Chapter 4: The Mark of the Alpha

Blood of the Forgotten

The forest trembled with tension.

The creature that stepped from the shadows was wrong. Twisted. Its face still held traces of humanity, but its limbs were warped, and its spine arched unnaturally. Yellow eyes glowed like lanterns in the dark, and its grin was too wide—unnerving.

Azhar stood protectively in front of Mia, his claws still extended, breath sharp.

“You were sent by Beau?” he growled.

The creature chuckled, voice dry and cracked like old leaves.

“I was made by him. Shaped by his new order.”

Mia narrowed her eyes. “You’re not a werewolf.”

It laughed again. “Not anymore. Beau freed me from that weakness.”

Azhar’s rage built behind his ribs, but he held it tight. “Where is he?”

The creature leaned forward, sniffing the air. “He wants you to come find him. But you won’t survive the journey. The moment you stepped back into this world, you signed your death.”

Without warning, the creature lunged.

Azhar didn’t hesitate.

He met the charge head-on, their bodies colliding with bone-snapping force. The creature was fast—faster than most—but Azhar had something else. Instinct. His muscles moved before his thoughts did. He ducked, twisted, and drove his claws upward.

A sickening crack echoed through the trees.

Blood sprayed as Azhar’s claws pierced the creature’s side, but it didn’t fall. It shrieked, twisting unnaturally, raking its own claws across Azhar’s shoulder. The wound stung—something in the creature’s claws was tainted.

Mia moved like a shadow, twin daggers flashing in her hands. She drove them into the creature’s back, severing muscle and tendon. It shrieked again and stumbled, twitching like a broken marionette.

Then Azhar grabbed it by the throat and slammed it to the forest floor.

“Talk,” he snarled. “What is Beau planning?”

The creature writhed, coughing blood. “He’s... building a new pack. Not wolves. Not humans. Something stronger. Something bound by blood and shadow.”

Mia: “Where?”

Creature: “In the old lands... beyond the Bone Valley. The ruins where your pack died, Alpha.”

Azhar’s jaw clenched.

“Why me? Why now?”

The creature grinned despite the pain. “Because you’re the last piece. The last real Alpha. If he kills you... he owns the bloodlines. He becomes the true heir of the wild.”

Azhar drove his fist into the creature’s face. The bones shattered.

The forest fell silent once more.

---

Later, by the flickering light of Mia’s lantern, Azhar sat with his shirt off. The wound on his shoulder festered with black veins creeping outward. Mia knelt beside him, crushing herbs into a bowl.

“It’s poison,” she muttered. “Not natural. Probably mixed with dark root and grave ash.”

She dabbed the paste onto his wound. It sizzled. Azhar didn’t flinch.

“What did he mean,” she asked, “about you being the last Alpha?”

Azhar shook his head. “I don’t know. But it’s not the first time I’ve heard it.”

He held out his hand, palm upward. A faint red glow pulsed just beneath the skin—faint, but growing.

“This... mark,” he whispered. “It’s been getting stronger since I shifted.”

Mia leaned in. The mark looked like a crescent wolf fang circling a flame.

“That’s an Alpha Sigil,” she said. “Old blood. From the founding lines.”

Azhar looked at her. “Founding lines?”

Mia nodded. “The first wolves. The ones who weren’t born but forged. They carried marks like that—burned into their souls. Only the strongest inherited them. Most are gone now. Lost in wars or sealed away.”

“So why do I still have mine?”

Mia met his gaze. “Because you never died. Beau may have broken your pack, but he never killed you. That mark stayed hidden until you woke it again.”

Azhar stared at the mark. The red pulse matched the rhythm of his heartbeat. Deeper than blood. Ancient.

“He wants it,” Azhar said. “That’s why he sent that thing. He doesn’t just want to kill me—he wants to take this.”

Mia stood, pacing. “And if he does... he could unlock the rest of the sealed bloodlines. No more balance. No more peace. Just domination.”

Azhar rose to his feet, wrapping a cloth around his shoulder. “Then we stop him. We find him before he finds another one of us.”

Mia nodded. “We’ll need to cross Bone Valley.”

Azhar tilted his head. “You’ve been there?”

She hesitated. “Once. It's a cursed place. Nothing grows. The dead don’t stay buried. But if we’re lucky, we might find an old ally there... a Watcher.”

“Watcher?”

Mia looked at him grimly. “They guard what’s left of the old world. If we’re going to learn what Beau is building... we need their help.”

---

They left the forest at dawn.

The mountains loomed ahead—jagged like teeth. Bone Valley waited beyond them, steeped in fog and silence. Mia led the way, her movements purposeful.

Azhar followed, his senses on fire. The mark on his palm throbbed with each step, and with it, memories stirred again.

He remembered...

A field of flame.

Wolves kneeling.

Him, lifting his head to the sky and howling—not in pain, but in defiance.

Beau beside him. Laughing.

Then blood.

Azhar shook the vision away.

Whatever had happened in the past, he would uncover it piece by piece. And when he faced Beau again, he would no longer be uncertain. He would be the Alpha once more.

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