Alpha Among Shadows

The room buzzed with quiet tension. Back at the safe house, the surviving pack members regrouped, their wounds being tended to by the medics. The faint smell of antiseptic and blood hung in the air, mingling with the low murmur of voices. Ethan stood at the head of the room, his silver eyes scanning every face.

"We were attacked on our territory," he said, his voice low but carrying the weight of his authority. "That mark wasn't random. Someone orchestrated this, and they're trying to send a message."

Marcus stepped forward, his arms crossed over his chest. "We've seen rogue attacks before, but this was different. They were stronger, faster, and coordinated. That kind of power doesn't come from nowhere."

"Then we find out who's behind it," Ethan said. His tone was cold, but beneath the surface, his wolf bristled with the need for vengeance.

"Should we call the council?" one of the warriors asked.

Ethan's gaze darkened. The council of alphas—the ruling body of werewolf packs—wasn't known for swift action. They thrived on politics and posturing, not decisive leadership.

"No," he said firmly. "This is our fight. The council would only slow us down."

Marcus nodded in agreement, but his expression remained grim. "We need more intel. Whoever carved that mark left it for a reason. It's not just a warning—it's a signature. They want us to know who they are, or at least make us think we do."

Ethan's jaw tightened. "Then we start with the rogues we captured. Bring them to me."

Moments later, Ethan stood in the basement of the safe house, the cold concrete walls amplifying the tension in the air. Two rogues knelt before him, their wrists bound with iron shackles.

The first rogue growled low in his throat, his red eyes glaring up at Ethan. The second was silent, his head bowed, but there was an air of defiance in his posture.

Ethan crouched in front of them, his piercing gaze locking onto the first rogue. "Who sent you?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm.

The rogue bared his teeth but said nothing.

Ethan's claws extended, and in a flash, he grabbed the rogue by the throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. "I'll ask again. Who sent you?"

The rogue gasped for air, his struggles weakening. Finally, he rasped, "We follow… no one."

Ethan tightened his grip, his wolf snarling beneath the surface. "Wrong answer."

"Wait!" the second rogue spoke, his voice hoarse but steady. "You're wasting your time. We don't know who they are."

Ethan turned his attention to the second rogue, releasing the first, who crumpled to the ground. "Explain," he demanded.

The rogue looked up, his eyes flickering between fear and defiance. "We were… recruited. Promised strength, protection. But they never showed their faces. They left orders and symbols. That's it."

"Symbols?" Marcus asked from the shadows.

The rogue nodded. "That mark on the tree—it's one of theirs. It's how they communicate. Every mark means something different, but only they know the code."

Ethan leaned closer, his gaze unyielding. "Where do they gather? Where do they take their recruits?"

The rogue hesitated, then shook his head. "We don't know. They come to us. Always in the shadows."

Ethan studied him for a long moment before standing. "If you're lying, I'll make you wish you'd died in that forest."

The rogue flinched but said nothing.

Later that night, Ethan sat alone in his office at the safe house. The medics had tended to his wound, but it still throbbed—a sharp reminder of the fight. He leaned back in his chair, his mind replaying the events of the night.

The mark, the rogues, the woman in the forest.

Who was she? Her presence had been fleeting, but it had left a mark on him as distinct as the one carved into the tree. Her scent still lingered in his memory—lavender and smoke, a strange contradiction that had stirred something in him he couldn't name.

His thoughts were interrupted by Marcus entering the room.

"We've got something," Marcus said, dropping a folder onto Ethan's desk.

Ethan opened it, revealing a series of photographs. Each one showed a different version of the same mark—carved into trees, etched onto stones, even painted onto walls in abandoned buildings.

"These were found across the city over the last six months," Marcus said. "Always near the sites of rogue attacks. Whoever this group is, they've been building their strength for a while."

Ethan frowned, his gaze lingering on one photo in particular. It showed the mark glowing faintly in the darkness, much like the one they'd seen tonight.

"Magic," he said, his tone laced with disdain.

Marcus nodded. "It's old magic. Something I haven't seen before. We'll need to call in someone who knows more about this."

Ethan's expression hardened. "Not yet. First, we track their movements. If they've been active for six months, they've left a trail. Find it."

Marcus hesitated. "And the woman?"

Ethan's eyes narrowed. "She's connected. I don't know how, but she is. If we find her, we'll find them."

Marcus nodded and left the room, leaving Ethan alone once more.

As the night deepened, Ethan leaned back in his chair, his thoughts returning to the woman. She was a mystery, but one thing was certain: she wasn't just a bystander.

And when he found her, she would have answers.