The True Alpha

The moon still lingered in the sky when Alex Donovan stepped onto the Silver Moon Pack's training ground. The crisp morning air bit at his skin, but he ignored it, rolling his shoulders as he faced his opponent-his father, Alpha Magnus.

Magnus stood tall, arms folded, watching him with the sharp gaze of a warrior who had seen too many battles. His silver-streaked hair framed a face marked by scars, each one a reminder of the countless fights he had survived.

"Again," Magnus ordered.

Alex tightened his grip on his stance, wiping sweat from his brow. His muscles burned from the earlier drills, but there was no room for weakness. Not here. Not when he was supposed to succeed his father as Alpha.

He lunged forward, feinting left before twisting right, aiming a strike at Magnus's ribs.

His father dodged with ease, catching Alex's wrist and twisting it behind his back. A sharp pain shot through Alex's arm.

"You think that was smart?" Magnus scoffed. "Your enemy will see that move a mile away."

Alex gritted his teeth, struggling against his father's grip. "Maybe my enemy isn't an old man."

Magnus chuckled before slamming Alex onto the ground. The impact sent a shock through his spine, but he barely had time to react before Magnus planted a knee against his chest.

"Old men don't need to be fast," Magnus growled. "They just need to be smart."

Alex coughed, struggling for breath. His father finally stepped back, allowing him to roll onto his knees. His pride stung worse than his bruises.

Magnus offered him a hand, and after a moment, Alex took it.

"Strength alone won't make you a good Alpha," Magnus said as Alex got to his feet. "A leader must know when to fight and when to hold back. You're reckless, Alex."

Alex clenched his jaw. "I just want to be ready."

His father sighed. "War is coming, whether we like it or not. And when it does, being ready won't be enough."

The words hung heavy between them.

From the edge of the training ground, Mia Sinclair watched the sparring match, fingers curled into the fabric of her cloak.

She had known Alex since childhood, had stitched up his wounds more times than she could count, yet each time she saw him take a hit, her heart clenched.

When Magnus walked away, she hurried forward.

"Let me see," she demanded, reaching for Alex's arm.

"I'm fine," Alex muttered, pulling away.

Mia gave him a look. "That wasn't a request."

He sighed but allowed her to examine the forming bruises on his wrist. Her touch was gentle, practiced.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," she said.

Alex smirked. "That's the whole point of training."

Mia rolled her eyes, pressing a cool cloth against his skin. "One day, you're going to break something, and I won't fix it."

"Then I guess I'll have to be more careful," Alex teased.

She glared at him, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. He never took anything seriously. Not his wounds. Not her concerns. And definitely not the way her heart raced whenever he was close.

"Just... don't be stupid," she muttered.

Alex grinned. "No promises."

"

The sound of a wolf's horn suddenly echoed through the air, sharp and urgent.

Alex's body tensed. That signal only meant one thing-trouble.

He turned on his heel and sprinted toward the main gates, Mia right behind him. By the time they reached the outskirts of the pack's territory, a patrol had already gathered.

A warrior stumbled forward, his face bloodied, his arm clutching a deep wound across his ribs.

Alex caught him before he collapsed.