Page 14 of Alpha's Heir

"I refuse to believe there's nothing," I snapped, feeling the weight of my own frustration and fear. "There has to be some kind of... of a solution."

Just when I was ready to give up, a fragile, leather-bound book caught my eye. Its title was faded, but the words "Guardians of the Enchanted Forest" were just legible. Flipping it open, I skimmed the pages until a specific passage stood out.

Weston noticed my focus. "What is it?"

I read out loud, "In times of great imbalance, the ancient guardian of the enchanted forest emerges to restore harmony and fend off the darkness."

Weston snorted. "Sounds like a damn fairy tale. If there was such a guardian, don't you think it would've stepped in by now? The magic is clearly fucked."

I bit my lip, pondering. "Maybe it's dormant. Or perhaps it needs assistance to awaken. We've seen so much in our time together, Wes. Why is this so hard to believe?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I love your hope, Cora. But it feels like we're just grasping at straws."

With determination, I looked him in the eyes. "Then let's clutch onto those straws with all we've got. We've got to at least try."

And so, our search continued. But with each book we combed through, our hope dwindled. There was no mention beyond that vague reference.

But then it went too far.

The attack had happened just past dusk. The sun had just bid its final adieu, leaving behind a soft pink and orange hue. Ethan, a lively teenager known for his penchant for playing pranks on the younger kids and for his infectious laughter, was on his way back from school. His journey back was a familiar one, a path treaded upon daily, marked with the imprints of countless joyous memories. But that evening, the forest seemed eerie, the shadows deeper, the silence unsettling.

A shrill scream had punctured the stillness of the evening. Those nearby rushed toward the sound and found Ethan sprawled on the ground, deep gashes marring his skin, blood soaking the earth beneath him. His face was a mask of terror, his eyes darting around wildly, pupils dilated. The attackers had already vanished, melding into the very shadows from which they'd come.

I'd rushed to his side, my heart in my throat. Mrs. Harlow, Ethan's mother, had already reached him, her face ashen, her hands trembling as they cradled her boy's head. It was a heart-wrenching sight. Ethan's feverish mumbling, his fitful shaking, the sheer terror reflected in his eyes—it was an image that haunted my nights and clouded my days.

We moved Ethan to one of the community homes designated for recovery, where Mrs. Harlow and I kept a ceaseless vigil. I would wet cloths to soothe his fevered brow and whisper words of encouragement. Mrs. Harlow would hum softly, a lullaby she used to sing when Ethan was a child, holding his hand tightly as though she could anchor him to this world.

For days, Ethan's condition worsened. The fever consumed him, causing his body to tremble uncontrollably. His skin was clammy to touch, his pulse erratic. And despite our best efforts, the shadows seemed to inch closer, greedily waiting to claim him.

One evening, after what felt like weeks of watching over Ethan, exhaustion weighed down on me. I stepped out of the room, needing a breath of fresh air, a moment to recollect and recharge. The cold air felt sharp against my skin, grounding me to the present moment.

But that grounding was short-lived. A gut-wrenching scream pierced the air. It was Mrs. Harlow. Panic gripped me as I rushed back inside.

The scene that unfolded before me was nothing short of a nightmare. Ethan was convulsing on the bed, his eyes rolling back, his mouth agape in a silent scream. As I watched in sheer horror, a shadowy essence began seeping out from him, curling and twisting in the air like smoke. His form started to blur, the lines of his body becoming indistinct, smudging, and then fading into darkness.

In one harrowing moment, with a scream that reverberated deep within my soul, Ethan vanished, leaving behind a figure made entirely of shadows. The shadow lunged at Mrs. Harlow, who, driven by sheer maternal instinct, managed to sidestep at the last second. The shadowy form that was once Ethan howled in frustration before bursting out of the room, heading straight for the dense forest.

I stood frozen, the echoes of the recent events ringing in my ears, the gravity of what we were up against pressing down on me like a crushing weight. I felt a pang in my chest, one that made me instinctively clutch my stomach where our unborn child grew. A suffocating weight settled on my shoulders, the responsibility for the safety of the pack, the weight of the grief around me. My words felt hollow, even to my own ears, as I whispered, "I'm so sorry."

I wanted to promise them that we'd get Ethan back, but the truth was, I didn't know if we could. What was happening was beyond anything we'd faced before.

Leaving the Harlows to their grief, I headed home, hoping to find solace. The moment I entered our house, I could sense the tension. Weston sat at the head of our dining table, engrossed in a heated discussion with a few other pack members.

"We need to double the patrols, especially around the school and the main pathways," argued Len, one of our most experienced fighters.

"Traps. We need traps. Catch those shadowy fuckers before they get to us," suggested Jana, her eyes flashing with determination.

I hesitated at the entrance, not wanting to interrupt but needing to be part of the solution. Weston noticed me and nodded for me to come closer. "Cora, we're trying to figure out how to beef up security, especially after what happened to Ethan."

His voice was steady, but the lines around his eyes told a different story. Our eyes met, a silent understanding passing between us. When the last of the pack members filed out, their faces a mix of determination and worry, I moved towards Weston.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take," I confessed, my voice trembling. The weight of today's tragedy, coupled with the general atmosphere of despair, had chipped away at my strength.

Weston stood up and pulled me into his embrace, his warmth enveloping me. "I know, Cora. But we have each other. We have our family. We'll get through this."

Darkness settled around us, the house's walls echoing with the silence of a grief-stricken community. The weight of the recent tragedy weighed heavily on my chest. My thoughts kept drifting back to Mrs. Harlow's anguished face, imagining the same expression on my face if I ever lost my own child. I felt the need for action, a burning desire to do something, anything, to prevent such a tragedy from happening again. My fingers drummed nervously on the table.

"We can't just sit here and wait, Weston. We have to do something," I began, my voice filled with urgency. "What about that guardian the texts mentioned? We need to find it."

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