BOUND TO THE ALPHA'S CURSE

Elara's POV

The night in Bloodmoon Hollow held a silence too heavy to be natural. It pressed down on rooftops, slithered through cracks in windows, and settled like soot in the lungs. Elara Hale had grown used to silence-her cottage sat at the edge of the village where the forest began-but tonight it felt alive, almost watchful.

She sat by the flickering fire, her hands folded tight in her lap, staring at the half–burnt log that refused to catch flame. Her thoughts strayed again to the dream. No, not a dream-a vision. The kind that made her skin crawl with memory, not imagination.

A woman had stood in the clearing, hair loose as night wind, eyes glowing with silver fire. Behind her, wolves circled, but they did not attack. They bowed. One wolf-larger than the rest, its eyes bleeding red-stood at her side. Its presence was both protection and prison. And when the woman had lifted her face to the moon, Elara had seen her own reflection in those silver eyes.

She had woken with her sheets damp from sweat and her throat raw from a scream she did not remember making.

Now, sitting alone, she rubbed her thumb over the edge of her cup, cold tea untouched. The village healer had once warned her about such visions, muttering that priestess blood ran crooked through her mother's line. But Elara never knew her mother, only the whispers she left behind-whispers about sacred bloodlines, cursed destinies, and a daughter marked for ruin.

The flames spat and cracked, startling her. She almost laughed at herself. It was foolish to dwell on dreams. Except lately, they came every night. And every morning, she woke with the feeling that someone had been in her room, watching.

A sharp knock rattled her door.

Elara flinched. At this hour? She rose, careful with each step across the creaking floorboards, and pulled the latch.

Old Maren, the widow from two cottages down, stood with her shawl clutched tight. "You did not hear it?" the woman whispered, wild eyes darting to the woods.

"Hear what?"

"The howling. Wolves near the Hollow. But not normal wolves. Something darker."

Elara's heart squeezed. "You are certain?"

Maren crossed herself. "I have lived here sixty winters, child. I know the sound of hunger. This was not hunger. This was warning."

Before Elara could answer, a long, low howl drifted from the forest, so deep it seemed to shake the ground beneath them. Her skin prickled, breath catching. The sound did not fade like a distant call. It lingered, curling around the cottages, clinging to the air.

Maren muttered something under her breath and backed away. "Bolt your doors, Elara. Bolt them and pray."

The woman vanished down the path, leaving Elara alone with the echo of that dreadful howl.

She locked the door, set the latch twice, then leaned against it with her chest heaving. For a long moment, she remained there, listening to her heartbeat pound louder than the fire's crackle.

When the silence returned, she tried to convince herself to sleep. She banked the fire, lay beneath her blanket, and closed her eyes.

But sleep was cruel.

This time the vision came sharper, more jagged. A forest of black trees split by silver light. A hand reaching for her wrist-long fingers, calloused, strong. A man's voice rumbling her name, not with tenderness, but command.

"Elara."

Her eyes flew open. She was awake. Wide awake.

And someone had spoken her name. Inside her cottage.

Her pulse roared. She sat upright, gaze darting to the corners of the room, lit faintly by embers. Empty. She swung her legs off the bed, reaching for the knife she kept beneath the pillow.

"Elara."

The whisper came again, closer this time, near the shuttered window. She froze, gripping the knife so hard her hand ached.

Slowly, she crept forward. The wood floor groaned under her step. She reached the window, pressed her palm against the shutters, and flung them open.

Nothing. Only at night and the line of trees swaying under the pale moon.

But just before she could close the shutters, she saw them.

Eyes. Two burning points of silver staring from the darkness of the woods. Not human. Not quite a wolf. Something in between.

Her breath hitched. The knife trembled in her hand. And as she watched, those eyes vanished into shadow, swallowed by the trees.

Elara slammed the shutters shut and backed away until her spine hit the wall. She wanted to tell herself she imagined it. Yet deep in her bones, she knew she had seen something real.

The Alpha.

Whispers in the Hollow always spoke of him. Kalen Blackthorn, ruler of the Bloodmoon Pack, cursed beast, shadow of the forest. Few had seen him in years, and fewer survived the encounter. Some said he was more wolf than man now. Others claimed he was bound to darkness by an old priestess's curse.

Elara never believed those tales. Until tonight.

Her hands shook as she lowered the knife. She had grown up in silence, lived with shadows, but she sensed that her life had just shifted, cracked open by something vast and dangerous. The visions, the voice, the eyes-they were pieces of a puzzle that pointed to him.

The cursed Alpha.

And though every instinct screamed to run, a strange pull tugged at her chest. Not fear, not entirely. Something else. Something she could not name.

She whispered into the silence, barely able to hear her own voice.

"What do you want from me?"

The forest answered with another howl. This time closer. This time meant for her.

Elara hears the Alpha's howl directed at her, pulling her deeper into the curse's web.

The night pressed against Elara's cottage walls, thick with the weight of secrets. Sleep refused to claim her, her mind circling the vision of fire and shadows until it felt burned into her very skin. Every creak of wood, every rustle of branches outside made her heart leap, as though the darkness itself leaned closer to listen.

She rose from her bed, clutching the lantern with trembling hands. Its light wavered, spilling across the floorboards as though even the flame feared what lingered outside. The forest loomed beyond the window, black and endless, but her gaze kept darting to it-drawn by something unseen, like a thread pulling her deeper into the unknown.

A howl split the silence. Not the cry of any ordinary wolf, but one that carried sorrow sharp enough to pierce bone. Elara froze, her breath caught in her chest. Her grandmother's words echoed like a prayer turned curse: Blood always calls to blood.

And in that instant, she knew the Hollow would never let her hide. Whatever stalked its shadows had found her.

Her lantern flickered, and the night seemed to breathe.