When the Alpha Falls

Chapter 2.

Chapter Two

My boots skid on the cliff’s edge as I drop to Lysa’s side, my heart hammering. Her blood soaks the grass, dark and glistening under the moonlight. Her braids are tangled, her face pale, but her chest rises faintly—she’s alive, barely. My runes flare, burning under my skin, and I grit my teeth against the pain. The dragon magic is restless, clawing at me like it senses the danger before I do.

“Zephyr, guard the perimeter,” I snap, my voice sharper than I mean. He nods, his massive form slinking into the shadows, amber eyes scanning the forest. Cinder crouches beside me, her crimson scales glowing faintly, her snout nudging Lysa’s arm.

“She’s bad off,” Cinder says, her voice tight in my mind. “Smells like poison. Not a normal blade.”

“Poison?” I mutter, my hands hovering over Lysa’s wound. The gash is deep, slicing through her leather armor, and a faint green shimmer clings to the edges. My stomach twists. This isn’t just an attack—it’s calculated. Someone wanted her dead, and they’re still out there. Those violet eyes flash in my memory, cold and unnatural, and Varkoth’s whisper echoes again: You cannot escape me, Starborn.

“Stay with me, Lysa,” I say, pressing my hands to her wound. My runes pulse, and I channel a trickle of dragon magic, just enough to slow the bleeding. It’s risky—every use of the runes drains me, and I’m already shaky from the arena’s display. But I can’t let her die. Not when she’s one of the few Alphas who didn’t sneer at me tonight.

Lysa’s eyes flutter open, glassy with pain. “Sera…” she rasps, her voice barely a whisper. “It was… her. The hunter.”

“Who?” I lean closer, my pulse racing. “Who did this?”

“Elyra,” she chokes out, her hand gripping my wrist. “Goddess-touched… she’s coming… for you.”

My blood runs cold. Elyra. The name hits like a blade. I’ve heard whispers in the Shadowlands—tales of an assassin blessed by the old gods, a shadow who kills without mercy. If she’s here, it’s not just for Lysa. It’s for me. For my blood. For Varkoth.

“Sera!” Kaelron’s voice cuts through the night, heavy with urgency. I glance up to see him sprinting toward us, his black armor glinting, his elite guard at his heels. The sight of him twists something in my chest—anger, longing, betrayal, all tangled in the fractured mate bond. I shove it down, focusing on Lysa.

“Stay back!” I shout, but he doesn’t listen, dropping to his knees beside me. His silver eyes flick from Lysa’s wound to my face, and for a moment, I see it—fear, raw and real. Not for her. For me.

“What happened?” he demands, his voice low, but there’s a tremor in it. “Who did this?”

“Elyra,” I say, the name bitter on my tongue. “Your Summit’s not as safe as you think, Alpha King.”

His jaw clenches, and he glances at his guard. “Fan out. Find the attacker. Now.”

The guards scatter, their weapons drawn, but I know they won’t find her. Elyra’s a ghost, and those violet eyes don’t belong to someone who gets caught. Cinder growls, her tail lashing, and I feel her anger through our bond. “Let me hunt her,” she says, her voice a snarl. “I’ll rip her apart.”

“Not yet,” I mutter, my hands still on Lysa. The poison’s spreading—she’s shaking now, her breath shallow. I need to stabilize her, but my runes are screaming, the magic pulling at my life force. I bite my lip, tasting blood, and push harder. A faint silver glow wraps around Lysa’s wound, sealing it just enough to keep her alive.

Kaelron watches, his eyes narrowing. “You’re hurting yourself,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. “Sera, stop.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I snap, but my voice cracks, betraying me. The bond pulses, and I hate how it makes me feel him—his worry, his guilt. I pull my hands back, panting, and Lysa’s breathing steadies. She’s out cold, but she’ll live. For now.

Kaelron reaches for me, his hand brushing my arm. My runes flare, burning his fingers, and he yanks back with a hiss. “Damn it, Sera,” he says, his voice rough. “You can’t keep doing this. Whatever that magic is, it’s killing you.”

I laugh, sharp and bitter, standing to face him. “You don’t get to care now, Kaelron. Five years ago, you didn’t give a damn if I lived or died. Don’t start pretending you do.”

His face twists, pain flashing in his eyes. “I was wrong,” he says, stepping closer despite Cinder’s warning growl. “I’ve spent every day since regretting it. I searched for you—every realm, every border. I thought you were dead.”

“Good,” I say, my voice cold. “Maybe you should’ve left it that way.”

He flinches, and for a moment, I see the boy I once glimpsed behind the Alpha King’s mask—vulnerable, lost. But I don’t care. Not anymore. I turn to Zephyr, who’s returned from the perimeter, his scales blending with the night. “Anything?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he rumbles, his amber eyes glinting. “But the forest reeks of divine magic. She’s close.”

“Elyra,” I mutter, my mind racing. If she’s goddess-touched, she’s not just a hired blade. The old gods don’t send assassins lightly. My blood, the key to Varkoth’s prison, must be why she’s here. And if Lorcan’s smirk in the arena is any clue, he might be involved. I don’t trust that snake.

“Sera,” Kaelron says, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Let me help. Whatever’s happening, you don’t have to face it alone.”

I whirl on him, my runes flaring again. “Help?” I spit. “Like you helped me when you stood before the Stone and called me unfit? When you banished me to the Shadowlands to die? You don’t get to play hero now, Kaelron.”

He steps closer, undeterred, his eyes locked on mine. “I know I broke you,” he says, his voice raw. “But I’m not that man anymore. Let me prove it.”

The bond tugs, hard, and I hate how it makes my heart stutter. I want to scream, to hit him, to make him feel the years of pain I carried. But there’s no time. A rustle in the trees snaps my attention, and Zephyr’s head jerks up, his growl shaking the ground.

“Starborn,” he says, his voice urgent. “We’re not alone.”

Cinder’s scales flare, and I spin, my runes burning as I scan the forest. Shadows move, too fast, too many. My heart pounds, and Varkoth’s whisper slithers through my mind again, louder this time: They come for you, Starborn. They always will.

“Sera, get behind me,” Kaelron says, drawing his sword, but I shove past him, my hands glowing with silver light.

“I don’t need your protection,” I snap, my voice steady despite the fear clawing at me. The shadows resolve into figures—cloaked, armed, their eyes glinting with that same violet hue. There’s at least a dozen, and at their center, a woman steps forward. Her jet-black hair is cropped short, her violet eyes glowing like twin stars. Elyra. Her rune-etched armor shifts like liquid, and her daggers hum with celestial energy.

“Starborn,” she says, her voice smooth and cold, like ice on a blade. “Your blood belongs to the gods.”

My runes blaze, and I feel the dragon magic surge, unstable and wild. Cinder roars, lunging forward, but Elyra moves faster, her dagger flashing. A burst of divine light slams into Cinder, sending her skidding across the cliff. Zephyr bellows, his wings flaring, but the cloaked figures close in, their blades drawn.

“Sera!” Kaelron shouts, his sword clashing with one of the attackers. He fights like a storm, all power and precision, but there are too many. My vision blurs as my runes burn hotter, the magic tearing at my insides. I can’t hold it much longer.

Elyra steps closer, her eyes locked on mine. “You can’t run from fate,” she says, her voice almost sad. “The gods demand your blood, and I will deliver it.”

I raise my hands, silver light pooling in my palms, but my knees buckle, the magic draining me. Varkoth’s voice roars in my head, drowning out everything: Give in, Starborn. Become mine.

The world tilts, and I stumble, my vision darkening. Kaelron’s shout is distant, Cinder’s roar a faint echo. Elyra’s dagger rises, aimed for my heart, and I know I can’t stop her. Not like this. Not alone.

But then, a deafening roar splits the night, and a wave of fire erupts from the forest. Zephyr’s wings blot out the stars as he dives, his claws slashing through the cloaked figures. Elyra leaps back, her eyes narrowing, but she doesn’t retreat. She smiles—a cold, predatory grin—and vanishes into the shadows, her voice lingering: “This isn’t over, Starborn.”

The attackers scatter, and I collapse, my runes dimming. Kaelron’s arms catch me, his warmth grounding me even as I hate it. “Sera, stay with me,” he says, his voice breaking.

I want to push him away, but I’m too weak. My eyes meet Zephyr’s, and I see the fear in his amber gaze. The forest is quiet now, but Elyra’s words echo in my mind, and Varkoth’s whisper grows louder, a promise of chaos. I clutch Kaelron’s arm, my voice a ragged whisper. “She’s coming back,” I say. “And she’s not alone.”