Chapter 2 THE ALPHA'S COMMAND

The moon hung heavy in the ink-black sky, casting a silver glow over the dense forest that cradled Ashbourne like a forgotten secret. A thin mist curled around the trees, whispering through the undergrowth like ghostly fingers brushing against bark and bone. Rowan moved carefully beneath the ancient canopy, her boots crunching softly on the carpet of fallen leaves. Each step forward sent a jolt of unwelcome memory through her-every twig snap, every gust of chilled air felt like the forest was reminding her she didn't belong here anymore.

She tugged her jacket tighter around her body, but it did little to block the bite of the wind. The cold was not just physical-it was the ache of return, of things left undone and unspoken. Of Silas.

The distant howls of the pack echoed suddenly, long and mournful, breaking the hush of night. They rose like a warning, eerie and primal, threading through the trees and settling into Rowan's bones. The sound made her skin crawl. It was beautiful in its own way-wild, raw-but it reminded her of what Silas was. What he could become. The wolf still lived inside him, simmering beneath the surface, caged only by will and ritual. And tonight, under the full moon, that cage felt weak.

They emerged into a clearing where the pack's stronghold awaited-a cluster of stone structures nestled among the trees like something carved from the land itself. Moss and ivy crept up the sides, and low fog rolled over the fields surrounding it, painting the ground in a shroud of mystery. The place pulsed with energy, thick and electric, buzzing against her skin.

Rowan could feel it-the collective heartbeat of the pack, the restless anticipation threading through the night. The pull of the moon was strongest here. Instincts sharpened. Tempers flared. They were all fighting it in their own ways.

Silas strode ahead without a word, his shoulders tense beneath his dark cloak. He didn't glance back at her, not even once, but Rowan followed anyway. She felt the weight of watching eyes on her-pack members lingering in the shadows, some perched on stone steps, others leaning against trees. Their gazes cut through the dark like blades. Suspicion. Wariness. A few turned away, dismissive, but others stared openly, silently demanding to know why a witch had dared to return.

Witches and werewolves didn't mix. Everyone knew that. The old bloodlines had written it in fire and curse. And yet, here she was, the last of her line, walking into the heart of the enemy's den.

Except they weren't enemies. Not anymore. At least, they weren't supposed to be.

Rowan clenched her jaw and pushed forward. She didn't have the luxury of second-guessing.

Silas led her into the main lodge-a large, open space that served as the brain of the pack. The scent of pine and wolf musk clung to the thick wooden beams. A massive fireplace dominated one wall, its flames crackling low, casting flickers of amber across fur pelts and worn leather chairs. The heat was welcome, but it didn't ease the tension that coiled in her chest.

He gestured toward the long table in the center of the room. "Sit," he said, voice clipped, measured. There was no anger there now, only resolve. Cold and businesslike.

Rowan slid into a chair, the wood creaking under her weight. Her fingers curled around the edges of her jeans, grounding herself. Her magic stirred beneath her skin, quiet but alert, as if sensing the storm that hovered just beyond the horizon.

"We need to talk about the curse," Silas said, taking the seat across from her. His gaze was sharp, but no longer burning with rage-only the weariness of someone who had carried too much, too long.

"Then let's talk," Rowan replied, lifting her chin. "Tell me everything. Every detail. If I'm going to help you, I need to understand exactly what we're dealing with."

He was silent for a moment, the firelight catching in his eyes, turning them almost gold. "The curse is tied to my bloodline," he began, his voice low. "Passed down from Alpha to Alpha. It binds us to the moon, but more than that-it chains us to madness."

Rowan listened, watching him closely.

"Every full moon, we lose control," he said. "Some of us fight it better than others. I've spent years building rituals, routines, walls inside my mind. But it still gets through. My father... he wasn't strong enough. That's why I became Alpha when I was barely of age."

She felt something twist in her chest at the confession, but she didn't speak. Not yet.

"And it's getting worse," he continued. "With every generation, the curse tightens. And every time the moon reaches its peak, someone in my pack dies. Always. We don't know why. Doesn't matter how strong they are. It just... takes them."

His voice dropped, barely a whisper. "Last moon, it was Elias. He was sixteen."

Rowan's breath hitched. She didn't know Elias, but she knew the weight of loss. She knew how grief carved its name into your bones.

"You have to understand something," Silas said, locking eyes with her. "This curse won't end quietly. If we break it, something will break with it. There will be consequences."

Rowan leaned forward, her voice steady. "Then we'll face them. Together."

A muscle twitched in his jaw. For a moment, something unreadable flickered in his eyes-hope, maybe, or fear.

"You really think your magic can fix this?" he asked.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But I know I have to try. Because if we don't-if we let this curse keep festering-it's going to destroy you. All of you."

Silas nodded slowly, and the firelight threw shadows across his face, making him look both older and more vulnerable. "Then we start at dawn."

Rowan exhaled, a long breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. This wasn't just about magic. It was about trust. About rebuilding what generations had tried to tear apart.

She wasn't sure what kind of future she was walking into. But one thing was clear: there was no turning back.