Forbidden Howls

The taste of ash and bitter resolve still lingered on Renz Andrew Blackwood's tongue as he strode away from the town square, the public rejection of Sofia Dubois echoing in his ears.

The words, uttered with Alpha authority, had felt like a physical wrench, tearing at something deep within him. He had seen the pain in her eyes, the stark, raw agony of the severance, and a flicker of something akin to regret had pierced his own carefully constructed facade. But he had crushed it. He had to.

His pack members, assembled at the edge of the square, greeted him with grim nods of approval and respectful silence. They understood. They had heard the whispers, felt the disturbance Sofia's presence had caused. To them, he had done his duty, protecting their lineage from a prophesied threat. He was the Alpha, and his word was law.

Yet, as he walked back towards Blackwood Manor, the imposing gothic estate that had been the ancestral home of his pack for centuries, the cold satisfaction of duty fulfilled quickly dissipated. The memory of Sofia's eyes, wide with shock and hurt, was a persistent, unsettling image behind his own. And beneath that, a deeper, more primal ache pulsed within him the agonizing thrum of a severed bond that refused to completely die.

He was the Alpha. His instincts were honed, precise. And his instincts screamed that Sofia Dubois was his mate.

The thought was a venomous truth, scorching his very soul. He had felt it the moment their eyes locked in the chaotic clearing, a snap of connection, a profound recognition that transcended logic, a pull so strong it had threatened to override every fiber of his being. It was the mate bond, raw and undeniable.

But it was a bond forged with a witch. And not just any witch – a witch whose power resonated with the ancient, cursed energy that whispered through the bloodline of the Blackwoods.

The prophecy. It wasn't a mere tale for campfire gatherings; it was a scar etched into the very soul of his pack, passed down through generations of Alphas. A witch, touched by a corrupting shadow, who will bring ruin to the Blackwood Alpha line.

The words were woven into the very fabric of their existence, a constant, chilling warning.

He remembered the old stories his grandfather, a stern but wise Alpha, had told him by the roaring fire in the manor's great hall.

Tales of witches of the Dubois lineage, their power a dangerous allure, their magic a disruptive force. Centuries ago, there had been a tenuous, fragile truce, often broken by suspicion and fear. But the prophecy had solidified into absolute doctrine, passed down from Alpha to Alpha, witches, especially those with the "dark shadow," were a threat to be neutralized, never embraced.

How could he, Renz Andrew Blackwood, the Alpha responsible for the survival and prosperity of his pack, consider a witch as his mate? A witch who embodied the very ruin foretold to his lineage? It was anathema. It was a betrayal of everything he was, everything he stood for.

He entered Blackwood Manor, the massive oak doors closing silently behind him, shutting out the pre-dawn mist that still clung to the grounds. The interior of the manor was a testament to his family's history – dark wood, soaring ceilings, tapestries depicting ancestral hunts, and the faint, comforting scent of old leather and wolf fur. Yet, tonight, even the familiar comfort of his home felt hollow, permeated by his internal turmoil.

He went straight to his study, a room filled with maps, strategic plans, and, more importantly, ancient pack scrolls and historical records. He lit the gas lamp on his massive desk, its soft glow illuminating the familiar script of the Blackwood Annals. He found the section on the prophecy, his fingers tracing the faded ink.

"...when the corrupted star aligns with the moon's dark side, a witch of shadowed power shall rise. Her touch, a blight; her spirit, a snare. The Golden-Eyed Alpha will be tempted, his will tested. Should he succumb, the lineage will fall, devoured by the shadow, and the pack scattered to the winds…"

Renz slammed his fist onto the desk, the heavy wood groaning in protest. Tempted. Succumb. The words burned, fueling his self-loathing. He had felt the pull.

That primal, undeniable urge to claim her, to protect her, to defy centuries of warnings. He had felt it even as he spoke the words of rejection.

That was the most terrifying part. His instincts, usually his most reliable guide, were fighting against his very duty.

He pictured Sofia again: her defiant chin, the flicker of raw pain in her eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw even as her world crumbled around her.

He remembered the unexpected burst of dark blue magic that had knocked the rogue werewolf senseless, a power that had felt both ancient and terrifyingly potent. And the faint, strange energy that had hummed around her, different from any witch he had ever sensed, an aura that felt like a twisted reflection of his own power. That was the "shadow." That was the curse.

He stalked over to the tall, arched window overlooking the mist-shrouded grounds of the manor. The first hint of dawn was bleeding into the sky, painting the eastern horizon in hues of steel gray and faint violet. He saw his pack members moving below, already on patrol, their forms shifting between human and wolf, ever vigilant. His pack. His responsibility. Their survival hinged on his unwavering resolve.

The ingrained prejudice wasn't just abstract. It was woven into their collective memory, a defensive mechanism against a perceived threat. Generations of his family had instilled it.

His Alpha father, a man of few words but absolute convictions, had spent countless hours teaching him the history of their strained relations with witches, reminding him of their volatile magic and unpredictable nature.

And the prophecy had always been the ultimate justification for their wariness.

He remembered the howls of anger from some of his elder pack members just hours ago, a low rumble of discontent when they had first learned he was investigating alongside Sofia. Even after the public rejection, he could sense their lingering suspicion, their watchful eyes on their Alpha.

Any sign of weakness, any hint that he might succumb to the mate bond, would not only jeopardize his leadership but fracture the pack he was sworn to protect.

"Alpha," a voice broke through his thoughts. It was Gareth, his Beta, standing quietly in the doorway. Gareth was older, wiser, a steady hand and a loyal confidante.

"Gareth," Renz acknowledged, without turning from the window.

"The rogue. He was dealt with swiftly," Gareth reported, his voice calm.

"But… the girl. Sofia."Renz's shoulders tensed. "She is a witch. She is a danger."

"She saved the child, Alpha," Gareth countered gently, his tone respectful but firm.

"And she moved with unusual courage. Her magic, while… unlike any we've encountered, seemed to serve a righteous purpose."

Renz finally turned, his blue eyes hard.

"Her magic is part of the prophecy, Gareth. It's the shadow we've been warned against. You felt it. That chilling hum. It's not simply powerful; it's corrupting." He spat the word as if it tasted foul.

Gareth sighed, running a hand through his grizzled hair.

"Perhaps. But the bond, Alpha. You felt it. We all felt a tremor in the pack when you… when you made your declaration. It was unusual. Not just a simple witch, was she?"

The question hung heavy in the air, probing at the raw wound Renz was desperate to cauterize.

"The bond is a trick," Renz ground out, his voice low and dangerous.

"A snare laid by fate, to test the Alpha. To lead him to ruin. I cannot allow it. My duty is to the pack. To its survival."

"And what if your duty and your instincts are not truly at odds?" Gareth pressed, his eyes holding a depth of understanding Renz rarely saw.

"What if the prophecy has been misinterpreted? What if a dark witch is not meant to bring ruin, but to be used to bring ruin? Or to fight it?"

Renz scoffed.

"You speak in riddles, Gareth. The prophecy is clear. She is the embodiment of the threat."

"Are you so certain, Alpha?"

Gareth's gaze held his, unwavering.

"I the old texts speak of ancient feuds, of manipulation from other factions, stirring animosity between us and the witch covens. What if this prophecy was shaped by an enemy, designed to blind us to an ally?"

The thought, heresy though it was, sparked a flicker of doubt in Renz. He had considered it, fleetingly, in the quiet hours before his decision. But the sheer weight of generations of belief, of the ingrained hatred and fear, had crushed it.

"She is a witch. Our history is clear," Renz insisted, his voice hardening, though his conviction felt less absolute than he wished.

"And her power... it is dangerous. Untamed. Volatile. How can I risk my pack on such an unknown, prophesied threat?"

"She is also your mate, Alpha," Gareth said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, hitting Renz with the full force of the truth.

"The Luna of this pack, by nature's design. To reject a true mate is to invite a different kind of ruin. It weakens the Alpha. It weakens the pack bond."

The words struck Renz hard, a physical blow. He felt the dull ache in his chest, the constant low thrum of the severed connection. He was an Alpha. His wolf craved its mate, its Luna.

To deny it was to deny a fundamental part of himself, a cornerstone of his power. He could feel it already, a subtle weakening in his own spiritual tether to the pack, a dissonance within his wolf.

"The prophecy dictates otherwise," Renz growled, turning back to the window, unable to meet Gareth's knowing gaze.

"My duty is absolute. The pack comes first. Always."

"Then you must be very sure, Alpha," Gareth said, his voice gentle but firm.

"Sure that your decision is born of clear sight, not fear. Sure that you haven't just condemned yourself to a different kind of solitude. For an Alpha without his true Luna... that is a heavy burden, no matter how righteous the cause."

Gareth paused, then spoke again, his voice dropping further.

"And the child. The marks on him were not from the rogue. They were… different. Cleaner. As if a precise instrument had been used, not claws. Something else is out there, Alpha. Something powerful. And it is not of our kind, nor, I suspect, of the witch kind you know."

Renz turned sharply. "What are you saying?"

"I am saying," Gareth met his gaze directly,

"that your mate, the witch you just publicly rejected, might be the key to understanding the true enemy. And that the prophecy, if interpreted too narrowly, might just be the very trap designed to divide us and leave us vulnerable."

The words resonated with the uncomfortable truth that had been gnawing at Renz. The attacks were unusual. The rogue wolf had been a diversion, an anomaly. And Sofia's presence had been… unexpected.

He had dismissed Gareth's earlier findings, driven by the blinding certainty of the prophecy. But Gareth was rarely wrong.

Renz stared out the window, the first rays of the sun beginning to pierce the mist, illuminating the ancient trees of the Veiled Woods. He had publicly rejected her. The pack had witnessed it. There was no going back, not easily. His pride, his duty, his own stubborn adherence to ancient law, stood as formidable barriers.

But the phantom ache of the mate bond, the unsettling words of Gareth, and the terrifying thought that he might have condemned himself and his pack to a deeper, more insidious danger, gnawed at him.

He had chosen pack law and ancient hatred over primal instinct.

He had chosen the prophecy over the pull of his soul.

But what if, in doing so, he had merely opened the door to a different, unforeseen ruin?

The internal conflict raged within him, a silent battle for the very soul of the Alpha.