When the Alpha Falls

Chapter 3.

Chapter Three

The world swims back into focus, a haze of pain and heat. My runes throb, a dull ache that pulses in time with my heartbeat. I’m lying on something soft—furs, maybe—and the air smells of pine and blood. Kaelron’s scent is everywhere, wrapping around me like a chain I can’t break. My eyes flutter open, and I see him, kneeling beside me, his silver gaze locked on my face. His hand hovers over my arm, hesitant, like he’s afraid I’ll burn him again. I want to hate how his worry makes my chest ache, but the mate bond hums, traitorously alive.

“You’re awake,” he says, his voice rough, like he’s been shouting. Or pleading. “Thank the gods.”

“Don’t thank them,” I croak, pushing myself up. My head spins, and I grip the edge of the fur-lined cot. We’re in a tent—his, probably, judging by the royal crest embroidered on the walls. Candlelight flickers, casting shadows over his scarred jaw and the tension in his shoulders. “The gods aren’t on our side.”

“Sera, what the hell happened out there?” he asks, leaning closer. Too close. I flinch, and he pulls back, his hands clenching into fists. “Elyra, the ambush—how do you know her?”

“I don’t,” I snap, my voice sharper than I mean. My runes pulse, a warning of the magic still churning inside me. I can still hear Varkoth’s voice, a low growl in the back of my mind: You are mine. I shove it down, focusing on Kaelron. “Lysa said her name. Said she’s goddess-touched. That’s all I know.”

He frowns, his eyes searching mine. “Lysa’s stable, thanks to you. But the poison… it’s not normal. My healers can’t identify it.”

I nod, my stomach twisting. Poison, divine blades, violet-eyed assassins—this isn’t just a random attack. Elyra’s after my blood, and if she’s working for the old gods, they know what I am. What I carry. I glance at my hands, the runes faint but glowing under my skin. The dragon magic saved Lysa, but it’s killing me, and I can’t tell him that. Not when he’s looking at me like I’m his salvation.

“Where are my dragons?” I ask, my voice steady despite the panic creeping in.

“Outside,” Kaelron says, nodding toward the tent’s flap. “Guarding you. They wouldn’t let anyone else near.”

“Good,” I mutter, swinging my legs off the cot. My body protests, every muscle screaming, but I force myself to stand. I can’t stay here, not with him, not with the bond pulling at me like a noose. “I need to see them.”

“Sera, you’re not well,” he says, standing too, his height towering over me. “You collapsed. Whatever that magic is, it’s—”

“None of your business,” I cut him off, my voice cold. “You don’t get to play protector now, Kaelron. You lost that right when you threw me to the wolves.”

His face twists, pain flashing in his eyes. “I know,” he says, his voice low. “I know what I did. But I’m trying to fix it. Let me help you.”

I laugh, sharp and bitter, and step toward the tent flap. “Fix it? You can’t fix five years of exile. You can’t fix the nights I starved, the days I bled, the moment I stopped being human.” My voice breaks, and I hate it. I hate how he makes me feel—raw, exposed, like the girl I used to be.

“Sera,” he says, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. He steps closer, and the bond flares, warm and aching. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. Not yet. Just… let me keep you alive.”

I freeze, my hand on the flap. His words hit harder than I expect, stirring something I buried long ago. I want to scream at him, to tell him he doesn’t get to care, but the bond tugs, and I feel his guilt, his desperation. It’s suffocating. I shove the flap open, needing air, needing distance.

Outside, the night is cold, the Blackwood forest looming like a living thing. Zephyr and Cinder are curled around the tent, their scales glinting in the moonlight. Zephyr’s amber eyes meet mine, calm but watchful. Cinder’s tail flicks, her emerald gaze burning with restless energy.

“You scared us, Starborn,” Zephyr says, his voice a low rumble in my mind. “Your magic’s too wild. You pushed too hard.”

“I had to,” I say, resting a hand on his snout. His warmth steadies me, but my runes throb, a reminder of the cost. “Lysa would’ve died.”

Cinder snorts, a puff of smoke curling from her nostrils. “And you almost did. Next time, let me burn the b***h first.”

I smile, despite myself. “Noted.”

Footsteps crunch behind me, and I don’t need to turn to know it’s Kaelron. His presence is a weight, a storm I can’t escape. “Sera,” he says, his voice quieter now. “We need to talk about Elyra. If she’s goddess-touched, she’s not working alone. The Summit’s not safe.”

“No s**t,” I say, turning to face him. His armor is scuffed, blood smeared on his sleeve—Lysa’s, probably, or one of the attackers’. He looks exhausted, but his eyes are sharp, locked on me. “What do you know about her?”

“Not enough,” he admits, running a hand through his dark hair. “The old gods haven’t been active in centuries. If they’re sending assassins, it’s because of you. What are you, Sera? What did you become out there?”

I tense, my runes flaring. He’s too close to the truth, and I can’t let him see it—not the dragon ritual, not Varkoth’s mark. “I became what I had to,” I say, my voice low. “To survive you.”

He flinches, and for a moment, I almost feel guilty. Almost. Then I remember the sacred grove, his venomous words, the crowd’s laughter. I step closer, my voice dropping to a hiss. “You want to help? Stay out of my way. I’m here for the Stone, not your redemption.”

“Sera—” he starts, but a shout cuts him off. One of his guards sprints from the forest, his face pale, his sword drawn.

“My lord!” the guard calls, his voice shaking. “It’s Lorcan. He’s gone.”

Kaelron’s eyes narrow. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

“He was seen leaving the Summit,” the guard says, breathless. “With cloaked figures. They headed for the Ashen Wastes.”

My blood chills. Lorcan. That smirk in the arena, the way he said Starborn—he knows something. Maybe everything. I glance at Zephyr, and his amber eyes confirm my fear. “The Wastes,” I mutter. “That’s where the Stone is.”

Kaelron’s head snaps to me. “You knew?”

“I know a lot you don’t,” I say, my voice steady despite the panic rising in my chest. If Lorcan’s headed for the Stone, he’s not just betraying Kaelron—he’s after me. My blood. Varkoth. And Elyra’s out there, waiting to strike.

“We need to move,” I say, turning to my dragons. “Now.”

“Sera, wait,” Kaelron says, grabbing my arm. My runes flare, burning him, but he doesn’t let go. “You’re not going alone. Not after that ambush.”

I yank my arm free, my heart pounding. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m not losing you again,” he says, his voice raw, and the bond surges, a wave of warmth and pain that nearly buckles my knees. I hate him for it. I hate how he makes me feel—alive, broken, human.

Before I can answer, a low hum fills the air, like a heartbeat from the earth itself. My runes burn, and Varkoth’s voice roars in my mind, louder than ever: They’re coming, Starborn. You cannot hide.

The ground trembles, and Cinder’s roar splits the night. Shadows move in the forest—more cloaked figures, their violet eyes glowing like Elyra’s. But this time, there’s something else—a massive shape, hulking and wrong, its eyes burning red. Not human. Not divine. Something worse.

“Sera!” Kaelron shouts, drawing his sword as the guards form a line. Zephyr and Cinder position themselves in front of me, their scales flaring.

My runes blaze, the magic tearing at me, but I raise my hands, silver light pooling in my palms. “Stay back,” I say, my voice shaking but firm. The creature in the forest roars, a sound that rattles my bones, and Varkoth’s whisper becomes a scream: You are mine!