The Alpha's Secret Mate

---

She didn't sleep.

Not after what she had heard.

Garrick's voice still echoed in her mind — quiet and steady, but carved from something broken. Ten years old. Buried alive. Hunted, taunted, discarded like a cracked weapon.

He had told it plainly. No self-pity. No dramatics. But the horror of it clung to her skin like smoke.

She sat by the fire long after he lay down to rest, its glow painting her fingers in flickers of amber. The flames didn't warm her. Not really. Not tonight.

Something inside her had changed.

She didn't feel afraid.

She felt… called.

---

By dawn, she was outside.

The forest was still, but not silent.

She could hear it breathing.

Every pine needle seemed to tremble with a hidden rhythm. Every snowflake landed like a whisper meant only for her. The wind wasn't random—it spoke.

It was a hum, low and ancient, threading through her bones like a memory she hadn't lived.

Her mark throbbed again—stronger now. Not just warmth, but movement. A pulse, like something awakening beneath her skin. She pressed her hand to it.

I'm listening, she thought.

And something... listened back.

***

Garrick joined her by midday.

He said nothing, just stood beside her, arms folded, eyes scanning the trees. She could tell he felt it too—the shift in the air. The pull toward something inevitable.

"They'll come soon," he said.

"Who?"

"The Moonborn. Or the Warden. Or both."

She nodded.

"Will I be ready?"

He didn't answer.

***

It happened just after twilight.

A scream broke the stillness. Not human. Not quite wolf either.

And then—darkness shifted.

Not visually. Not physically. But spiritually. The forest dimmed. The trees bent inward, as if bowing toward a new center.

Aryn stood without thinking. Garrick stepped in front of her—but slowly, warily.

Then came the first scent: frost and old ash.

Then the sound: like footsteps over snow, but no crunching. Just gliding.

And then—they appeared.

***

They came as shadows, cloaked in silence.

Half-seen figures with too-long limbs and eyes like frozen rivers. Not glowing. Not alive. Reflective. Mirror-like. They didn't snarl. They didn't speak.

They witnessed.

Aryn's heart beat hard, but she stood firm.

Garrick's hand hovered near his blade.

Then the trees parted behind the host.

And from the gap emerged a figure — not monstrous, not twisted, but beautiful in the way lightning is beautiful: dangerous, precise, inevitable.

The figure was tall. Barefoot. His hair like stormclouds, braided in silver thread. His skin shimmered faintly, as if layered with runes only moonlight could reveal.

He looked straight at her.

"The mark is no longer dormant."

His voice was quiet — but it echoed. Inside her mind. Inside her chest.

Aryn's breath hitched.

"I don't know what I am," she said.

The stranger stepped closer.

"You are Moonborn... but not of the Court. You are Warden-marked. The trial is your birthright."

Behind her, Garrick tensed. "What trial?"

But the stranger only looked at Aryn.

"She must face the Shifting and alone."

Then, he raised his hand — and light burst from it.

Not fire.

Not magic.

A symbol.

An eye, ringed in flame, burned into the ground beneath Aryn's feet. Her mark flared in answer.

She screamed.

The world tipped—

—and then she fell.

---

She landed on stone.

Not snow. Not forest. Not moss...

Stone — cracked and old, glowing with red veins that pulsed like arteries. The sky above was black. Starless. Endless.

A figure stood at the edge of the cliff.

A woman.

She turned—

—and Aryn's breath fled her lungs.

"Mother?" The woman resembled the old paintings which grandma had told her were of her mother.

But no. Not exactly. The woman's features were softer, older. Her hair braided with iron leaves. Her voice was both fire and lullaby.

"You are not here to find me," the woman said. "You are here to find yourself."

The ground shuddered.

From the cliff's edge, something rose.

A creature — all shadow and bone. Shaped like a wolf, but too tall, too lean. Its ribs showed like cage bars. Its eyes glowed. Not golden, not silver. But white-hot.

It bared its teeth.

Aryn stepped back.

"I'm not ready for this"

"Yes," said the woman, "you are."

***

The beast lunged.

She rolled, her instinct guiding her. She didn't think. Didn't plan.

She simply moved.

Claws slashed air where her throat had been a heartbeat before.

She rose, and fire sparked from her palms. It answered her—not with chaos, but shape. It wrapped around her arms like armor.

The beast snarled.

So did she.

They clashed again—claw against flame. Its fangs tore her shoulder. Her fire scorched its ribs. It shrieked, staggering.

Pain roared loudly in her skull. But she stood.

And with a cry that came from someplace older than language—

She shifted.

Her body burned white-gold. Bones twisted, breaking and reshaping. Her hands became claws. Her feet dug into stone. And her eyes—her eyes blazed!

The creature charged—

—and this time, she met it head-on.

---

It ended with silence.

The beast collapsed, dissolving completely into smoke.

Aryn dropped to her knees, panting.

Her skin was hers again. Her mark throbbed with fire.

The woman approached.

"You have passed the first gate."

"What was that thing?"

"A shadow of what you fear you are. A remnant of the bloodline you thought would break you."

Aryn looked up. "Will it come back?"

"Always. But next time, you will not run."

The woman smiled — proud, fierce.

"Now… wake up."

***

Aryn gasped awake.

Snowflakes kissed her cheeks.

She was back, lying in the ring of firelight. Garrick's face hovered over hers, tense with worry.

"You were gone," he said. "Three hours. Your eyes were open, but you weren't here."

She sat up slowly.

"I was... tested. A trial"

He stared at her a long moment. Then:

"You passed?"

She looked down at her hands. Still hers. Still scarred.

But inside — she was different.

"I'm still standing."

---

Far off, the wind howled.

But this time, it didn't sound like a threat.

It sounded like a welcome.

She rose to her feet.

The mark on her shoulder no longer pulsed in warning.

It burned in alignment.

The forest had shifted.

And so had she.