A Dangerous Alliance
The forest was quiet, too quiet. Ayla tightened her coat around her shoulders as she wandered through the trees, seeking the solace she always found in the woods. The packhouse and its constant stares had grown suffocating, especially after the strange exchange between Rowan and Cian the night before. Their words echoed in her mind: She’ll do nicely. No one will suspect a thing.
Ayla’s fists clenched as she replayed it. Whatever they were planning, it didn’t feel right. But she didn’t know what to do—or who to trust.
As she rounded a cluster of tall pines, a sharp, metallic scent hit her nose. Blood. Ayla froze, her heightened senses going into overdrive. She scanned the area, her ears twitching at the faint sound of labored breathing nearby.
“Who’s there?” she called, her voice firm despite the nervous flutter in her chest.
No response. Slowly, Ayla crept forward, her eyes darting between the trees. Then she saw him.
A man slumped against a tree trunk, his clothes torn and stained with blood. His dark hair hung over his face, and his chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. His sharp features, though pale, were striking—and distinctly unfamiliar.
A rogue.
Ayla’s heart skipped. She stepped back, her instincts screaming at her to run. Rogues were dangerous, unpredictable. Worse, aiding one was punishable by exile—or death.
The man groaned, lifting his head weakly. His piercing gray eyes locked onto hers, and Ayla felt rooted to the spot.
“Please…” he rasped, his voice hoarse but steady. “Help me.”
Ayla hesitated. Her head screamed no, but something about his desperate gaze tugged at her. She scanned the forest, making sure they were alone, then took a cautious step closer.
“You’re a rogue,” she said flatly, her voice low. “If my pack finds you, they’ll kill you—and me for helping.”
The man gave a weak chuckle, wincing as he shifted against the tree. “I know the rules. But you don’t strike me as the kind to blindly follow them.”
Ayla narrowed her eyes. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’re still standing here,” he said, tilting his head. “And I know I’ll die if you don’t do something.”
Her gaze dropped to his side, where blood seeped from a deep gash across his ribs. The wound looked infected, the edges swollen and raw. He wouldn’t last the night.
Ayla cursed under her breath. This was insane. But before she could talk herself out of it, she crouched beside him and began inspecting the wound.
“You’re lucky I know a bit about healing,” she muttered. “What happened to you?”
“Pack patrol,” he said grimly. “Your pack, I think. They didn’t take kindly to me passing through.”
“You’re trespassing,” she said, pulling a small bottle of antiseptic from her coat pocket. She always kept a basic kit for training injuries.
“Didn’t have much of a choice,” he replied, wincing as she poured the antiseptic on his wound. “There’s… something coming. Something big. I needed to warn someone.”
Ayla paused, her hands hovering over his side. “What are you talking about?”
He gave her a hard look. “You think your pack is safe, tucked away in these woods? It’s not. There’s a war brewing, and your Alpha knows it.”
Her stomach tightened. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?” He leaned back, his eyes heavy with exhaustion but full of conviction. “Why do you think your pack’s been on edge lately? Why the heir suddenly came back? They’re preparing for something, Ayla.”
She stiffened. “How do you know my name?”
“I’ve heard things,” he said cryptically, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “You’re not as invisible as you think.”
Ayla shook her head, focusing on bandaging his wound. “This is insane. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”
“And yet, here you are.”
She finished tying the bandage and sat back on her heels, glaring at him. “What’s your name?”
“Zion,” he said, his voice softening. “And thank you. For not leaving me to die.”
Ayla crossed her arms. “Don’t thank me yet. If anyone finds out, we’re both dead.”
Zion nodded, his expression turning serious. “I get it. But you need to know something else—something about yourself.”
“What are you talking about?”
Zion unbuttoned the top of his shirt, revealing his chest. Ayla’s breath hitched as she saw the scarred tattoo etched into his skin. It was faint but unmistakable: the intricate crest of an ancient Alpha bloodline, one long thought extinct.
“This mark,” Zion said, pointing to it. “It’s a symbol of the bloodline I come from. But it’s not just mine.”
Her brow furrowed. “What does that have to do with me?”
He reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of her sleeve. “Pull it up,” he said softly.
Ayla hesitated, then slowly rolled up her sleeve. There, on the inside of her wrist, was the faint outline of a birthmark she’d always thought was meaningless.
Zion’s gaze darkened. “It’s the same,” he murmured. “You’re one of us, Ayla. Whether you know it or not.”
Her mind reeled. “That’s impossible,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
