Sacrificed to the Alpha

The Blood Moon had risen.

Like a frozen droplet of blood, it hung against the indigo velvet canvas above the Silver Moon Pack’s sacred grounds. The light it cast was not a warm orange-red, but a cold, ominous crimson that bathed every ancient boulder and towering pine in the valley with an eerie glow.

The air was filled with the fragrant crackle of pine resin in the bonfires, mixed with the scent of rich earth and something older—the aroma of faith itself. The members of the pack formed a massive concentric circle, standing on land blessed by their ancestors. They chanted ancient songs in low voices, a melody that relied not on pitch but on a primal resonance from deep within their chests, converging into a soul-shaking wave of sound that echoed through the valley.

Aria stood at the very front of the crowd, in a position closest to the altar, the most conspicuous of all. As the only human in the Silver Moon Pack, she should have been an outsider to this sacred ceremony. Yet, at this moment, she was permitted to stand here, right beside the pack’s future leader.

This privilege came from one person and one person alone—Liam.

She could feel the warmth of his palm, firm and reassuring, resting on her shoulder through the thin fabric of her clothes. It was a silent declaration, a comforting gesture that allowed her to find a sense of rightful belonging in this domain of supernatural beings.

“Don’t be nervous,” Liam’s voice was a low murmur, laced with a clarity unique to his youth, meant only for her to hear. “Elder Maeve just looks serious. When she reads the moon, it’s like she’s chatting with an old friend.”

Aria turned her head slightly, offering him a small smile. He could always see through her calm facade to the unease beneath, she knew. She held a profound reverence for these rituals, but she couldn't ignore the feeling of being an "other," of being out of place. She had no wolf's blood, could not join the soul-stirring chant. She could only be a quiet, specially cared-for witness.

Her gaze drifted over the crowd to Alpha Robert and Luna Clara at the center of the altar. They were Liam’s parents, and the foster parents who had saved her from the abyss of despair. Their postures were majestic and serene, as if they were one with this ancient land. A warmth bloomed in Aria’s heart. It was because of them that she still had a concept of "home" in this world.

Gradually, the chanting of the ceremony subsided. All eyes converged on the stooped figure leaning on a gnarled, dragon-like wooden staff, slowly ascending the altar.

Elder Maeve, the oldest and most respected seer of the pack. Her face was a roadmap of deep-set wrinkles, yet her eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s, as if they could pierce the very fog of time.

She raised her head, her clouded gaze fixed on the blood moon in the sky. Her wizened lips began to move, uttering a series of ancient, difficult syllables. It was the old tongue of the wolves. Aria could only understand a few scattered words, but she could feel the thrilling, formidable power they contained.

The valley fell into a dead silence, filled only by the seer's voice, which seemed to emanate from another time, another place.

Suddenly, Elder Maeve’s voice stopped.

Her body began to tremble violently, without warning. The wooden staff in her hand fell with a heavy thud onto the stone altar. Her eyes, which had been fixed on the moon, rolled back in her head, leaving only the horrifying whites. Her entire being seemed to be seized by an invisible force, convulsing in agony.

“Elder Maeve!” Alpha Robert let out a low growl, about to step forward.

But just then, Maeve let out a hoarse, shrill roar that was not her own. The sound was like a thousand souls layered one upon the other, filled with venom and madness. She flung her arm up, her hand, as gaunt as a hawk’s talon, cutting through the flickering firelight, across dozens of meters of space, pointing precisely—at Aria.

Time seemed to freeze.

The color drained from Aria’s face. She could feel hundreds of gazes in the valley, like iron filings drawn to a magnet, all snapping towards her. At first, those eyes held shock and confusion. But soon, as if a toxic dye had been dropped into clear water, they were rapidly stained with suspicion, fear, and even… enmity.

“The shadow of the blood moon…” The seer’s throat squeezed out the demonic whisper, each word like a poison-tipped icicle. “…will… devour the flame…”

Aria felt her breath catch in her throat. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she couldn't make a sound. She wanted to hide, to run, but her feet were nailed to the ground, immovable.

“…A soul that should not exist…”

Liam’s hand tightened on her shoulder, almost crushing it. His body went rigid, like a lion cub that had been provoked, a low, dangerous growl rumbling in his throat. He took a step forward, his tall frame a mountain, shielding Aria completely behind him.

“She will bring…” Elder Maeve screamed with the last of her strength, a blood-curdling shriek, “…salvation—or ruin!”

The words had barely left her lips when she collapsed backward like a puppet whose strings had been cut, unconscious.

Silence. A heavy, suffocating silence that was enough to drown a person.

Then, the crowd erupted. Screams of terror, roars of anger, malicious whispers—they surged toward Aria from all sides like a tidal wave.

“It’s her! The seer was talking about the… human!”

“Why would a human be at the Blood Moon Rite? She’ll bring us misfortune!”

“Ruin… She said ruin…”

Faces that had once offered her gentle smiles now twisted into something ugly and unfamiliar. Aria felt as if she were in the middle of a frozen ocean, enveloped by the malice of the entire world, unable to breathe. Every inch of her skin tingled from the sting of those piercing glares.

Just then, a warm, strong hand closed around her own, which was as cold as death.

It was Liam.

He didn’t look back at her, but his broad back was, in itself, the most impenetrable fortress. A few of the highly-respected pack elders stepped forward, their faces grave, as if wanting to question him.

“Liam, about this prophecy…”

“Back off!”

Liam’s voice wasn’t loud. It still held a trace of youthful unripeness. But the unquestionable authority of a future Alpha contained within it was like an invisible shockwave, instantly quelling the surrounding commotion. The approaching elders couldn't help but stop in their tracks, looks of astonishment on their faces.

He didn't explain the prophecy. He didn't say a word in Aria’s defense.

Under the watchful eyes of the entire pack, he simply turned around slowly, meeting Aria’s terrified, unfocused, tear-filled gaze. His own eyes were unyieldingly firm, like two flames burning in the dead of night, banishing all the cold from her heart.

“I’m here,” he said. “Don’t be afraid.”

Then, he gripped her hand tightly, so tightly, as if he were holding the most precious treasure of his life. He ignored all the stares—the scrutinizing, the hostile, the bewildered—and just like that, led her, step by step, through the crowd that parted for them on its own accord.

Like the Red Sea before Moses, the crowd receded in silence before his powerful presence, forming a tense corridor of scrutiny.

Aria couldn't hear anything anymore, couldn't see anything. Her world had narrowed to his solid, broad back, and the warmth from his palm that was enough to defy the entire world.

They walked through the crowd, leaving the sacred ground that had fallen into chaos because of her.

The light of the blood moon, behind them, cast two long shadows, clinging tightly together.