Page 20 of Alpha Unbound

I run. Hard. Fast. Wind slicing past. Every stride burns out the heat and noise from the meeting. The forest becomes a blur, the rhythm of my paws pounding a steady cadence. My thoughts dissolve into instinct.

I leap over a downed log, weave between narrow trunks. There’s a freedom here I don’t get in human skin. No questions. No councils. Just the purity of the hunt and the weight of my purpose.

My nose to the ground.

And I catch it. Them.

Two distinct trails. Fresh.

They’re not far. They never thought I’d come this fast.

I find them near the south ravine, pacing and spitting excuses to each other. When I break through the brush, they freeze.

One shifts mid-step, panic flickering across his face just before the mist takes him. I slow—not out of mercy, but instinct. The mist shields him, wrapping his body in color and sound. He’s safe for now, wrapped in the mist’s protection. But the second it clears… I lunge.

His paws haven’t even steadied when my shoulder slams into his flank. He lets out a sharp, surprised yelp, skidding through the underbrush and crashing into a downed log. He scrambles up, fur bristling and eyes wide, but he doesn’t come back at me. He knows better now.

The other tries to shift too, mist curling up from the ground in a fast swell. I stop short again—just for a beat—because even fury has its boundaries, and the mist is sacred. Untouchable. I watch as it swallows him whole, shards of light rippling across his skin before he disappears inside it.

When the mist clears, he’s crouched low, fur still settling, breath ragged.

I close the distance in a flash.

I snap my teeth just shy of his throat—close enough to feel the tremor in his pulse. The sound is sharp, final. A warning wrapped in promise.

I circle them, hackles raised, breath hot and heavy. One growl. Low. Warning. Absolute.

They roll over. Submissive. Exposed throats and bellies. One of them whines low, the kind of sound that scrapes from the back of the throat when pride meets fear. The other won’t even look at me—his eyes flick between the dirt and the trees, searching for an escape that isn’t coming.

I hold my stance, tail high, ears back, teeth bared, dominance pouring off me like heat. Let them squirm. Let them remember. My low growl makes one of them flinch; his hind leg twitches as he attempts a retreat I won’t allow. The other locks his gaze on the dirt, refusing to meet mine—an old instinct that tells me he finally understands what he stepped into. I don’t move. I don’t have to. Every breath I take reminds them of who holds the ground here.

I’m not my father.

But I am Alpha now.

I don’t bite. I don’t need to.

But I make sure they know this isn’t about red versus gray, about bloodline or who howls louder under the moon. It’s about lines—crossed and uncrossed. It’s about honor, discipline, and knowing your place, no matter what your rank or your name. They came after someone who did nothing to provoke them. They acted like rogues. That’s what I made sure they felt, bone-deep and breath-held.

And they just learned that disrespect—toward me, toward the balance we hold—comes at a cost.

When I leave them there, shaking in the dirt, the wolf in me is calm. I pad into the woods, not rushing. Just absorbing the quiet. The tremble of leaves in the wind. The chill of theearth beneath my paws. They’ll remember this moment. Not just because they feared me—but because I didn't rip them apart. Because mercy can cut deeper than claws when it comes from someone who could have destroyed you.

For the first time in days, there’s stillness inside me. No gnawing edge, no constant hum of restraint about to snap. Instinct and action finally align, creating this quiet. My breath slows. My muscles loosen. The Hollow feels less like a battlefield and more like home.

But that peace doesn’t last. Not when I circle back near town and catch her scent. Kate. Still fresh. Still electric.

The wind changes direction. My chest tightens, sharp and immediate, like my ribs are suddenly too tight for the lungs inside them. Her scent clings to the breeze—wildflowers and danger, sweat and soft things I don’t deserve. It’s a reminder, a warning, a promise.

This isn’t over.

Not between us. Not when the pull runs this deep, and my wolf snarls every time I try to walk away.

Because the wolf isn’t the only thing inside me that wants her.

The mist may shield us during the shift, but it doesn’t protect me from this—the way her scent clings to the Hollow like it’s claimed the ground itself. Every breath stokes the need. Every step toward the tree line pulls me closer to the edge of something I swore I’d never want. And yet, I do.

Even the Hollow feels it—watching, waiting, silent as ever. But I know the way it held its breath for her. And now, it holds it for me.

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