Alpha's Claim: A Lunar Legacy

The forest was alive with whispers. The wind wove through the ancient oaks of Erynn's Veil, carrying the scent of moss, damp earth, and the faint tang of blood. Saoirse Brennan's bare feet pounded against the forest floor, her breath ragged, her heart a frantic drumbeat in her chest. She could still hear the wedding drums echoing in the distance, their rhythm a cruel mockery of the freedom she sought. Her white gown, once a symbol of purity and obedience, was now tattered and stained with mud, clinging to her legs as she ran.

She had done the unthinkable. She had defied her pack, her alpha, and the sacred traditions that had bound the omegas of Erynn's Veil for generations. The weight of her rebellion pressed against her chest, but it was nothing compared to the chains she had shed. Tonight, she had been meant to stand before Cillian MacCarthy, alpha of the Fomorian Fang, and pledge herself to him. A union to secure peace, they had called it. A sacrifice for the greater good. But Saoirse knew the truth: it was no peace. It was a cage, forged by a man whose brutality was whispered about even in the shadowed halls of her own pack.

The memory of Cillian's cold, predatory gaze flashed through her mind. His hands, large and calloused, had gripped her wrist earlier that evening as he'd inspected her like a prized mare. "You'll do," he'd said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine. She'd seen the hunger in his eyes-not for her as a mate, but for the power she represented. An omega of Erynn's Veil, a rare prize to solidify his dominance over the fractured packs of Ireland.

Saoirse stumbled over a root, catching herself against a tree. Her fingers dug into the rough bark as she steadied her breathing. She couldn't stop. Not yet. The howls of pursuit were faint but growing closer. Cillian's warriors, no doubt, sent to drag her back to the altar. Or worse. She pushed herself forward, her omega instincts screaming at her to submit, to return, to bow. But she silenced them with every step. She would not be a pawn. She would not be his.

The forest thickened as she crossed the invisible boundary between Erynn's Veil and unclaimed territory. The air grew heavier, the shadows deeper. She knew where she was headed, though she hadn't planned it. Lugh's Claw. A pack that answered to no one, ruled by an alpha whose name was spoken in hushed tones even among the fiercest warriors. Declan O'Rourke. A man said to be as unyielding as the cliffs that guarded Ireland's shores, as fierce as the storms that battered them. If Cillian was a beast, Declan was a legend.

Saoirse didn't know what she expected to find in Lugh's Claw. Sanctuary? A temporary reprieve? All she knew was that she couldn't stop running. Not until she was far enough from Cillian's reach to breathe again.

The snap of a twig behind her made her freeze. Her head whipped around, her sharp senses straining against the darkness. The wind carried a new scent-pine, leather, and something primal. Wolves. Not Cillian's warriors, though. These were different. Stronger. Closer.

Before she could move, a figure emerged from the shadows. Tall and broad-shouldered, he moved with the grace of a predator, his presence commanding the very air around him. His hair was dark, tousled by the wind, and his eyes-green as the forest itself-locked onto hers with an intensity that made her knees weak. For a moment, time seemed to still. The world narrowed to the space between them, and something ancient, something undeniable, snapped into place.

The mate bond.

Saoirse's breath caught in her throat. No. It couldn't be. Not here. Not now. She took a step back, her instincts warring within her. Run, her mind screamed. But her heart, her soul, anchored her to the spot.

Declan O'Rourke tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as he studied her. His expression was unreadable, but there was no mistaking the tension in his stance, the way his hands flexed at his sides. He was a warrior, a leader, and she was an intruder in his territory.

"Who are you?" His voice was deep, rough, carrying the weight of authority. It sent a shiver through her, though not entirely from fear.

She straightened, lifting her chin despite the exhaustion that weighed her down. "Saoirse Brennan," she said, her voice steady despite the chaos within her. "Of Erynn's Veil."

His eyes flickered with recognition, and something else-something darker. "You're a long way from home, omega. And you've brought trouble with you."

Before she could respond, the distant howls grew louder, closer. Cillian's warriors. Declan's head snapped toward the sound, his jaw tightening. When he looked back at her, his expression was hard, unyielding.

"You've just walked into my territory with the Fomorian Fang on your heels," he said, stepping closer. "Tell me why I shouldn't throw you back to them and be done with it."

Saoirse's heart pounded, but she held his gaze. "Because I'd rather die than go back."

For a moment, silence hung between them, heavy and charged. Then, Declan's lips twitched, a ghost of a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "Bold words," he said. "But bold doesn't mean smart."

The howls grew nearer, and Saoirse's resolve wavered. She didn't know this man, didn't know if he'd protect her or cast her out. But the bond between them pulsed, a living thing that refused to be ignored. She could feel it in her bones, in the way her body instinctively leaned toward him despite her fear.

Declan's eyes softened, just for a fraction of a second, before the mask of the alpha returned. He turned his head, barking an order into the darkness. "Conall, Niall-flank the perimeter. We've got company."

Two figures melted out of the shadows, their movements swift and silent. Declan's warriors. He turned back to Saoirse, his expression a storm of conflict. "You've just complicated my night, omega. Pray you're worth it."

And with that, he grabbed her arm, pulling her deeper into the territory of Lugh's Claw as the howls of pursuit closed in.