Beneath the Alpha's Burden

The screaming had stopped.

Not because the terror was over, but because the only people left in the village were either dead... or watching from the shadows.

Selene crouched low in the charred remains of what used to be the healer's hut. Smoke coiled around her torn dress, stinging her lungs with every breath. Ash clung to her hair like snow, and the coppery tang of blood still coated her tongue.

She did not remember when her legs had stopped working. Maybe it was when she saw her father fall, his body pierced by the claws of a beast that stood taller than any man she had ever known. Maybe it was when her mother screamed her name one last time before vanishing into flame. Or maybe it was when she realised the moon was full, and that meant only one thing.

The Bloodfang Pack had come.

And they were not here for mercy.

"Found her", a voice snapped from the other side of the broken wall.

Before Selene could even rise, two strong arms yanked her out into the open. She thrashed instinctively, her fingers clawing at the stranger's leathers, but it was no use. She was limp from exhaustion. Her nails scraped skin, but he did not flinch.

"You are a wild one," the man muttered, slinging her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. "Alpha said to bring back survivors. You will do."

She tried to scream, but her throat was raw. Instead, a soft, strangled cry escaped her lips.

No one answered it.

Not the moon.

Not the ashes.

Not the gods.

They travelled in silence through the ruined forest, the pack moving like shadows among the trees. Selene's wrists were bound, and her feet dragged behind her, half-limp, half-conscious. She heard the snapping of branches under padded paws, and occasionally the low growl of a creature not fully wolf, not fully man.

They did not speak to her.

They did not speak to each other.

The Alpha was at the front, cloaked in black, riding a horse that looked like it had been bred for war. Selene could not see his face, only the way others bowed their heads as he passed. Even wolves lowered their eyes. It was the kind of power that made the earth itself seem quieter around him.

She hated him already.

And she feared him more than death.

The Bloodfang Fortress was unlike anything Selene had imagined. Not just stone and gates, but massive towers lined with glowing symbols, cold steel bars, and deep howls echoing in the dark. It sat high on the cliffs, where the wind always smelled like frost and fire.

They didn't take her to a cell.

They took her to the Hall of the Marked.

It was a long room filled with silence and shame. Dozens of young women knelt in rows, each wearing the same grey tunic. Some had tear-streaked faces. Others stared blankly at the walls, as if their minds had escaped long before their bodies could.

A woman in red robes approached her. Not old, but not young either. Her eyes scanned Selene like she was reading her future from her bones.

"Name?" she asked sharply.

Selene hesitated. Her voice was cracked, weak.

"Selene."

The woman scribbled something on a parchment.

"No family?"

"They are dead."

A pause. Then a nod.

"You will be assigned to service. Obey, or you'll find the wolves are kinder than we are."

She marked Selene's arm with a glowing sigil that burned without fire. Selene gasped, but said nothing. She would not give them the sound of her pain.

That was the moment she stopped being Selene of Oakmere.

And became the servant of Bloodfang.

Weeks passed.

She scrubbed floors slick with dirt, polished the massive iron chandeliers, washed the torn uniforms of warrior-wolves who never smiled. Some of the women whispered of escape, but those who tried never returned.

Selene spoke to no one. Her silence became her armour.

Then, one morning, a summons came.

"Selene," barked the steward. "The Alpha has requested a new attendant. You've been chosen."

Chosen. The word echoed through her ribs like a warning.

She almost asked why. She did not.

They brought her to the western wing, dark, quiet, and colder than the rest. The halls were lined with statues of wolves, each one snarling, frozen in stone. Guards flanked the door to the Alpha's chambers, unmoving, unblinking.

When they let her in, she expected to be watched. But there was no one there.

Only him.

He stood by the window, broad shoulders tense, black tunic blending into the shadows. His back was to her. The air around him was thick, charged, like the breath before a thunderstorm.

Selene waited.

"Your hands are stained," he said without turning.

She looked down. Dirt. Blood. Scrapes.

"They are clean enough for service," she replied.

He turned then.

And the room changed.

His face was not what she expected. Yes, strong, angular, with eyes like fractured silver. But there was a weariness there. A hollowness. Like something had been carved out of him long ago and never replaced.

"I don't tolerate liars," he said.

"Good," Selene replied. "I don't tell lies."

He studied her. Long. Too long.

"Your name is Selene."

She nodded.

"You survived the Oakmere raid."

Her chest tightened. "I did."

"Then you have already proven stronger than most." He paused. "You will serve here. You will speak only when spoken to. And you will never, " his voice dropped an octave ", enter the northern wing."

"What's in the northern wing?"

His eyes narrowed. "Your first mistake."

She bowed her head. "Understood."

"Good. Now go. You start at sunrise."

As she turned to leave, he added quietly:

"The mark on your arm, it will burn if you lie to me. And I will know."

Selene returned to her quarters that night with a new ache in her bones, not fear, but something heavier.

The Alpha was not what she had imagined. He was not cruel.

Cruel men smiled when they hurt you.

He did not smile at all.

On the third morning, she found him bleeding.

Not wounded in battle, bleeding from the chest, shirt soaked, lips pale. He was seated on the edge of the stone bathing basin, teeth clenched, jaw locked.

Selene didn't scream.

Instead, she dropped the tray she'd been holding and ran to him.

"What happened?" she asked, her hands already at the bandages.

"Leave it."

"You will die."

"I cannot."

She froze. "What do you mean?"

He looked at her, and in his silver eyes she saw something raw. Unfiltered. Broken.

"I don't die, Selene. I just... bleed. Over and over again."

That night, Selene dreamed of him.

Not as a man, but as a wolf, pacing alone under a red moon, howling not for the hunt, but for something, something, long lost.

She woke up crying.

And that terrified her more than any monster ever could.