Prisoner Of The Alpha

The Mark

Anong wiped the sweat from her brow as she walked back from the training yard. Her shoulders ached, her arms felt heavy, and her feet throbbed. Every day she trained, but she still felt small beside the werewolves. They were stronger, faster, more experienced. She was just a girl with no powers, no family near her, and no idea what tomorrow would bring.

Still, she didn’t give up.

She pushed open the wooden door to her room. It creaked the same way it always did, reminding her this place wasn't home. But it was quiet, and for now, it was hers. She dropped the training stick beside her bed and sat down slowly. Her body needed rest, but her mind was restless.

It had been two weeks now. Two long weeks since she was taken from her village.

She looked around the room. The same clay water jug in the corner. The same folded blanket on the small mattress. The same table where someone always left food she barely touched. Life had become a routine, but not one she accepted. Only one she was surviving.

There was a knock.

She didn't answer. The door opened anyway. It was Alpha Phayu.

Again.

She stood up slowly, keeping her distance.

"Why do you keep coming here?" she asked.

He stepped inside but didn’t close the door fully. "To see how you’re doing."

"You could send someone else."

"I could," he said. "But I want to hear from you."

She crossed her arms. "I’m not one of your wolves. You don’t have to act like you care."

Phayu looked at her for a long time. "I never said I cared."

That silence again. The one that always made her feel like he knew something she didn’t.

He reached into his pocket and brought out something small and black. A stone? No, it was flat, smooth, and round like a seal.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked.

She shook her head.

He stepped closer. "It’s a pack mark. For those we choose to protect."

Anong blinked. "So? What does that have to do with me?"

He placed it on the table. "The elders want you marked."

Her heart skipped. "What?"

"It’s not a bite," he said quickly. "It’s a symbol. Burned into the skin. To show you are under protection."

She backed away. "I didn’t ask for protection."

"You don’t have to. It’s not a choice anymore."

She shook her head. "You can’t just burn something into me like I belong here."

"You don’t belong here," he said calmly. "But the mark means others can’t touch you. No other Alpha can claim you, and no wolf can harm you."

Anong clenched her jaw. "Is that what you all do? Brand people like animals?"

Phayu picked up the seal and turned to leave. At the door, he said, "Think about it. I’ll return tomorrow."

She didn’t sleep that night.

The idea of the mark haunted her. She didn’t want anything to do with wolves. She didn’t trust them. But if this protection kept her safe, even for a little while, was it better than nothing?

She sat by the small window, hugging her knees to her chest. The stars above were sharp and bright. She remembered her sister used to believe stars were wishes that came true.

Anong hadn’t wished for anything in a long time.

The next morning, she was taken to the main house.

Phayu waited inside, the seal in his hand. There was a fire burning in a metal bowl. Smoke rose, and the air smelled like herbs and ash.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

She looked around. A warrior stood at the back. Orasa. Another guard stood near the door.

Anong took a deep breath.

"Do it," she said.

Phayu didn’t smile, but his eyes softened.

He dipped the seal into the fire until it glowed red, then pressed it to the side of her upper arm.

The pain shot through her like lightning.

She bit her lip hard, refusing to scream.

When it was over, she looked at the mark—a small round symbol with sharp lines. Not beautiful, but clear.

Permanent.

Phayu handed her a cloth with medicine. She took it without a word and walked out.

The wind outside felt cooler now, but her arm burned.

As she walked through the training ground, people turned to look at her. Some nodded, others just stared. She felt different. Not stronger. Not safer. Just... noticed.

That evening, she found a new dress on her bed—dark green, soft, simple.

She didn’t ask who left it.

She wore it.

She stood in front of the small mirror and looked at herself. The mark peeked out from under the sleeve. Her face looked tired but sharper. Stronger.

She was still a prisoner.

But something was changing.