The Alpha's Claim

The wind moves through the pines with a low, restless moan. Snow sifts from the branches. Beneath it, I hear paws striking the ground.

They are close.

My muscles tremble. My body begs me to curl beneath the tree and let the cold take me. It would be quieter than being dragged back. Quieter than the chain. Quieter than the murmurs of the pack gathered around the stone circle while my former Alpha stood above me and told everyone I was defective.

Unworthy.

Rejected.

The word still lives beneath my skin.

I shove away from the tree.

My hind leg buckles, but I keep moving. I have learned how to move through pain. Pain is the one thing my old pack taught me well.

The memory comes without permission: the stone beneath my knees, the winter air cutting through my thin dress, every pack member watching while he stood in front of me. His hand had rested on the shoulder of the woman he chose instead. His voice had been calm when he said my name.

“Maya Sterling, I reject you.”

The bond had ripped open inside me.

I had screamed once.

Only once. After that, I learned to swallow sound.

A howl rises behind me, closer than before.

My fear surges so violently that my wolf nearly loses control. I see the forest through her eyes - every trunk a threat, every gust of wind carrying the scent of pursuit. We run together because neither of us can survive alone.

The snow deepens.

My chest heaves. My paws leave dark stains behind me, a trail they can follow even without scent. Blood drips from my belly where the guard’s knife caught me before I shifted. The wound burns beneath my fur, hot and wet, while the rest of me freezes.

I smell pine.

Not the bitter, resinous trees of my former territory. This scent is colder, cleaner. It carries untouched snow and dark earth sleeping beneath frost.

The border.

Hope rises so quickly it hurts.

I lower my head and push harder.

The terrain slopes downward, and I slide through powder up to my chest. Snow packs against my muzzle. I thrash forward, gasping, then scramble up the other side. My legs shake so badly that each step feels borrowed.

Behind me, the pack enters the hollow.

Their growls drift between the trees.

I cannot see them, but I know their voices. I know the deep bark of the Beta who held me down. I know the sharp, excited yips of younger wolves eager to prove themselves. I know the ex-Alpha’s silence most of all.

He does not need to call my name.

He knows I will remember him.

I break through a screen of fir branches and see the marker.

It is a tall post of blackened oak, half buried in snow, carved with the silver crescent of the Silver Oak pack. Frost glitters along its edges. A narrow strip of metal circles the trunk beneath it, etched with old boundary runes that catch the faint light filtering through the clouds.

The border is only a few body lengths away.

My body gives everything it has left.

I run.

A howl explodes behind me.

I hear paws pounding closer. A wolf snarls, and the sound is followed by the crack of something striking a tree. They are no longer trying to hide. They know I am almost out of reach.

The marker grows larger.

My front paws hit the snow beyond it.

For one breath, nothing happens.

Then the air changes.

A pressure rolls over my fur, invisible but unmistakable. The boundary recognizes me as an intruder, weighs my blood and my intent, and leaves me standing. Somewhere deep in the earth, a protective current stirs.

I made it.

The thought barely forms before my injured leg folds.

I crash into the snow.

Cold closes over me. Powder swallows my side, my neck, my face. I try to lift my head, but my muscles refuse. My paws twitch uselessly beneath my body. The blood beneath me spreads in a dark fan, steaming faintly before the night devours the warmth.

On the other side of the marker, the pursuing wolves stop.

I hear their claws scrape against frozen ground.

A growl rolls through the trees, furious and frustrated. One of them steps forward. The boundary hums. The wolf recoils with a startled yelp.

They cannot cross.

They cannot reach me.

I should feel safe.

Instead, terror keeps tearing through me. The Silver Oak pack is not my pack. Its wolves will find me. Its Alpha will decide what I am worth. Maybe he will send me back. Maybe he will do worse.

I have heard stories about Jaxon Vance.

Every pack has stories about its Alpha. Giant black wolf. Merciless in battle. Scarred across one shoulder and down his ribs. A voice that can make grown wolves lower their heads.

If he finds me, I will be at his mercy.

I try to crawl farther from the marker, though I do not know why. My claws drag weak lines across the snow. My vision darkens at the edges.

The old pack begins to pace beyond the boundary.

Their scents reach me on the wind - wet fur, sweat, iron, and the bitter oil they smear on their weapons. The familiar smell twists my stomach. I press my muzzle into the snow to hide it.

Do not cry.

Crying makes them angry.

The command belongs to a much younger version of me, a girl curled beneath the healer’s table while boots crossed the doorway. I remember the rough wood against my cheek. I remember holding my breath while the guards searched the room. I remember the healer finding me afterward and saying nothing because silence was safer for both of us.

I have spent years learning how to disappear.

Now I am too tired to do it.

My body shifts without my permission.

White fur pulls inward. Bones grind and lengthen. The change is agony with no strength to soften it. I bite down on a scream as paws become hands, as my muzzle shortens, as cold air strikes bare skin.

I lie naked in the snow.

The wound in my side is worse as a human. Blood runs warm beneath my ribs, then chills against my skin. My hands claw weakly at the powder, trying to cover myself, but my fingers have gone numb.

The forest tilts.

I see the boundary marker above me, black against the gray sky. The silver crescent gleams like a watchful eye.

“Please,” I whisper, though I do not know who I am begging.

The wolves beyond the border answer with a snarl.

My breath catches. I drag my knees toward my chest, but the movement opens the wound and sends a hot blade through me. A cry slips out before I can stop it.

The pack hears.

Excitement stirs beyond the marker.

I shut my eyes.

I cannot go back.

I cannot endure the stone circle again, the watching faces, the judgment in my former Alpha’s eyes. I cannot feel hands dragging me through the snow. I cannot be used as a warning for other wolves who think they might disobey.

Death is frightening.

Going back is worse.

My fingers curl into the snow. It melts beneath my palms, then freezes around them. I am so cold now that the pain begins to fade. My body grows distant, separate from me, as if I am watching a stranger bleed beneath the trees.

A strange scent slips beneath the familiar ones.

Pine needles.

Woodsmoke.

Cold winter earth.

It does not belong to the wolves behind me. It comes from deeper within Silver Oak territory, faint but unmistakable. My wolf stirs weakly inside my chest, lifting her head toward it.

The scent feels like a door.

I do not know what waits beyond it. Safety. Another cage. An Alpha who will look at my scars and decide I am broken.

Still, some buried part of me reaches for the warmth hidden inside that unfamiliar darkness.

A twig snaps on the Silver Oak side.

I freeze.

The wolves beyond the marker fall silent.

Something is coming.

Not one of the hunters. The scent is too deep, too powerful. It rolls over the snow in a slow wave, carrying the weight of a predator who has never needed permission to enter any place.

My pulse stutters.

I try to shift again, to crawl, to hide. My limbs will not answer. All I can do is stare through half-closed eyes at the trees ahead.

A shape moves between them.

Black fur. Massive shoulders. Amber eyes catching what little light the sky offers.

The wolf pauses beside the boundary marker.

For one terrible moment, I believe death has come wearing another face.

The giant wolf lowers his head and looks directly at me.

His gaze is not empty hunger. It is shock, followed by something fierce enough to make the air tighten around my throat.

He steps closer.

The boundary does not resist him.

I want to tell him to stay away. I want to tell him I am not worth saving. I want to ask him not to send me back.

My lips barely move.

“Don’t…”

The word disappears into the snow.

The black wolf crosses the marker.

His scent surrounds me, pine and smoke and frozen earth, and my traitorous wolf answers with a weak, aching pull toward him.

No.

I fight it. I fight the warmth spreading through my chest, the strange recognition blooming beneath my terror. I have given enough of myself to powerful wolves. I will not belong to another.

The black wolf stops just beyond my reach.

He does not touch me.

That restraint frightens me almost as much as his size.

A low sound vibrates from him - not a growl, not quite. His amber eyes remain fixed on my face while the hunters begin shouting across the border.

“Give her back!”

The black wolf turns his head toward them.

The forest goes silent.

Even the wind seems to draw away from him.

I know, with the last clear piece of my mind, exactly who stands before me.

Jaxon Vance.

Silver Oak’s Alpha.

My vision narrows to his golden eyes. My blood cools beneath my skin. Somewhere inside me, my wolf whispers a word I refuse to understand.

Mate.

I close my eyes before the word can become real.

The snow receives me completely, and I wait for death to decide whether it wants me.

End of chapter one. 15 more chapters in the full book.