Page 53 of Marked by Alphas 2: Claimed (The Blood Moon Chronicle #2)
I was running through the forest, my mother’s hand gripping mine so tightly it hurt. The moonlight cast everything in shades of silver and shadow, making the familiar woods seem alien and threatening.
“Don’t look back, baby,” Mom whispered, her voice tight with fear. “Just run.”
But I did look back. I couldn’t help it. And what I saw…
The mist. Crimson and hungry, seeping between trees like living blood, reaching for us with tendrils that seemed to whisper my name. Behind it, shapes moved—wolves and men and things that were neither, their eyes reflecting the blood moon overhead.
“They’re coming,” Mom gasped, pulling me faster. “We have to reach the stones.”
The standing stones loomed ahead, ancient and powerful. Even at thirteen, I could feel their energy, like static electricity raising the hair on my arms. Mom dragged me toward them, her free hand already drawing symbols in the air that left trails of golden light .
“Remember what I taught you,” she said, her voice steadier now. “Focus on your breath. Feel the energy in your core.”
I tried, I really did. But the mist was getting closer, and the wolves were howling, and somewhere in the chaos I could hear people screaming.
“Mom, I’m scared,” I admitted, hating how childish I sounded.
She knelt before me, her eyes—my eyes—meeting mine with fierce determination. “I know, baby. But you’re stronger than you know. You’re special. You have both bloodlines.”
“Both what?”
But there was no time for answers. The mist surged forward, a tendril wrapping around Mom’s ankle. She screamed—a sound I’d never heard from her before—and something inside me snapped.
Heat rushed through my veins, unfamiliar yet somehow right, like a part of me I’d never known was suddenly awake. My hands tingled, then burned, and when I looked down, silver-blue flames danced across my fingertips.
“That’s it,” Mom gasped, even as she struggled against the mist’s hold. “Let it out, Kai. Don’t fight it.”
I didn’t know what “it” was, but instinct took over. I thrust my hands toward the mist, and the silver-blue fire leaped from my fingers like living lightning. Where it touched the crimson tendrils, they shriveled and retreated, a high keening sound filling the air.
The mist recoiled, but only for a moment. It gathered itself, forming a shape that was almost human, with too many limbs and a face made of dozens of agonized expressions.
The twice-blessed child, it hissed, its voice like broken glass in my mind. You are ours. You have always been ours.
“He is MINE,” Mom snarled, and suddenly she wasn’t just my quiet, hardworking mother anymore. Golden light erupted from her hands, forming symbols I didn’t recognize but someho w understood were protective in nature. “You will not have him.”
The mist laughed—a sound that made my stomach turn—and surged forward again, this time toward me directly. I tried to summon the fire again, but it sputtered and died, my untrained power already exhausted.
“Run, Kai!” Mom shouted, throwing herself between me and the mist. “To the stones! Find the wolves!”
“I won’t leave you!” I cried, but she pushed me away with surprising strength.
“GO!”
I ran, tears blurring my vision, the sounds of battle fading behind me. The forest was a maze of shadows and moonlight, branches tearing at my clothes, roots threatening to trip me with every step. My mother’s last words echoed in my mind: “Run, baby. Don’t look back.”
But I wasn’t alone in the forest.
“There he is!” a young voice called out—cultured, aristocratic, excited. “Father will be pleased.”
I glanced back to see three figures pursuing me—teenage boys with pale hair that gleamed silver in the moonlight. The oldest couldn’t have been more than twenty, but there was something predatory in the way they moved, something not quite human in their glowing eyes.
“Come now, little one,” the middle brother called, his voice a strange mix of coaxing and threatening. “We just want to take you home.”
“This isn’t necessary,” the youngest added, sounding almost reasonable. “Our father simply wishes to… discuss your future.”
I didn’t know who they were, but instinct told me to keep running. The Stone property had to be close—Mom had always said if we were ever separated, I should head for the Stone Manor. “They’ll protect you,” she’d insisted, though she never explained why .
“I do love when they run,” the oldest brother said, his voice carrying through the trees. “Makes the claiming so much more… satisfying.”
I pushed myself harder, lungs burning, the strange heat in my veins growing with my fear. Something was happening to me, something I didn’t understand. My hands tingled, then burned, and when I glanced down, I saw flickers of silver-blue light dancing across my fingertips.
“He’s manifesting!” the youngest brother shouted, sounding alarmed now. “Father didn’t say anything about?—”
“Doesn’t matter,” the oldest cut him off. “Just grab him before?—”
The forest ahead of me suddenly darkened, the moonlight swallowed by something that wasn’t quite shadow, wasn’t quite mist. It seeped between the trees like living blood, tendrils reaching toward me with hungry purpose.
I skidded to a halt, caught between the pursuing brothers and this new threat. The crimson mist surged forward, faster than seemed possible, and I felt it before I saw it—cold so intense it burned, wrapping around my ankle like a vise.
Pain exploded up my leg, and I screamed, falling to my knees. The silver-blue light at my fingertips flared in response, instinctively lashing out at the mist. Where it touched, the crimson retreated, a high keening sound filling the air.
“What is that?” the middle brother demanded, his earlier confidence replaced by something that sounded almost like fear.
The mist reformed, gathering itself into a shape that was almost human, with too many limbs and a face made of dozens of agonized expressions.
The child is ours, it hissed, its voice like broken glass in my mind. You will not interfere, wolf-spawn.
The Blackwood brothers shifted in perfect unison. Despite their youth, they moved with the deadly grace of their aristo cratic bloodline, attacking the crimson mist with fangs and claws.
But their attacks passed through it like smoke, and where the mist touched them, frost formed on their fur. Their coordinated strikes, perfect from years of training, meant nothing against this otherworldly threat.
Your blood is weak, the mist seemed to whisper, its voice like shards of ice in our minds. But your rage… your violence… that we can use.
The mist’s tendrils wrapped tighter around me, using me as bait while it taunted the young wolves. My silver-blue light flickered weakly, trying to fight back, but exhaustion was winning.
Then three new howls split the night—deeper, more powerful.
The Stone brothers burst through the trees, their massive forms dwarfing the Blackwood wolves despite their own youth.
Where the Blackwoods were aristocratic precision, the Stones were raw power, moving together with the perfect synchronization of true pack bonds.
The mist writhed with pleasure. Yes… FIGHT.
What followed was chaos. The wolves clashed in a fury of fangs and claws, their forms crashing through the underbrush. The Blackwoods fought with all their trained skill, but the Stone brothers were simply stronger, their attacks devastating in their coordinated fury.
The crimson mist swirled around the battle, growing darker and more substantial with each drop of blood spilled. Its whispers grew more excited, more hungry. More… give us your hatred… your power…
Through my fading consciousness, I watched as the largest Stone wolf—black as midnight—locked jaws with the oldest Blackwood. They rolled across the forest floor, a blur of midnight black and blond, until the Stone wolf pinned his opponent with crushing force.
The other Blackwoods, bleeding and suddenly uncertain, pulled back to help their brother. The youngest cast one last look at the scene—at the mist that pulsed with pleasure around us, at me still wrapped in its cold embrace—and something like understanding dawned in his eyes.
“Fall back,” the oldest Blackwood ordered after shifting back, blood freezing where the mist had touched him. “This isn’t what Father described. Something else is at work here.”
As they retreated into the shadows, the Stone brothers turned their attention to me. The mist, perhaps sensing stronger prey approaching, suddenly released its grip. I collapsed, my blood leaving dark stains on the frost-covered ground.
“Get him to Grandmother,” ordered the largest wolf after shifting—a young man’s voice, authoritative despite his fear. “Now!”
Strong arms lifted me, carrying me at a run through the remaining trees. Through half-closed eyes, I saw the Stone Manor growing closer, its ancient stones seeming to glow with protective power.
“The Blackwoods were chasing him,” another voice reported—deeper, angrier.
“He’s hurt,” a third voice added, younger, concerned. “Grandmother will know what to do.”
I was barely conscious when we reached the manor, my blood leaving a trail across polished floors as they carried me deeper into the house.
The underground chamber was lit by strange crystals that cast blue-white light across ancient walls covered in symbols. In the center, an old woman lay on a stone altar, blood seeping from multiple wounds. An old man stood protectively over her, his form radiating power and authority.
“Grandmother,” the oldest of the three who’d rescued me said, his voice breaking. “We found him at the edge of the property. The Blackwoods were in pursuit.”
The old woman’s eyes opened, fixing on me with startling clarit y despite her obvious pain. “Bring him here,” she whispered.
They laid me on the altar beside her, my blood mingling with hers on the ancient stone. Her hand, surprisingly strong, gripped mine.
“What’s happening?” I managed to ask, my voice weak from pain and fear. “Where’s my mom?”