite the heavy, terrified thundering of my heart within my ribs, I still could not force my eyes to open. The only thing that portrayed the absolute terror consuming me was the violent trembling of my lips.

Suddenly, the ground beneath me shook as if something incredibly heavy had dropped from the high branches.

And then came a louder growl, so menacing and filled with ancient dominance that it tore through my skin and shook the very marrow of my bones.

"It's the devil!" a man cried out, his voice cracking into a high-pitched scream. "Kill it! Kill—"

"We have no weapons. Run—"

I heard nothing else but immediate, blood-curdling cries of agony and terror.

What followed was a chaotic symphony of violence: the sickening snap of bones, the tearing of heavy cloth, and the wet, brutal sounds of flesh being rent apart under a monstrous weight. A singular, terrifying snarling punctuated the slaughter. It all happened so swiftly, lasting no longer than a dozen frantic heartbeats.

And then came the silence.

It was a long, suffocating silence that sent my fingers trembling against the cold dirt. The scent of copper and fresh, hot blood flooded my nose, replacing the smell of stale ale.

'Goddess, what is happening?' I thought, half paralyzed by fear and half angry that my eyes were still unable to open, that my strength had still not returned to my body.

The low growl came again, silencing my internal worries and instantly increasing my visceral fear. At the same time, it served as a grim revelation of who had emerged as the victor of the brief skirmish.

The heavy, deliberate footsteps began to approach my way. With each footstep came a low, rumbling vibration in the dirt beneath my head. Whoever—or whatever—approached trod with an eerie caution, a slow stealth.

But it didn't need to mimic a predator stalking prey. I was harmless and defenseless before it.

And then, the footsteps came to a sudden halt directly by my head. The hot, heavy breathing washed over my face, followed by a soft, guttural vibration.

I tried with all my remaining might to hold my breath, compressing my chest.

'If I pretend to be dead, if I remain completely still, it will lose interest and go away,' I thought.

Suddenly, something cold and wet pressed against the sensitive skin of my neck, and then trailed up to my cheek. A loud, cavernous sniffing followed, the beast inhaling my scent deeply, before releasing a low, resonant growl. It was not a menacing sound, nor was it the sound of something preparing to feed. It was merely curious. Profoundly ancient.

Before I could wonder what sort of creature stood over me, I was suddenly lifted entirely off the hard ground.

I did not feel the tearing of claws or the bite of teeth. Instead, I was cradled with a strange, possessive gentleness. My face was pressed against something incredibly soft and thick. It felt like a magnificent winter cloak made of heavy, pristine fur. The scent of winter frost, pine needles, and an overwhelming, dominant power enveloped my senses.

And slowly, I was carried away. As my consciousness began to fade into a merciful gray numbness, the last words in my thoughts formed a single, haunting question.

'What new suffering awaited me in the dark?'