The Alpha's Secret Mate

..."I'm not here to make you a warrior," Garrick muttered, circling her. "I'm here to make sure you don't die before you find out what you are."

Aryn's breath caught.

And before she could ask what he meant—

a howl split the forest.

Not a wolf.

Something else.

Garrick froze. His eyes went cold.

"That's not supposed to be this close."

He stepped in front of Aryn, axe already in hand.

"Get behind me," he said.

But the sound was growing. Closer. Hungrier.

The mark on Aryn's chest blazed with light.

And the night… answered.

---

The forest didn't just fall silent—it recoiled.

As if nature itself sensed what was coming.

Aryn's pulse throbbed in her ears, and the light from her mark pulsed like a second heartbeat. Heat radiated from it, not painful, but urgent—like a summons she hadn't meant to send.

She moved behind Garrick without question, her fingers twitching from the leftover shock of the flare. Her training blade hung useless at her side, the wood slick with sweat and mud.

The sound came again.

Not a howl this time—but a presence.

The air thickened, scented with pine, damp earth, and something older. Something raw. It pressed in on them from all sides. Garrick didn't move, his body stone-still, except for the subtle rise and fall of his chest. His axe glinted faintly in the moonlight, held low but ready.

Then—footsteps.

Soft. Barely audible. But many.

The forest shifted.

From the shadows between the trees, figures began to emerge, as if peeled from the night itself. Not beasts. Not human.

Moonborn.

Aryn's breath caught. Her spine tingled with something beyond fear—recognition, maybe. Or instinct. She didn't know.

At first, they looked like shadows made solid. Hooded, cloaked, armored in hide and bone. They moved with a silence that didn't feel natural. It felt practiced. Predatory.

One stepped forward.

A woman.

Tall, commanding. Her right eye was slashed with a scar that ran like lightning down her cheek. Her dark fur cloak was braided with silver-streaked hair and feathers that whispered with every step. Her presence swallowed the clearing like mist.

Garrick didn't blink. His stance remained firm. "You're not welcome here."

The woman's lip curled ever so slightly. "She called."

Aryn swallowed hard. "I didn't—"

"We answered," the woman finished.

Her voice was low and melodic, but underneath it—something vibrated. Like a second tone. Older. Ancient.

"I didn't call anyone," Aryn said again, though her voice trembled this time.

Another figure stepped forward—a man with hollow eyes and skin like ash. "The mark flared. The bond screamed. She's waking."

"She's unclaimed," Garrick snapped, stepping half a pace forward.

The woman's nose flared. "And yet marked."

"I told you," Garrick growled, "she's not ready."

"No one ever is," the woman replied. "Not when the Hollow Court stirs. Not when blood awakens."

Aryn felt something shift behind her ribs. Something rising. Not in anger. In awareness.

"What is the Hollow Court?" she asked, her voice sharp with confusion. "What are you talking about? What bond?"

Silence fell like snowfall—light but suffocating.

Then the scarred woman looked at her fully.

"You are the child of shadow and sun," she said. "The blood of the hunter and the cursed. And now the scent of the bond hangs off you like fog. You don't understand yet, girl. But you will."

Aryn opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her legs trembled beneath her.

Garrick drew his blade, the edge humming with restrained force. "Enough riddles. Go back to the mountain. Or I'll send you back."

The woman smiled—broad and unafraid. Her teeth were too sharp. "You've grown bold, Garrick. That scar on your arm—was that boldness too?"

He stiffened, if only for a heartbeat.

The others moved, slowly backing into the trees. Not retreating—disappearing. One by one, they melted into the forest like whispers. But their eyes never left Aryn.

The scarred woman's voice lingered in the clearing as she stepped into shadow.

"Remember this," she said. "You don't have time to choose sides. Sides will choose you."

Then she was gone.

And with her, the pressure lifted.

The clearing fell back into silence, save for the soft rustling of pine needles and Aryn's ragged breathing.

She collapsed onto the training mat, her chest heaving, skin clammy and cold.

"What... What...the...hell was that?"

Garrick didn't respond right away. He watched the trees, nostrils flaring, ears sharp. Only when he was satisfied that they were truly alone did he sit beside her.

His voice was low. "I knew someone would come eventually. I just didn't think it'd be them."

"You knew?" she asked, wiping her brow. "You knew things like that existed?"

He nodded. "I've seen too much to believe in peace."

"They said I called to them," she whispered.

He didn't look at her. "You didn't. The mark did."

Aryn touched her chest through her tunic, where the heat had faded but a dull ache remained.

"But...Why now?"

"Because your wolf is waking. Because your blood is louder than you know."

A beat of silence.

"And that thing she said," Aryn continued, staring into the trees, "about me being 'the child of shadow and sun'... what the hell does that even mean?"

Garrick didn't answer.

"Garrick?"

He shook his head. "I don't know everything. But I know enough to be afraid."

Aryn looked down at her hands, still trembling. "Then teach me... Teach me for real this time. No more sparring circles and empty swings. I want to be able to defend myself next time."

Garrick turned to her, eyes scanning her face.

"You sure?" he asked. "This path doesn't end with who you are now. You'll lose that girl."

"I think I already have."

He exhaled slowly, then nodded once. " Alright then...we begin at dawn."

---

Far above the cliffs of Vyrenmoor, nestled between jagged peaks and low-rolling mist, Eldrath Keep stood beneath the moon.

Gothic towers clawed at the sky, and spires were crowned with gargoyles that had seen centuries pass by in silence.

Atop the northernmost balcony, a raven perched, feathers rustling like secrets in the wind.

Inside, shadows danced across the stone chamber.

Kael stood with his back to the moon, silver eyes reflecting the light like polished glass. He hadn't moved in minutes.

He didn't need to.

He'd felt it.

The pulse.

The mark.

Her.

Aryn.

And so had they.

Behind him, something stirred—a whisper of fabric, a flicker of breath. But he didn't turn.

"She's calling," said a voice from the dark.

It wasn't a question. It was a certainty.

Kael's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

His gaze remained on the dark horizon, where the pines stretched like waiting teeth.

---

To Be Continued...