The Alpha's Secret Mate

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I know you won't survive alone," he said. "And I told you before — I'm not letting you walk into this alone."

She didn't argue.

Couldn't.

Because deep down, even with all the bond's pull toward Kael — even with the fire growing inside her — Garrick was still home.

And yet… the path she felt tugging at her feet was calling her away.

As the morning light broke over the treetops, Aryn looked out into the woods beyond the clearing.

The forest felt different now.

Like it was watching her.

Waiting.

And deep within her, something whispered:

It's time.

The trees were different this morning.

Aryn felt it the moment she stepped beyond the edge of the clearing. The air was thicker — not in a physical way, but spiritually. As if the forest had woken, and every branch was leaning in to watch.

She tightened the straps of her satchel and glanced back at Garrick, who was already scanning the treetops with narrowed eyes. He had his long knife strapped across his chest, a bow on his back, and a coil of tension in his shoulders that hadn't eased since sunrise.

"You feel that?" she asked.

He gave a short nod. "The forest is holding its breath."

They walked in silence for a while, following no true trail. The undergrowth had swallowed the old hunter paths weeks ago, leaving only instinct and Aryn's deepening sense of pull — a tug in her bones, somewhere between thought and instinct, that whispered: Here. This way.

She wasn't sure if it came from the mark… or the bond.

But she trusted it now more than the map they didn't have.

I dreamed of fire.

Now I follow smoke.

They pushed deeper into the woods until they reached a sun-dappled glade framed by ash trees. The light here was strange — filtered gold, like walking inside memory.

Then Aryn stopped.

"Wait," she said, stepping forward.

Garrick followed her gaze.

The forest floor ahead looked scorched. A wide stretch of earth was charred black — not from flame, but something older. Ancient. It had not spread like a wildfire would. It had etched itself into the soil in perfect, curling shapes.

Lines. Symbols. A path.

A map.

Aryn dropped to her knees, her fingers hovering over the blackened ground.

"It's not just burned," she whispered. "It's… branded."

She traced one of the curling lines with a fingertip and gasped.

The mark on her shoulder flared in response — not painfully, but with recognition.

Like it was saying: This is for you.

Garrick crouched beside her. "This isn't natural."

"No," she breathed. "It's not."

There were no human footprints. No tool marks. No signs of fire having been set. The shapes were clean, precise — symbols that glowed faintly in the shadow, like the last breath of embers beneath a blanket of ash.

This was left for her.

Not just a map. A message.

She moved to the center, where the symbols gathered in a spiral — and at the heart of it, a single rune.

The same rune carved into her flesh.

She reached for it — and as her fingers brushed the symbol, something deep underground hummed.

A ripple moved through the soil.

Then the air shifted.

The wind swept in low and fast, scattering loose leaves, and suddenly, the world around them blurred — trees bending, birds taking flight, as if something had awakened.