The Feral Alpha's Captive-Chapter 14: North Clan

🦋ALTHEA

I let the Mist swallow me whole.

For the first time, this plague that I had been raised to fear became my salvation. But as it took me, the nightmares began to sing their song. Without the amulet, the occasional whisper became a chorus of eerie voices—a cacophony that did not only assault my ears but wrapped around my body like tangible tendrils, pulling, dragging, suffocating.

I could not see ahead of me, and as the voices grew louder, I felt as though I was running in place. My legs moved, pumping desperately, but the ground beneath me felt wrong—thick, resistant, like I was wading through something viscous and alive.

Then I heard them. The gammas. Their howls tore through the Mist, sharp and hunting, and my terror spiked so violently I thought my heart would burst.

Breathing became harder. Each inhale dragged the Mist deeper into my lungs, and it tasted like rot—like decay and death and things that should have stayed buried. The air was unbearable, smelling of corpses, as though the ground beneath me was covered in the bodies of everyone who had ever been lost to this cursed place. Maybe it was. Maybe I was running over their bones, their flesh, their final screams still echoing in the fog.

My body felt heavy, as though I was swimming through quicksand. The voices grew hands—or maybe they were talons—and they dragged at me from above and below, tearing at my clothes, my hair, my skin. I felt myself bleeding, hot liquid running down my arms, my legs, but in the Mist it was like being in utter darkness. I couldn’t see my own skin, couldn’t see the wounds opening across my body. Not that I had time to look.

The chorus of eerie voices grew louder, and it felt like they were trying to rip into my skull. My head began to pound, a splitting, bone-deep agony that made my vision white out even though there was nothing to see. I didn’t scream—I shrieked. The sound tore out of me, raw and animalistic, as I felt my sanity being drawn through my ears like thread pulled from a spool.

I began to tear at my own clothes, unable to hold on to any sense of control. My body itched so badly it felt like my skin was splitting apart from the inside. The gammas were right on my tail—I could hear them, feel them, their breath hot and foul even through the cold of the Mist.

But my legs kept moving. To a point I could not see. To nowhere. To anywhere. This was suffering that could be compared to the torture I had endured from Draven—no, it was worse. It was agony that had no end, no respite, no moment of reprieve. And at the thought of what the High Alpha would put me through if they dragged me back, a sliver of my sanity stayed with me. Just enough. Just barely enough to keep running.

And then I was grabbed.

By the hair.

Yanked backward with such force that my feet left the ground, and I was tossed over a shoulder like a sack of grain. I struggled immediately, thrashing, clawing, my nails raking across skin and fabric. But whoever—or whatever—had me didn’t flinch. Didn’t slow.

I laughed. I don’t know why. Maybe because I’d finally broken. Maybe because the Mist had taken the last shred of sense I had left. The sound that came out of me was unhinged, high-pitched, wrong. I shrieked and laughed and screamed all at once, my body convulsing as I fought against the iron grip holding me.

"Let me go!" I screamed, or tried to. The words came out garbled, half-sobs, half-laughter. "Let me go, let me—"

Something responded to my shrieking.

Not the gammas. Not the Mist.

Something else.

I heard it before I saw it—growling, howling, a chorus of familiar voices cutting through the nightmare. My chest clenched. No. It couldn’t be. But I recognized them. The wolves. Even through the Mist, even after three days, even after part of their pack had been slaughtered trying to save me at the border—they had come for me.

The grip on me loosened as the gammas behind us turned to face the new threat. I was dropped, and I hit the ground hard, pain exploding through my ankle as it twisted beneath me. I gasped, choking on a scream, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I rolled, scrambled to my feet, and ran.

My foot screamed with every step, but I ignored it. Behind me, I could hear the wolves attacking the gammas—snarls, snaps, the sickening sound of teeth tearing into flesh. And then I heard it. A whine. High-pitched. Pained.

I stopped, stomach dropping at the thought of them losing more members of their pack again because of me.

Just for a second.

Just long enough to hear the gamma behind me, its breath hot and close.

I ran.

Faster.

Harder.

My twisted foot dragged, slowing me, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not after everything.

And then, suddenly, we burst out of the Mist.

The air changed. Clear. Cold. Real.

I stumbled to a stop, gasping, my vision swimming as I tried to focus on what was in front of me.

And then I saw it.

Bodies.

Strung up on poles.

Dozens of them. Maybe more. Surrounding a fortress that loomed ahead, massive and dark and wrong. It rivaled any pack house I’d ever seen—rivaled even the Labyrinth. Stone walls stretched high, torches burning along the perimeter, casting flickering shadows over the corpses.

My stomach dropped.

I took a step back.

No.

No, this couldn’t be—

I was in the North Clan territory.

The Hell Hound’s territory.

A hand—no, claws—caught me by the waist, yanking me backward. I struggled immediately, thrashing, screaming, but the gamma held me tight. Its breath was hot against my neck, and I could feel its teeth grazing my skin.

And then—

Smoke.

Not the red of the Mist.

This was different.

Solid.

Dark.

Like shadow given form.

It conjured out of nowhere, rising from the ground, thick and choking. Even the gamma froze, its grip loosening as the smoke swirled around us, coiling like a living thing.

And then it morphed.

Into a wolf.

Massive. Made entirely of shadow. Its eyes glowed red—not the unnatural red of the High Alpha’s wolves, but something deeper, something older. It opened its jaws, and the sound that came out was not a howl but something darker. Something that resonated in my bones.

The gamma released me, stumbling back, but it was too late.

The shadow wolf lunged.

Its jaws closed around both of us—me and the gamma—and everything went black.

---

ALTHEA

I gasped as my eyes snapped open, my lungs sucking in air that did not corrode. My head pulsed like my brain had been fed into a grater.

Then I stilled when I noticed the silence.

There was no sound. No more voices, no growling, no howling. The ceiling above clicked into focus. The surface gleamed back at me, like a large slab of precious stone. It was not familiar. I didn’t know where I was.

Despite my body’s trepidation to any type of movement, I forced myself to sit upright. Pain lanced through my ankle, my ribs, my skull, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through it. I had to see. Had to know.

And then I came face to face with a man unlike anyone I had ever seen before.

Inky hair fell past his shoulders, doing nothing to soften the intense aura that radiated from him like heat from a forge. His face was masked—silver, I could smell it, the acrid tang of the metal that would burn his skin if he were anyone else. But he wore it like armor, like a statement. The mask covered the upper half of his face including his eyes leaving only his mouth visible—set in a hard, unforgiving line.

His body was a map of silver markings, more than I had ever seen on any Vargan. They traced across his bare chest, his arms, his throat, glowing faintly in the dim light. His body was muscular with a lean quality that did nothing to belie the coiled power hidden within, like a predator at rest but never truly relaxed.

Perched on his shoulder was a raven with iridescent wings, its prying eyes boring into me with an intelligence that felt unnatural. It cocked its head, and I swore it was judging me.

He was dressed in the finest leathers, dark and perfectly fitted, and he looked like every insidious antagonist my stepfather had read to me about in all my stories. Because as if he did not look like a villain enough, living, writhing shadows billowed behind him like a force of their own—moving, coiling, reaching.

Around us, others watched. Vargans of the North Clan. But they were not in chains. They stood tall, armed, their silver markings gleaming in the torchlight. And they looked upon me with venom and disgust, their expressions hard and unforgiving.

I dared to look back at the man whose identity I knew without introduction. He did not require one. He was the Hell Hound, the son of the Witch Luna of the conquered pack of Silverfang. And I was a trespasser.

And the daughter of the woman who killed his mother.

The gammas beside me stirred, groaning as consciousness returned. But the moment they saw where they were—saw him—they went rigid with terror.

The Hell Hound didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, shadows writhing behind him like living things, the raven on his shoulder utterly still.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"What," he said, his voice low and rough, each word deliberate, "are you doing on my territory?"

The gammas scrambled, their words tumbling over each other in a desperate rush. "We—we were—pursuing a fugitive—orders from—"

"The High Alpha," one of them choked out, the others stopped whipping their heads to him, all colours draining from their faces.

The words hung in the air.

The lights flickered.

The Hell Hound stopped breathing.

Even I felt it—the shift in the atmosphere, the way the temperature dropped, the way the shadows behind him surged forward like a wave about to break.

The gammas knew they had fucked up.

His jaw tightened, the only visible sign of his rage, but it was enough. The Vargans watching around us reacted immediately, their hands moving to their weapons, their bodies tensing.

He took a step forward.

The gammas sprang into a desperate sprint, stumbling over themselves to get away

But his shadows were faster.

They whipped out like living tendrils, snapping around the gammas’ ankles, their wrists, their throats. The gammas screamed, thrashing, but the shadows held them fast, dragging them back, lifting them into the air like puppets on strings.

There were three of them. Two more must have followed after the one who’d caught me. All of them now suspended, helpless, their eyes wide with terror.

The Hell Hound moved closer, slow and deliberate, and the shadows brought the gammas down to his level, holding them in place. His hand reached up, fingers curling around the edge of his silver mask.

And then he pulled it off.

I looked away immediately, my instincts screaming at me not to look. The Vargans did the same, turning their heads, closing their eyes, some even covering their faces with their hands.

Because it was known.

Within the Hell Hound’s eyes was hell itself.

And it was more potent than the Red Mist. The red mist stole your sanity but his eyes craved out your soul.

The gammas screamed.

Not the normal screams of pain or fear. These were unnatural sounds—high-pitched, animalistic, wrong. They struggled against the shadows, their bodies convulsing, their mouths open in silent howls.

And then, suddenly, it stopped.

Silence.

The Vargans cheered, their voices rising in a triumphant roar.

I dared to look behind me.

And I wished I hadn’t.

The gammas hung there, still suspended by the shadows. But they weren’t struggling anymore. Weren’t moving. Their eyes were open, staring at nothing, their mouths slack. Their bodies were intact, unmarked, but there was something wrong about them. Something hollow.

They were husks.

Empty.

Their souls and spirits stolen and caged wherever the Hell Hound chose to keep them.

Their faces were frozen in eternal fear.

I screamed.

The sound tore out of me, raw and involuntary, and I scrambled backward, my twisted ankle screaming in protest. Horror clawed up my throat, choking me, and I couldn’t stop staring at the bodies—no, not bodies, husks—hanging there like discarded shells.

The Hell Hound replaced his mask, his expression unreadable, and the shadows released the gammas. They crumpled to the floor like broken dolls.

He turned to me.

My heart launched into my throat, choking me.

I could not run. I had been a witness to the fate of those who did, and even if any miracle had granted me enough bravery, my injured foot would never allow it. So I looked away from his now-masked face and stared at the watchful raven perched on his shoulder.

It tilted its head at me.

"And you?" he asked.

"I—I was t—trying to es—es—escape," I replied, as his strides closed the distance between us. The silver of his mask made my nose sting. I could see my reflection on its surface. My broken jaw jutted on the side from not healing properly, my eyes shadowed. "From th—the High A—alpha," I managed, unable to cease my quivering.

The entire room seemed to lean in as I spoke, gazes prickling my body from every direction. I bit my lip. I might not have been able to see his face, but I could almost tell that my answer had prompted him to raise his brow.

"You chose the Mist," he said slowly, "over your High Alpha."

I nodded, shakily.

His mouth twisted into something that should have resembled amusement if it was not accompanied by a scowl. "No loyalty amongst thieves," he drawled.

His voice dropped lower, colder. "Your name."

I swallowed hard, my throat dry and raw. I had to lie. Had to give him anything but the truth.

"Seraphine," I choked out. "My name is Seraphine."

The word had barely left my lips when he spoke.

"Liar."

His jaw locked.

The shadows whipped out.

I didn’t even have time to scream before they wrapped around me, yanking me forward with such force that my feet left the ground. They coiled around my arms, my legs, my throat, dragging me closer, closer, until there was no distance between us at all.

I struggled, thrashing, gasping for air, but the shadows held me fast. They forced me upright, forced my face toward his, and I couldn’t look away.

"No kin of Morgana Nocturne," he said, his voice low and venomous, each syllable carved with damnation, "bears that name."

I shook my head frantically, trying to deny it, trying to—

"Don’t," he said, cutting me off. "Denying it is futile."

He leaned closer, and I could feel the cold radiating off him, I could see the faint glow of his silver markings beneath the mask.

"You carry the Nocturne scent," he said softly. "I can smell it. Her blood. Running through your veins."

My chest tightened, and I couldn’t breathe.

Of course he could.

Of course.

The kin of the person who killed his mother.

"Please—" I choked out, desperation clawing up my throat. "Please, I didn’t—"

"You enjoyed all your mother stole," he said, his voice flat and final. "Every comfort. Every privilege. Every breath you took was bought with my mother’s blood."

He tilted his head, and the shadows tightened around me.

"So you will give it back," he said softly. "With your soul."

The Vargans roared.

Their voices rose in a deafening chorus, calling for my death, promising that I would not be strung up like the rest. My remains would be added as ornaments for his throne. My bones would decorate his hall. My skull would sit at his feet.

I sobbed, the sound tearing out of me, broken and raw.

"Please—" I gasped, tears streaming down my face. "Please, I’m sorry—I’m sorry—"

The shadows surged forward, wrapping around my face, forcing my eyes open, forcing me to look at him.

And then he reached up.

And ripped off his mask.

The Vargans looked away immediately, turning their heads, covering their eyes.

But I couldn’t.

The shadows held me fast, held my eyelids open, forced me to see.

His eyes.

They were fire.

Blazing.

Not red like the wolves. Not black like the High Alpha’s.

Fire.

Literal flames dancing in his irises, orange and gold and white-hot, burning so bright I could feel the heat radiating from them. They scorched my vision, seared into my skull, and I felt them—felt them reaching into me, clawing through my chest, wrapping around my soul like claws.

I screamed.

But no sound came out.

The pain was unlike anything I’d ever felt. Not physical. Deeper. Like something inside me was being torn apart, piece by piece, thread by thread. My soul unraveling under the weight of his gaze.

And then—

My eyes drifted up.

I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop myself from seeing the rest of his face, the part the mask had always hidden.

His skin was honeyed, warm despite the cold that radiated from him. Pale lines of scars traced across his features—one cutting through his brow, another along his jaw, another across the bridge of his nose. They should have made him monstrous. Should have made him something to fear.

But they didn’t.

He was terrifying.

And—

I hated myself for noticing.

But he was beautiful.

My eyes snapped back to his, and I realized—

The flames were dimming.

Not blazing anymore.

Stabilizing.

Into a warm amber, like smoldering cinders after a fire had burned itself out.

And for the first time, confusion crossed his face.

He blinked.

Slowly.

Like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

And I understood.

I had survived.

I had looked into his eyes—into hell itself—and I was still here.

Still breathing.

Still alive.

The realization hit him at the same moment it hit me.

His jaw tightened, and he stepped back, his hand reaching up to replace the mask. The silver snapped back into place, hiding his face, hiding the confusion and the shock and whatever else had flickered across his features.

The Vargans turned around.

And chaos erupted. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

Murmurs rose like a wave, voices overlapping, disbelief and confusion and something that sounded almost like fear.

"She survived—"

"How is that possible—"

"No one survives the Hell Hound’s gaze—"

"She should be a husk—"

"What is she—"

The Hell Hound didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stood there, his shoulders tense, his hands clenched into fists.

And I realized, with cold, sinking certainty, that I had just become something far more dangerous than a prisoner.

I had become a mystery.

And he would not stop until he knew what I was.

The high Alpha’s words rang in my mind,

"if only you knew"

His question came as a rumble that quieted the hall. "What are you?"