Bound By Moonlight

Chapter 1: The Weight of the Alpha The moon hung heavy in the sky, its silvery glow casting ghostly shadows across the dense forest. Rowan’s boots crunched against the frosted earth as he moved silently through the underbrush, his senses on high alert. The air carried the faint scent of decay, a sure sign that rogues had passed through recently. The bitter chill of the night crept under his leather jacket, but Rowan barely noticed. His focus was sharper than the icy wind, his thoughts locked on the safety of his pack. This wasn’t the first time rogues had pushed into their territory. Over the past month, the attacks had grown more frequent and coordinated. Rowan couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—was orchestrating them. A single rogue was manageable. But a pack of them, especially one with a cunning leader, was a threat that could tear his home apart. He crouched near a broken branch, his fingers brushing the bark. The scent was fresh, tinged with aggression. His wolf stirred within him, growling softly. They were close. Rowan’s hand instinctively went to the dagger strapped to his thigh. Though his strength as an alpha gave him an edge, rogues were unpredictable. Many of them had nothing to lose, and desperation made for dangerous enemies. A rustling in the bushes snapped his attention forward. Rowan’s heart quickened, but his movements remained controlled. He slipped behind a tree, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness. And then they appeared—two rogues, their eyes glowing faintly under the moonlight. They were lean and wild-looking, their clothes tattered and their lips curled back in snarls. “Turn back,” Rowan said, his voice low but firm. “This is your only warning.” The rogues exchanged glances, their snarls deepening into guttural laughs. The larger of the two stepped forward. “An alpha without his pack,” he sneered. “You’re outnumbered, pup.” Rowan’s lips twitched into a humorless smile. “Two against one hardly counts as outnumbered.” The rogue lunged, but Rowan was faster. He sidestepped the attack, grabbing the rogue by the wrist and twisting hard enough to hear the satisfying crack of bone. The wolf howled in pain, but before Rowan could finish him, the second rogue pounced. The fight was brutal and quick. Rowan’s movements were precise, his blows calculated to disable rather than kill. By the time the rogues lay unconscious on the forest floor, Rowan’s chest heaved with exertion. He wiped the back of his hand across his brow, wincing at the sting of a shallow cut on his arm. “Amateurs,” he muttered, but his relief was short-lived. A faint sound—a whisper of movement—came from behind him. Rowan spun, his dagger raised, but the forest was empty. His wolf bristled, uneasy. He wasn’t alone. The quiet of the forest was broken only by the distant howl of a wolf, a sound that pulled Rowan back to a memory he couldn’t suppress. The day he became alpha had been a blur of grief and blood. His father’s body had been laid on a pyre, the scent of smoke and death mingling in the cold air. Rowan stood before the pack, the weight of their stares pressing down on him. He was barely twenty, his training incomplete, and now he was expected to lead them. “You’re too young,” one of the elders had said, his voice sharp with doubt. “You’ve barely proven yourself.” Rowan had wanted to argue, to shout that he was ready, but the truth was, he wasn’t sure because the weight of five years of regret pressing down on his chest. He had been so sure of himself when he rejected Caleb, believing that what he did was right . But now, as time has passed, the loneliness crept in—no matter how many lovers or companions he'd had, no one ever felt like Caleb. The memory of Caleb's sad eyes and the quiet pain in his expression when he turned away still haunted him. He had once been so proud of his decision, holding onto the idea that being an alpha meant making the right choices, but now, all he could think about was how wrong he had been. Caleb had been his match—his other half—and Rowan had thrown that away In the silence, Rowan let his fingers brush over a picture of Caleb he had kept hidden, a memory of a time when everything had felt right. He had rejected his mate, and now he had to live with the consequences. The rejection of his fated mate, Caleb, hung heavy in the air, an unspoken reminder of his failure to follow the traditions that bound the pack together. Caleb had offered everything: love, loyalty, and a future Rowan wasn’t ready to embrace. Fear and pride had driven him to push Caleb away. “I’m not what you need,” Rowan had told him, his voice cold and detached, though every fiber of his being screamed otherwise. Caleb had respected his choice, even if it broke both of their hearts. Now, Rowan’s days were filled with hollow victories and endless nights of regret. He thought of what could have been: lazy mornings wrapped in Caleb's arms, shared laughter over burnt toast, the warmth of home instead of this lingering ache. "I was so stupid," Rowan muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. He wondered where Caleb was now, if he’d found someone who would cherish him the way Rowan should have. The thought twisted the knife in his chest further. As Rowan sat alone by the edge of the lake, the still water reflected the silver light of the full moon. His fingers traced the cool grass beneath him as he stared at the ripples caused by the gentle breeze. Tonight, the memories were louder than the silence. The bond they once shared still whispered in the back of Rowan’s mind, faint but persistent. It was a constant reminder of what he had lost—a love he might never have again. His wolf had howled in protest the day he’d pushed Caleb away, but Rowan had convinced himself it was for the best. Their bond was too dangerous, too disruptive. His duty to the pack came first. It always came first.