The Alpha's Warning
The forest felt different that night.
The wind was colder. The shadows were thicker. And the moon—full and heavy—hung above the trees like an unblinking eye, watching her.
Amara tightened her cloak around her shoulders as she walked quickly toward the village path. She had stayed too long at the riverbank. She had lingered too long thinking about everything her grandmother warned her about.
Never wander at night. Never look the wolves in the eye. And above all—never let an Alpha find you alone.
The leaves rustled behind her.
She froze.
A heartbeat later, she sensed it—someone was there. Watching her. Studying her.
"Who's there?" Amara whispered.
A branch snapped.
Then he stepped out.
Tall… impossibly tall. Broad shoulders. Eyes glowing a deep, molten gold that didn't belong to a human. His presence alone made the night feel hotter, heavier—like the air was responding to him.
Amara stumbled back.
"You—you're one of them."
His lips lifted slightly, not in a smile, but in something darker, something that felt like danger wrapped in desire.
"I'm not just one of them," he said, voice deep enough to vibrate through her bones.
"I'm the Alpha."
Her heart stopped.
He took one step closer, and the ground felt smaller.
Another step, and she could smell him—wild forest, cold night, and something uniquely him.
"Why are you out here, little human?" he asked, eyes locked on her as if he could see straight through her thoughts. "Don't you know what hunts the woods tonight?"
"I was going home," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Home…" he repeated softly, circling her, every movement slow and predatory.
"That's a long way from where you should be."
His gaze lowered to her neck, then rose again, sharper.
"You smell different," he murmured. "Different from every other human. Who are you?"
Amara swallowed hard. She didn't know why her name suddenly felt dangerous.
"Amara."
The Alpha's eyes flickered with something she couldn't read.
"Amara…" he tasted the name like a secret. "You shouldn't be here. Not tonight. Not alone."
"I can take care of myself."
He stopped in front of her—too close.
"Against me?" he asked quietly.
Her breath caught.
"No," she whispered.
For the first time, his expression shifted—just a hint. Not softness… but recognition. As if he'd found something he'd been hunting.
"You're coming with me," he said.
"What? No—"
"It's not a request."
Before she could protest again, he lifted his head, sniffing the air sharply.
His eyes darkened instantly.
"They're coming," he growled.
"Who?"
He grabbed her hand—warm, strong, unbreakable.
"My wolves."
"What do they want?"
His golden eyes locked onto hers, fierce and burning.
"You."