Chapter 4 The Alpha's Shadow

Hollow Fang territory was a kingdom of stone and storm. Wind carved the cliffs into jagged faces, and pine trees clung to the crags like old ghosts refusing to fall. The fortress, part keep, part cave system had no gates. Wolves did not lock doors. They let the mountains guard them, let fear keep outsiders away.

And yet I was here.

I, who should have died weeks ago on a cold road.

I, who had called the Lost in the Red Vale.

I, who bore the sigil of the Forsaken Bride.

A storm was brewing inside and out. And tonight, I would either be welcomed into the Hollow Fang, or buried beneath it.

Lucien's summons gathered the entire upper council.

A hundred wolves in flesh. Two hundred more in fur, watching from the terraces that wound like ribs around the war hall. Torches lined the high walls, their flames flickering against obsidian banners embroidered with silver thread.

Moon sigils. Claw marks. Runes older than the Lycan tongue.

I stood beside Lucien, but I was not protected by his presence. I was exposed. Spotlighted. Judged.

And wolves did not forgive quickly.

Elder Rasha, first among the council rose from her seat with a carved staff in her hand. Her silver hair was braided with beads of bone and black pearl, and her eyes were the color of ice on a grave.

"Alpha Lucien, you present to us a stranger. A wolf not born to this pack, nor bonded by oath. She carries the mark of the Bride, yet none here witnessed the calling."

Lucien's voice cut cleanly through the silence.

"I witnessed it. I saw her awaken the Vale. I saw the ghosts bow to her."

"And that makes her what?" Rasha asked. "A priestess? A curse reborn? We have not forgotten the last time the Bride walked among us. That path led to war. Blood. Ruin."

"She is not that woman," Lucien said.

"No," I said, stepping forward. "I'm worse."

The murmurs that followed were sharp as blades. I continued before Lucien could stop me.

"She sacrificed herself to protect you. I won't. If war comes, I'll burn the world before I let it swallow me. If that makes you afraid, good. Fear keeps wolves alive."

Rasha's lips twitched.

"You speak with a traitor's tongue."

"I speak with a leader's tongue," I snapped. "If you don't believe I'm worthy to stand among you, then test me. I don't want loyalty. I want truth."

Lucien's voice was steel. "You challenge for recognition?"

I turned to face him. "I do."

He inclined his head.

"Then you will face the Trial of Blood."

The Fang Pit was older than Hollow Fang itself. A ring of black stone at the heart of the mountain, carved by claws and sealed by runes of moon magic. The walls bore scars from a thousand battles. Wolves came here to settle disputes. To claim rank. To fight for survival.

Tonight, I would fight for belonging.

A crowd gathered. Wolves lining the rim in both human and beast form, eyes gleaming in the torchlight. I felt them, hundreds of heartbeats, pulsing like a drumbeat in the dark.

Three challengers.

That was the law.

First blood. First breath lost. First howl broken.

I took off my cloak and stepped barefoot into the pit.

The First: Merek.

A war hound with arms like siege towers and a broken jaw that never quite healed. His wolf form was rumored to have torn through vampire knights in the Eastern Wars.

He didn't shift.

He didn't need to.

He came at me with fists, not teeth.

The first blow landed square in my ribs. Bone cracked. I spat blood and kept moving. I ducked low, rolled, slashed with my claws but Merek grabbed my arm and hurled me into the wall like I was made of feathers.

Pain exploded behind my eyes. The crowd cheered.

I got up.

Again. And again.

Blood on my lips. Rage in my throat.

The third time, I shifted, not fully, just enough to harden skin to hide, sharpen hands to talons.

I met his charge with a twist, sank my claws into his thigh, and pulled.

He roared, grabbed my shoulder but I brought my elbow up into his throat.

He staggered.

I didn't wait.

I swept his leg and slammed him into the sand.

I didn't kill him.

But I left him with one eye shut and a mouth full of blood.

The Second: Syla.

Young, fast, and hungry. The kind of wolf who'd rise through the ranks with speed or die trying.

She came at me in full shift, silver gray fur, yellow eyes, teeth like daggers.

She danced circles around me. Bit my leg. Tore my shoulder. Laughed in growls.

I let her think she was winning.

Then I collapsed.

She pounced.

I rolled. Grabbed her by the throat mid-leap. Slammed her into the dirt.

She bared her belly.

I didn't slash. I let her breathe.

She shifted back, panting, sweat-soaked, and smiling.

Then she bowed.

The Third: Not a Wolf.

Lucien knew the moment he caught the scent.

The third challenger walked into the pit slowly. Too slow. Too graceful. Not a challenger.

A saboteur.

His skin was pale. Too pale. His eyes were black, not the darkness of night, but of emptiness. He smiled, and the fangs behind his lips gleamed in the torchlight.

A vampire. Half-turned. Hidden by glamor.

The pack snarled.

Lucien moved.

But not fast enough.

He drew a blade from beneath his cloak and threw it at me.

The tip caught my side. Shallow but deep enough to smell my blood.

He lunged.

I screamed.

The scream became a howl.

And I transformed.

Not just into the wolf.

Into something older.

My fur turned white. My eyes burned silver. Runes lit up along my arms and spine. Moonlight bled from my mouth.

The pit erupted in silence.

I met the vampire's charge with fire.

Real fire.

The flame that only burns monsters. Moonfire.

I didn't slash.

I judged.

He exploded into ash.

The pit was silent as smoke drifted from my hands.

Then the howling began.

It didn't come from me.

It came from them.

From all of them.

Hollow Fang. Young and old. Beta and omega. They howled together, for me.

Lucien descended into the pit, slow and steady.

He reached out his hand.

I took it.

Not because I needed help.

Because I was done fighting alone.

That night, the feast lit the mountain in firelight.

Meat. Mead. Music.

Wolves danced in fur and flesh, and though my ribs ached, and my cuts still bled, I drank with them.

They didn't just nod at me now. They spoke. Laughed. Toasted.

"You were born to lead," Syla said, nudging my side.

"No," I said. "I was born to survive. The rest came after."

Later, I stood at the overlook, where the wind cut through the mountains, and the stars watched without judgment.

Lucien joined me.

We didn't speak at first. We just listened.

To the wind. The wolves. The quiet.

"They'll follow you now," he said.

"They should fear me instead."

"They do," he said, voice soft. "But not the way they used to."

I turned to him.

"I know what this is," I whispered. "This bond. This pull between us. You feel it too."

"I do."

"But I'm not yours."

"No," he said. "You never will be."

He stepped closer.

"And that's why I love you."