THE ALPHA'S CURSE

The blood moon rose like a wound in the sky.

Raven Cross stood at the edge of the Emberfang Pack's ceremonial ring, her breathing shallow, her fists clenched. Around her, the others danced and howled in celebration, but the usual joy of the Blood Rite felt distant. Foreign.

Tonight was her turning night-her twentieth blood moon. The night when her wolf would either ascend into full Alpha potential or remain as she was: half-formed. Half-broken.

But something was wrong.

Her skin prickled. Not from nerves, not from cold, but from something older. Deeper. A heat rising beneath her bones like wildfire, like magic. She gritted her teeth and tried to focus on the rhythm of the drumming, the glow of the bonfire at the center of the clearing, the pulse of the earth beneath her feet.

And then it hit.

A searing pain tore through her spine. Her knees buckled.

Voices called her name. Someone tried to steady her, but she shoved them away. Claws burst from her fingers. Her back arched unnaturally. It wasn't the normal pain of a shift-it was fire and fury, like her body was being unmade.

She screamed.

And the moon flared redder.

The world broke.

---

She woke to silence.

Ash drifted down like snow. The bonfire was cold, its embers long dead. Trees had been toppled. Tents torn apart. The scent of blood was everywhere.

Raven sat up slowly, trembling, and looked around the devastation.

Bodies. Everywhere.

Her friends. Her packmates.

Gone.

She clutched her stomach and gagged. Her mouth tasted of iron and fur. Her hands-her claws-were slick with dried blood.

"No," she whispered, crawling toward the center of the ring.

In the middle lay Beta Lorren, the pack's second-in-command. His eyes were open, frozen in shock. His chest had been torn open by something savage. By someone strong.

Her.

"No, no, no-" Raven's breathing came too fast, her heart pounding against her ribs.

She had no memory. Just flashes-screams, flames, shadows lunging in terror.

And the mark.

Her hand went to her collarbone, where a searing ache pulsed beneath her skin. She pulled back her shirt and froze.

A glowing symbol burned there, etched into her flesh like a brand: a crescent moon cradled by a claw.

It wasn't Emberfang's crest. It wasn't any pack's crest.

She'd seen it before-in dreams. On trees near the Wyrdlands. On bones in the old stories.

It was the mark of the Hollow Pack.

And it was glowing on her.

---

"Raven?"

She spun, claws bared, before recognizing the voice.

A boy-barely ten, limping, blood crusted along his leg-stood behind a broken tree trunk. His wide eyes were locked on her glowing chest.

"Tavi?" she whispered.

He nodded weakly.

"You're alive..."

"I hid," he said softly, his voice shaking. "You were... different. Your eyes were glowing white. Beta Lorren tried to stop you, and you-"

"Stop." Raven's voice cracked. "Don't say it."

He took a shaky breath. "You were screaming. Then the moon turned red. And everyone..."

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.

Raven collapsed to her knees. Her breath came in sobs. She didn't remember doing it-but the blood on her hands, the death around her, the mark on her skin-none of it could be denied.

Whatever she was, whatever had awakened inside her, it wasn't normal. It wasn't Emberfang. It wasn't safe.

She was cursed.

---

By sunset, they had left the ruins of the Emberfang camp behind.

Raven had helped bind Tavi's leg and scavenged a pack with food and a dagger. They moved slowly, staying off the trails, skirting the edges of the packlands until they reached the shadowed border of the Wyrdlands.

Few dared cross into the Wyrdlands.

It was a no-wolf's-land, twisted by ancient magics. The place where cursed things went to hide, or die.

But it was the only place Raven could go.

If the council discovered what she'd done-what she was-they'd hunt her down and burn her at the stake. The Hollow Pack had been wiped from history for a reason.

Raven wasn't ready to die.

Not yet.

As twilight deepened, they reached the treeline. The forest here was older. Thicker. Wrong.

The air smelled metallic. The bark of the trees curled with strange symbols. Raven felt the pulse of magic in her bones.

Then she smelled him.

A new scent-wolf, but not like any she'd known. Sharp. Cold. Alpha.

A shape stepped from the gloom.

Tall, broad-shouldered, hooded in black. His eyes glinted silver. His presence rolled out like storm clouds-predator and power.

Raven pushed Tavi behind her.

"I don't want trouble," she said.

The man smiled faintly.

"Too late for that."

She drew her dagger, body trembling but ready.

He tilted his head, examining her like a puzzle. "You're the girl with the Hollow mark."

Her breath caught.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"Someone who should kill you now, before it's too late."

He lunged.

---

Raven barely dodged the strike.

He moved fast-too fast. She slashed with her blade, but he batted it aside and grabbed her wrist, twisting it until the dagger dropped. She kicked him in the ribs and rolled free, heart pounding.

"I don't want to fight you!" she shouted.

He came again, claws out. Raven shifted mid-jump-her wolf exploding through her skin in a burst of pain and fury. The mark on her chest burned brighter, lighting the clearing.

The stranger stopped mid-strike, eyes wide.

"So it's true," he breathed. "The Hollow has returned."

Raven growled. "I'm not one of them."

He didn't answer.

Instead, he lowered his arms and took a step back. "Then you'd better learn fast. Because others won't hesitate like I did."

He turned and melted into the trees.

Raven shifted back, breath ragged, blood running down her arm. Tavi ran to her side.

"Who was that?" he whispered.

Raven stared into the darkness.

"I don't know," she said. "But I think we just met the first hunter."

---

They didn't sleep that night.

Raven sat by a cold fire pit in the Wyrdlands, clutching her dagger, eyes fixed on the stars.

Her old life was gone. Her pack-gone. Her blood carried a curse that she barely understood. And the mark on her chest pulsed like a second heartbeat, reminding her that she was no longer just a girl.

She was something else now.

Something hunted. Something feared.

But not something weak.

She looked down at Tavi, curled against her side.

She would survive this.

And she would find out what the Hollow mark meant-what it wanted-before anyone else died because of her.

The moon hung above, swollen and red, watching.