The Alpha's Secret Mate

Chapter Seven: The Flame She Couldn't Extinguish

Later that night, Aryn didn't sleep.

Not due to lack of trying.

She lay curled beneath the woolen covers, her body still thrumming from the memory of silver eyes and forest-borne threats. Every time her eyes closed, she saw them—the Moonborn, cloaked in bone and silence, and the woman's voice, low and laced with prophecy.

But worse than that…

Was the fire.

It hadn't stopped burning.

The mark on her chest pulsed with a quiet rhythm, like it had its own heartbeat now—one that didn't wait for hers to catch up.

---

Dawn came quicker than she had thought.

She stood up from the bed tired. She had only gotten a few minutes of rest the night before. But still, she was focused. Determined to get ahead.

Training began before the sun dared peek past the treetops.

Mist clung to the grass like dew-soaked cobwebs. A chill cut through the clearing, but Aryn's skin was already damp with sweat. Not from fear.

From the blade in her hand.

Steel.

Real. Cold. Heavy.

No more practice wood.

Garrick circled her like a storm waiting to break.

"Your stance is too open."

Aryn adjusted her feet. Knees bent. Toes digging into the soft earth. Left leg slightly back. Shoulders squared.

"Keep the blade angled. It should be an extension of your arm, not a weight you're dragging. Imagine it as part of your arm."

He struck first.

Fast.

His blunted axe came in low, arcing toward her ribs.

She moved. Just barely. Steel scraped wood as her blade deflected the blow—but the shock ran up her arms like lightning.

"Don't flinch. Don't break."

She twisted, her blade swinging in a tight arc toward his shoulder. He caught it mid-strike with the haft of his weapon, using her own momentum to shove her back.

Her foot slipped.

The mud was unforgiving.

She hit the ground hard, air knocked from her lungs.

"Again," Garrick said flatly.

---

And again.

And again.

Hours blurred into drills.

Slash. Parry. Twist. Elbow. Block. Roll. Recover.

Every strike brought a new bruise. Every fall etched dirt deeper into her skin. She tasted blood twice—once from a split lip, once from biting down too hard when pain flared through her shoulder.

Her palms blistered. Her breath wheezed.

"Get up," Garrick snapped. "You're not broken."

Her arms trembled. Her vision swam.

But her mark… burned brighter.

Something inside her refused to stay down.

She rose.

And this time, when Garrick swung, she ducked under it, twisted past his guard, and landed the edge of her blade against his ribs.

He froze.

Just for a heartbeat.

Then nodded.

"Better. But not enough."

Aryn collapsed to her knees, gasping.

She didn't win.

But for the first time… she survived.

---

That night, she dreamed again.

But not of Kael.

This time, it was fire.

-------

The forest was ablaze.

But it wasn't dying.

The flames curled around trees without burning them, like liquid gold poured from the stars. The tree barks shimmered, etched with glowing runes, each pulsing with a heartbeat she could feel in her bones.

The air tasted like ash and truth.

And in the middle of it all stood a boy.

Small. Still. Covered in soot. His skin glowed faintly beneath the grime, as if lit from within. His eyes were the color of stormclouds and ruin.

"You're louder now," he whispered. "They'll hear you."

Aryn stepped forward. Her boots didn't sink into the fire—they passed through it like smoke.

"Who are you?"

"I'm just a spark."

He turned his head, gaze sharp now.

"The Warden's watching. But she doesn't answer just anyone."

"Why me?"

"Because you burn."

The flames twisted—inward, not outward. They surged toward her chest, toward the mark.

The heat wasn't searing.

It was summoning.

She gasped as the fire coiled into her lungs—

------

She jolted upright in her cot, chest rising and falling like she'd just run ten miles.

The room was still dark.

Her skin glistened with sweat, but not from fever. From power.

The mark on her chest was glowing again—not violently, but steady…like a lantern in the dark. Not just heat this time.

Direction.

She placed her fingers over it. The thrum beneath her skin wasn't pain. It was pull.

She could feel it now:

Something… or someone… was calling her from the woods.

Not like before.

This wasn't danger.

It was invitation.

---

The night was hushed.

Not silent. Hushed. Like the world was holding its breath.

Barefoot, Aryn stepped into the grass. The cold mist kissed her ankles. Somewhere far off, an owl cried. But closer—closer was something else.

A presence.

It wasn't Kael.

Wasn't Garrick.

It was older than both.

"Find the Warden before the Hunter does…"

The boy's voice echoed in her bones.

And suddenly—she could hear the forest.

Really hear it.

The way the branches shifted. The way pine needles caught wind.

The heartbeat of a rabbit beneath the roots.

Her eyes widened.

"What's happening to me…?"

Her fingers twitched. Her senses hummed.

Aryn wasn't human anymore.

Not entirely.

---

FAR NORTH — ELDRATH KEEP

Kael stood atop the high balcony of Eldrath Keep, the wind tugging continuously at the edge of his cloak.

He didn't move.

Didn't need to.

He had felt it the moment it happened.

The mark.

The pull.

Her.

Behind him, a dark figure stepped from the shadows.

"She's changing."

"Yes," Kael said quietly.

"Then you must act. If the Warden finds her first—"

"She won't."

"You're certain?"

Kael's eyes flashed silver.

"Because I'm already closer than they think."

He looked toward the southern horizon.

Toward the girl who burned like a secret beneath the trees.

---