Marked By The Alpha Who Killed My Father

The blood on my knuckles wasn't mine.

That was the first thing that I noticed as I stood in the middle of the ring, chest heaving, heart racing like war drums. The man at my feet wheezed through a broken jaw, the shine of his fangs muted by his own blood. His wolf whined, cringing under skin that wouldn't change quick enough to mend.

The crowd roared, hungry. Always hungry.

Another victory for the ghost of Nightvale.

They did not know who I truly was-nothing but a nameless rogue girl who fought her way through every underground pit along the borderlands. A fighter without a pack. A feral. An orphan. They did not know the name my father called me before he died, before my home was reduced to ash and bone.

Auren.

I rubbed my hands on my ripped shirt, disregarding the gash in my lip and the ache in my ribs. The chanting of the crowd dissolved into white noise as I stepped out of the cage. Somebody attempted to clap me on the shoulder in celebration.

I almost broke his wrist.

"You broke his spine this time," Fenn grumbled as he caught up with me, passing me a flask. "You're getting meaner."

"I'm getting better," I corrected, twisting off the cap. The liquid burned on the way down, and I welcomed it. Pain was real. Fire equaled my still-alive state.

Same difference," he said with a smile that didn't quite make it to his eyes. "Crowd loved it.

I did not mind the crowd. I did not mind any of them.

Eight years. Eight years of bloodied arenas and alleyway negotiations. Eight years since the Ironclaw wolves destroyed my home, ripped my pack apart limb by limb, and murdered the Alpha I had called father.

Eight years since he marked me.

I still woke up feeling his teeth on my neck-branding me, claiming me, twisting the laws of the Old Blood. I was just a girl. Fifteen. Shaking. Screaming. And he'd marked me not with love or lust, but with mercy.

I did not know what was worse.

The ground shook under my boots as the second fight began behind us. I moved into the corridor's shadows, the sound dampened by metal and concrete. My wolf shifted, uneasy and displeased, though she hadn't spoken to me in years.

Not since that night.

Fenn trailed behind me down the hall. "Heard something odd today.".

"Define weird."

You hear about that High Alpha business in two days' time? Coronation in Silverkeep?

I scoffed. "Why would I care about that glorified dick-measuring ceremony?"

"Since somebody sent you this."

He held out a letter.

Not a text. Not a scent-coded scroll. A letter-wax seal, formal calligraphy, and everything.

My heart stuttered.

I took it from him, grinding teeth, copper already tasting behind my tongue. The seal was red. The crest of Ironclaw. The mark of the man who killed my father and ruined my life.

Cael Thorne.

My hands trembled as I opened the seal. Inside: one line in handwriting I hadn't seen in almost ten years.

> You're invited to witness the crowning of your mate.

The floor dropped from beneath me.

"What the fuck is this?" I rasped, my voice hoarse.

Looks like he's inviting you personally," Fenn said warily. "Public invitation. Delivered by one of the High Alpha's own messengers. Everyone saw it.".

"No," I growled. "No, no, no. He doesn't get to-he can't-"

My wolf slammed into the inside of my chest, sudden and vicious. I staggered, catching myself on the wall. My ribs ached. She wasn't speaking, but I felt her presence like a drawn sword.

Awake. Alert. Furious.

He was calling me.

And some perverse corner of me-the girl who never had closure, never got vengeance, still dreamed about that night in Technicolor bursts of fire-wanted to go.

Fenn watched me silently, eyes sharp. "You're not thinking of-"

"I'm not thinking. I'm doing." I stuffed the letter into my coat, already on the move.

So what's the plan, Auren?

I stood hesitating in the doorway, wind howling outside, the scent of rain and blood intermingling in the air.

"I'm going to kill the Alpha who marked me."

Then I stepped into the night, already sensing his scent on the wind as though it had never parted from me.

---

I couldn't sleep that night.

Couldn't.

The letter sat folded on the creaking nightstand beside my cot, humming as if alive. My pendant-a shard of moonstone on a worn leather cord-glowed gently against my chest. It hadn't done that in years.

I was lying on my back, staring up at the cracked ceiling of the safehouse. Fenn had offered me his bed. I'd said no. I didn't need comfort. I needed clarity.

I'd been marked at fifteen by Ironclaw's Alpha. I was presumed dead by all. My wolf was gone. My power, locked away. My destiny, broken. Until now.

Now, he was High Alpha.

And he'd summoned me.

There were laws for this sort of thing. Bonding laws. Fated mates weren't meant to be touched that young-certainly not in blood. But Cael Thorne hadn't played by rules. He'd marked me as his to save me from the death rite my father had intended.

That was the part that no one knew.

My father wished to sacrifice me.

And Cael had stopped him... by killing him.

The brand wasn't meant for love. It was a mark of mercy. But it had bound us together. And I despised him for it.

I know. I hated how I still felt the phantom burn of his teeth.

I despised the way I would occasionally awaken from dreams with his name seeping from my mouth.

I despised how a part of me craved answers over vengeance.

When dawn came, I dressed silently-black leathers, scent-masking oils, hidden blades at thigh and back. The pendant quivered twice, then settled. I tucked it beneath my shirt and fastened my gloves.

Fenn was in the doorway, his eyes weighed down with understanding.

You sure you're ready for this?

"No," I answered truthfully. "But I'm going anyway."

He breathed out, then gave me a tiny vial. "Emergency blackout serum. Puts most wolves out for four hours. Not him, likely. But you may require it.

I nodded once and tucked it into my boot. No farewells. Fenn didn't hold with them. Neither did I. The journey to Silverkeep was a blur-docks, checkpoints, a stolen identity. The guards didn't recognize me. I'd grown taller, leaner, harder. I kept my hood up and my scent concealed beneath wolfbane and ash. Still, my skin prickled every time a soldier stood too close. Silverkeep was bigger than I remembered. Sleek towers wrapped in ivy, bridges stretched between keeps like spider silk. The coronation was already beginning. The main courtyard buzzed with wolves from every pack, all wearing formal silks and battle leathers. Royal banners rippled in the wind-every one of them marked with the sigil of Ironclaw: a silver wolf, teeth bared.

I swallowed my nausea and fought my way through the crowd.

The previous occasion I'd been here, I was drenched in my father's blood.

I kept to the edge, watching from behind a colonnade. My wolf paced inside me, ears back, hackles raised. I didn't know if she wanted to run or rip someone's throat out.

Then I saw him.

Cael Thorne stepped up onto the obsidian dais, his Beta and the High Council on either side of him. The noise stopped. His presence was a blade-cutting, commanding, deadly. His hair was longer than I remembered, dark and tousled. His uniform was black and silver, royal without ornament.

He hadn't changed.

Except... he had.

His eyes were harder. Haunted. His stance carried something heavy, something ancient.

My breath caught as his gaze tore through the crowd.

And stopped.

On me.

It was only a second. Maybe less. But I sensed it like a wildfire under my skin. His jaw tightened. His nostrils flared.

He sniffed me.

I tried to turn. To melt into the crowd. But before I could-

"Stop," he said. One word only.

All of the wolves stopped.

He stepped down from the dais, ignoring the startled murmurs of the council. The crowd parted like fog as he walked toward me. My pulse pounded in my throat.

No. No no no-

I backed away. Too late.

He was in front of me, taller than memory, colder than the wind.

"I knew you'd come," he said softly. Not triumphant. Not angry.

Just... sure.

I met his gaze and snarled, "You have no right to call me."

"I didn't call you."

He raised his hand slowly-too slowly for the packs to understand what he was doing.

"I called you."

And, in front of all the packs in the kingdom, Cael Thorne touched the mark on my neck... and placed a second mark over the first.

Pain seared through me like electricity.

My knees collapsed. My wolf screamed.

And the last thing I saw before the world shattered into black was the look in his eyes.

Not guilt.

Not regret.

Hope.

CAEL

I smelled her before I saw her.

The moment I stepped onto the dais, the scent hit me-masked in ash and wolfsbane, but beneath. gods, I knew that scent. Rain-soaked pine. Silver smoke. Something only a bondmate could smell, after eight years.

Auren.

My fist tightened on the ritual knife at my hip. My wolf seethed beneath my skin, snarling, howling, craving.

Not now. Not here.

I kept my face a mask, eyes scanning the crowd of wolves gathered below. Diplomats. Betas. Nobles. Alphas. All here to kneel or scheme or both. But all I saw was her.

Hood up. Shoulders squared. Hidden as she had not once been the girl I swore to protect-even from myself.

She didn't belong here anymore. She hadn't in a long time.

But neither did I.

Silas, my Beta, tilted his head towards me. "What is it?"

I didn't answer. Couldn't.

Because she was already trying to sneak away.

I stepped down from the dais before I knew it. The crowd fell silent, a ripple of confusion parting as I wove through the lines, toward the scent that had haunted my every waking moment for nearly a decade.

She didn't run.

Of course she didn't.

Auren Nightvale never ran from anything. She'd burn sooner than bend. She faced me squarely, chin high, eyes flashing with fury.

I felt her hatred like a dagger in my chest.

"I knew you'd come," I said to her, softly. Not for show. Not for power. Just truth.

Her voice cut through me. "You have no right to summon me."

Gods. Even her voice- roughened by the years, but still with fire in it. I wanted to drop to my knees there and beg her pardon. But she wasn't there yet. She never would be.

"I didn't call you," I said. "I summoned you."

And I had. The call wasn't political. It wasn't ceremonial. It was instinct. Desperation. A last attempt at fixing what I'd broken-by killing her father, by marking her too young, by exiling her.

I held up my hand.

My wolf howled in pain and longing as I extended my hand to touch the spot my mark still remained-concealed beneath her hate, silenced by years, but mine.

And I placed a second mark there.

Not claiming. Not controlling.

Anchoring.

Her knees gave out.

Her wolf screamed through the bond, feral and divine.

She fell into me-and I caught her. Arms full of the only thing I'd ever truly wanted. And just before her eyes rolled back, I saw it:

Recognition.

Pain.

And something dangerously close to forgiveness.

The crowd around us dissolved into sound-shouting, gasping, political chaos. I didn't care. The world could burn.

She was alive.

She was mine.

And now... everything would change.

-