The Alpha's Secret Mate

***

She woke before the fire. She finally had a good rest since they had begun the search for the Warden.

Ash drifted gently from the embers, the faint scent of pine smoke still clinging to the air borne from the remnants of the fire from the night before. Her body ached—not from injury, but from change. The memory of the 'Shifting' lingered behind her eyes: the stone, the trial, the fire-wrapped beast she'd bested. And the woman.

The words echoed:

"You have passed the first gate."

Aryn sat up slowly.

Garrick was already awake, crouched at the edge of the den they had made, a makeshift shelter just to protect them from the growing harshness of the weather. They however knew, it is insufficient to protect them from the firest. Hence he crouched watching the forest.

He didn't look back. "You were gone for hours. I couldn't reach you."

She nodded. "I wasn't supposed to be reached."

He finally turned. "You're not the same."

Neither was the forest.

The wind had changed.

Not just in direction, but in tone. It no longer howled in aimless hunger. It spoke. It warned.

Aryn heard it in the rustle of pine needles, the way branches swayed in syncopation, like a whisper threading through the forest. Even the crows flew differently that morning—not above, but around. As if circling something sacred. Or dangerous.

Garrick noticed too.

He had been sharpening his blade when he paused, head tilted slightly, brows drawn tight.

"We should move," he said.

Aryn glanced up from the fire she had just rebuilt. "Now?"

He nodded. "There's something on the wind. It carries... intent."

Aryn swallowed. She had felt it too.

Since the Shifting, something in her had opened. The trial hadn't just altered her body — it had unlocked something. She could hear trees breathe. Feel echoes in soil. She could smell deceit if it walked too close.

They packed quickly.

The den that had been their sanctuary for weeks now felt tight. Like a memory they had outgrown.

"We go north," Garrick said. "Toward the Hollow Pass. If the Warden truly summoned you, that's where the path leads."

Aryn glanced once more at the clearing, at the stones she had laid around the fire, the pine roots she had braided for warmth, the traps she had carved with steady fingers.

Then she turned her back on it.

---

The forest was louder than it had been in weeks.

Bird songs came in frantic bursts. The leaves flickered in warning patterns. Even the snow which had begun to fall for some days fell differently, drifting in spirals instead of sheets. Aryn's skin prickled with every step.

By midday, they found a woman.

She sat atop a crumbled root-mound, hair streaked with frost and moss. Her eyes were blind — but open. White as quartz, glinting with knowing. Her robes were woven from animal hide and something that shimmered like moonlight through smoke.

She smiled when she saw Aryn.

"Ah. The spark walks."

Garrick moved protectively, but Aryn touched his arm.

"Wait."

The old woman cocked her head.

"You carry fire that remembers its first name. Your blood sings like the old wolves."

Aryn stepped a little bit closer. "Who are you?"

"A whisper. A warning. A watcher."

She reached her hand into a pouch and brought out with it, a strip of bark, this she then pressed to Aryn's hand.

It burned.

Not in pain.

In memory.

Images flooded Aryn's mind — trees aflame but unburnt, a silver city crumbling into shadow, a wolf with nine tails standing atop a frozen lake. And a voice:

"The Hollow Court wakes. And it is hungry."

Aryn gasped.

The woman pulled back.

"The mark you carry is older than the Court. But they will hunt it. Hunt you."

Garrick spoke at last. "Why now? Why awaken her just to send hunters after her? This makes no sense."

"Because the last Warden is dying," the woman said. "And power does not die with silence. It seeks."

Aryn's knees felt weak. She sat.

"What must I do?"

The woman leaned in. "Remember... Remember not just what was done to you. But what you were meant to do. What your blood was shaped for. Before the Court stole it."

She pointed north.

"The Hollow Pass. Go. Do not linger when the moon turns again. When it bleeds, they come."

Then she turned to snow.

No flash. No light. Just the collapse of a form too old for flesh.

---

That night, they camped at the riverbend. The stars were clearer tonight than they had been in days. But neither of them slept.

Aryn stared at her reflection in the water.

Her eyes flickered gold.

Not fully. But enough.

Garrick sat nearby, sharpening his blade again. Not out of need. Out of habit. Out of anticipation.

She finally spoke.

"She said I was shaped for something. But what if I don't want it? What if I just want peace?"

He looked up.

"Then you have to survive long enough to choose it."

The wind shifted again.

And this time, it didn't whisper.

It warned.

---