The Alpha's Secret Mate

Some memories refuse to stay buried. Especially the ones stitched with blood.

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The fire which they had lit had grown low now, reduced to a mixture of tiny and chunky bits glowing coals and the occasional pop of sap. The air smelled of pine, smoke, and the quiet unease that had settled between them since nightfall.

Aryn sat across from Garrick, her arms wrapped around her knees. The memory of what she had seen in the flames still burned in her chest... and her mind— the cold watcher, the creeping dread. But it wasn't just the vision that had shaken her. There was more...

Garrick hadn't been surprised.

This further kept her thinking, until...

"You knew what I saw," she said at last. "Not just because you're trained. It's because you've seen them before, isn't it? The Moonborn."

He didn't look up from the fire... or better still, the bits of coal "I have." Was his simple reply as he began adding bits of wood to the fire so as to provide adequate lighting in this dark forest until they were ready to retire—if that was even going to happen.

"You said as much back during when you were training me, when we heard the howl. But you never told me how."

He was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly:

"I didn't think you needed to know."

"Well," she said, her voice low, "I do now."

Garrick's jaw flexed once, and then relaxed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I was ten."

His tone was flat — not emotionless, but buried beneath what could be called; layers of self-discipline.

"My father was a patrol captain for the eastern woods near Blackpine. He was stern. Rigid. Taught me to track by scent before I could even properly write. My mother… she was quieter. A firekeeper and healer. She taught me patience... flame... balance."

He reached down and once again fed a small twig into the coals.

"One winter, we were traveling to a hill-post near the Hollowlands. A short route, a quick delivery. No one expected danger. Not that deep in snow. But life was always full of unexpected things. This time, it was a miserable one. The forest… it was wrong. Still. Silent."

His eyes hardened, though he kept them on the fire which had now caught up.

"They took us without a sound. Shadows with bones beneath their skin. They smelled like rotted birch and burnt blood."

Aryn's mouth went dry. She didn't interrupt.

"They didn't kill us. They separated us. Said something about testing bloodlines. That my mother had 'wildblood' — something ancient they could use. My father fought. He didn't last long."

His fingers curled slightly.

"They put me in a pit. Cold, wet, buried deep in moss. I don't know how many days passed. I just remember their voices. Always whispering. Not to me — about me."

A beat of silence.

"They called themselves the Unseen Spine. A sect of the Hollow Court."

Aryn's mark pulsed under her skin.

"They weren't just Moonborn," Garrick continued. "They were worse. Twisted. Half-flesh, half-shadow. The Court had taken them and emptied them out, like cracked jars filled with rot."

He exhaled, his jaw tightening.

"One of them — younger than the others, reckless — liked to taunt me. Said I'd make a good pet. Called me 'cub.' I waited until he got close."

His voice didn't change, but Aryn felt the sharpness behind it.

"I found a bone shard in the mud. I drove it through his eye."

She stared at him, stunned.

"You were ten."

"I was angry," he said simply. "And scared."

He sat back.

"The others didn't react. They just… watched. One even laughed. They didn't try to stop me. Didn't avenge him. Just turned away."

Aryn frowned. "Why wouldn't they care?"

"Because the Hollow Court doesn't love. Not even their own," he said. "They don't protect each other. They don't mourn. They just use — and discard."

The fire cracked softly between them.

"That's what makes them so dangerous. They're not like us. There's no loyalty. No honor. Only hunger."

Aryn's throat tightened. "How did you get out?"

"I ran. That night. Through frost and thorns until I collapsed. I woke up in the cabin of a Warden — a friend of your grandmother's, I later learned. He took me in. Trained me. Until I could stand on my own."

At that, Aryn looked up.

"She knew?"

"She knew of me, yes. Years later, when your mark appeared… she remembered."

He finally looked at her.

"She brought you to me because she saw what was waking up in you. She didn't panic. She didn't beg. She said, simply, 'Train her. So she can survive what's coming.'"

Aryn blinked, heart thudding.

She'd always known her grandmother was strong — but now, the depth of her foresight felt staggering.

"She never told me," Aryn whispered. "She just smiled and packed my satchel."

Garrick nodded. "She trusted you'd understand in time."

Aryn's eyes lowered to the fire.

> She left home not because she was cast out…

But because the people who loved her feared what might come for her.

The wind howled lightly through the pines.

"She said I reminded her of someone," Aryn murmured.

"She told me," Garrick said, voice low. "Her daughter. Your mother."

Aryn's breath caught.

The fire glowed brighter for a moment, as if feeding on the weight of what wasn't said.

Garrick leaned back, voice gentler now.

"You've never been alone, Aryn. You were just… sent ahead."

She didn't speak. She only stared into the flame, letting her heartbeat settle.

Far off in the forest, something shifted.

And Aryn wondered if the same thing was beginning to stir inside her.

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