Marked By The Alpha

Chapter Seventeen - The Shadow at the Gate

The night was unnervingly quiet.

Too quiet.

Ivy walked the length of the packhouse balcony, her gaze sweeping the village below. Lanterns flickered faintly in the windows, but most of the pack was asleep, trying to cling to normalcy in the wake of Arthur’s invasion. Yet silence pressed heavy against her ears, so thick it felt unnatural.

Selra prowled in her head, restless. The forest is holding its breath. Something’s coming.

Ivy gripped the railing, fighting the shiver running down her spine. “I can feel it too,” she whispered. The mark pulsed faintly against her skin, as though answering.

Michael appeared beside her, his presence grounding, though tension lined his broad shoulders. “Scouts haven’t reported movement in the last hour,” he said, his voice calm but edged with unease.

“Maybe they’re just hiding better,” Ivy murmured.

His golden eyes flicked toward her. “Or maybe they’re planning something worse.”

---

The alarm sounded moments later.

A wolf’s howl, sharp and urgent, cut through the night. Then another, then a chorus, echoing across the forest. Ivy’s heart lurched as warriors poured from their homes, shifting mid-stride, golden and silver fur flashing in the moonlight.

Michael’s wolf surged forward before her eyes, his form massive, fur like burnished bronze under the moon. He leapt from the balcony, landing in a crouch that shook the earth, and barked an order that sent his warriors scattering into formation.

Ivy raced after him, Selra rising within her, ready to fight.

But when they reached the edge of the village, there were no rogues. No blood. No attack.

Only a body.

---

The corpse of a warrior lay sprawled across the dirt path, eyes wide in death, his throat torn open. His scent was still fresh, blood glistening in the moonlight. Around him, runes carved into the earth smoldered faintly, symbols Ivy didn’t recognize.

Her stomach churned. “What is this?”

Michael crouched beside the body, his nostrils flaring as he took in the scent. Fury hardened his jaw. “It’s him. Arthur.”

The air grew heavier, the runes flickering brighter as though feeding on the corpse. Ivy staggered back, bile rising in her throat. She could feel Arthur’s energy here, clinging to the ground, curling through the air like smoke.

And then she heard it.

A voice.

“Ivy.”

Her head whipped around. The sound hadn’t come from her ears—it had come from inside her. Smooth and cruel, Arthur’s voice slipped into her mind like silk.

“Did you like my gift? He was loyal, wasn’t he? So easy to break when he thought he could protect you.”

Her chest tightened, fury and grief battling in her veins. Get out of my head.

Arthur chuckled, low and dark. “I’m not in your head, little Luna. I’m here.”

The forest seemed to shift, shadows curling at the edges. And then she saw him.

Arthur stood just beyond the runes, tall and unhurried, his crimson eyes burning like embers in the dark. His presence was overwhelming, so sharp it stole her breath. Rogues flanked him, silent and still, their eyes reflecting the same unholy glow.

Michael growled, his wolf bristling, his body coiled to strike.

But Arthur lifted a hand, calm and almost mocking. “Now, now,” he drawled, his voice carrying easily across the clearing. “Do you really want to risk their lives, Alpha? Because every warrior here will die before they reach me. You know it.”

The rogues shifted, muscles taut, waiting.

Michael’s growl deepened, but he didn’t move.

Arthur’s eyes slid to Ivy, the mark between them flaring hot, and her knees nearly buckled. His smile was slow, devastating. “Ivy.” His voice caressed her name. “Come to me, and I’ll spare them.”

The world tilted. She felt the pull like gravity itself, the mark burning against her skin, urging her forward. Her breath caught as her body leaned, her wolf screaming inside her.

Michael barked sharply, snapping her back. “Don’t listen to him!”

Arthur’s gaze sharpened, crimson fire flaring. “You feel it, don’t you? The bond. You can’t deny it.” His voice dropped lower, intimate, dangerous. “You’re mine, Ivy. And every time you resist, more blood will spill.”

Her heart hammered. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was wrong—but Selra snarled in her mind, torn between fury and temptation.

He’s lying, Selra growled. He wants you to believe you have no choice.

But Arthur’s words wrapped around Ivy like chains, his presence searing through her, and the memory of the dead warrior’s glassy eyes seared into her mind.

Michael’s wolf stepped closer to her, pressing against her side, a wall of protection and defiance. “You won’t touch her,” he snarled, his voice carrying in his half-shift. “Not while I’m breathing.”

Arthur tilted his head, his smile widening. “Ah, but that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re breathing now. But for how long?”

The rogues shifted suddenly, growls ripping through the clearing. Warriors clashed in a blur of fur and blood, the night exploding into chaos. Ivy’s body surged with Selra’s strength, claws bursting from her fingers, teeth aching as she half-shifted.

Arthur moved with terrifying grace, a blur of dark power. He didn’t fight like a wolf—he fought like something older, something wrong. Every blow he struck left warriors broken, his crimson eyes fixed on Ivy as though no one else mattered.

She slashed through two rogues, Selra howling in her veins, but Arthur’s presence pressed closer and closer.

And then he was there.

His hand closed around her wrist, his grip like iron, and the world stilled.

The mark between them flared white-hot, flooding her with heat so intense it stole her breath. Her wolf staggered, snarling but weakening, caught between fight and surrender.

Arthur leaned closer, his lips near her ear. “See how easily you come to me?” he whispered.

Ivy’s chest heaved, her claws trembling against his skin. The bond screamed for her to submit, to fall into him. For a heartbeat, she nearly did.

But then she heard Michael’s voice—furious, desperate. “Ivy! Fight him!”

The sound of it cut through the haze.

With a roar, Selra surged forward, Ivy’s claws raking across Arthur’s chest. His smile faltered as her strike connected, blood blooming against his skin. He staggered back, surprise flashing in his crimson eyes.

The warriors pressed in, Michael slamming into Arthur with bone-crushing force. The impact shook the ground, their clash sending shockwaves through the clearing.

Arthur snarled, his eyes blazing, but instead of finishing the fight, he laughed—a low, chilling sound.

“Next time, little Luna,” he said, his voice carrying over the chaos. “You won’t resist me.”

And then he vanished into shadow, his rogues melting into the forest with him, leaving only blood and broken bodies behind.

---

The battlefield was silent except for the ragged breaths of the survivors. Warriors lay wounded, some too still. The scent of blood clung heavy in the air.

Ivy fell to her knees, shaking violently, her body still burning from Arthur’s touch. Selra panted in her mind, exhausted but alive.

Michael shifted back to his human form, blood streaking his skin, his chest heaving. He crouched beside her, cupping her face in his trembling hands. His golden eyes burned with fierce relief—and fear.

“You fought him,” he whispered, his voice raw. “You didn’t give in.”

Tears blurred her vision as she clung to him, every part of her shaking. “But I wanted to,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “For a moment, I wanted to.”

Michael pressed his forehead to hers, his breath hot against her lips. “Wanting isn’t surrender. You chose me. You chose us. That’s what matters.”

But deep inside, Ivy couldn’t shake the echo of Arthur’s laugh, the heat of his grip, the terrifying truth of the bond that tethered them.

She had resisted tonight.

But how many more times could she?