The night the curse was sealed, the forest screamed.
Not with sound, but with fear.
King Brennan stood in the center of the ancient clearing. His hands were soaked in blood that was not his own.
The full moon hung low and red above the trees, watching like an unblinking eye.
The woman he loved lay on the ground before him.
Her chest no longer rose. Her eyes, once warm and full of life, stared at nothing.
"This was never meant for her," Brennan whispered, his voice breaking.
Around them, the elders of the pack stood in silence. None dared to step forward. None dared to meet his eyes.
An old woman moved at last. Her back was bent with age, her hair white as ash. Symbols were carved into her skin, glowing faintly in the moonlight.
"The law has been broken," she said. "Blood has been spilled where it should not have been."
Brennan fell to his knees.
"Take my life instead," he said. "Spare her."
The old woman shook her head slowly.
"Death would be mercy," she replied. "And mercy is not what the spirits demand."
The wind rose. The trees groaned. The moon darkened.
"The curse will follow your blood," the elder continued. "You will rule. You will protect. But you will never love without loss."
Brennan let out a cry that tore from his chest, half man, half wolf.
The forest answered.
From that night on, the Alpha King ruled alone.