The alphas dead mate

The ancient bells of the Moon Temple echoed through the valley, their deep chimes rolling over the mountains like a warning carried by the wind.

Each strike seemed to hang in the air a second too long before falling away, swallowed by mist and pine. The sound traveled down into the villages below, rattled shutters, and made animals lift their heads. It was the third toll of dawn. The day of the Moon Blessings.

Lyra Ashwood tightened the worn gray cloak around her shoulders as she climbed the endless white stone steps leading to the sacred temple. The wool was thin at the elbows and patched twice at the hem, but it was the only thing she owned that kept the mountain cold out.

Her boots felt strangely heavy.

Not because of the climb. She had walked farther on less. It was something else, a pull, like the stones themselves were trying to slow her down—or maybe draw her forward. She couldn't tell which.

Why am I so nervous?

She pressed her palm against the cold stone railing and kept moving. Her breath came out in small clouds. Above her, the temple sat on the ridge like a crown of bone and silver, catching the first light and throwing it back across the valley.

She had never been here before. The orphanage in Grey Hollow was three days' walk from the foothills, and orphans were not invited to ceremonies unless someone claimed them. Yet every step felt... familiar.

The curve of the seventh step where it had worn smooth. The way the wind cut left at the landing before the twentieth stair. The faint scent of incense and old snow that seemed to live in the cracks of the marble.

As if the stones remembered her.

She shook the thought away hard enough that her braid slapped her back.

"Keep moving," one of the temple guards ordered. His voice was low and clipped, meant to carry without echoing. His armor was white, trimmed in silver, and the crest of the temple—a crescent over a wolf's head—sat over his heart.

Lyra lowered her head and obeyed. She tucked her chin so her hood hid most of her face. It was a habit from years of trying to take up less space.

Around her, wolves from every Great Pack climbed the staircase in elegant ceremonial robes. Their cloaks were heavy, lined with fur, embroidered at the cuffs and collars. Wolves, moons, flames, trees, waves, and shadows—the proud symbols of the seven ruling packs—caught the morning light and shimmered.

The Emberfang Pack wore reds and golds that looked like fire even in the cold. The Tideclaw Pack's blues moved like water when they walked. The Frostfang Pack wore white so pale it was almost blue. Members of Silverwood bore cloaks embroidered with ancient trees. Golden Plains gleamed with gold thread, while Shadowmoon favored dark purple and black. Blackthorn wolves stood out in black cloaks stitched with silver that looked like starlight.

They looked powerful.

She looked ordinary.

Gray cloak. Scuffed boots. Hair tied back with a piece of twine. No crest. No pack. No family name anyone would recognize.

Whispers followed her through the crowd.

"Who is she?"

"I've never seen her before."

"She doesn't belong to any Great Pack."

"Is she a servant?"

"She's walking alone."

Lyra pretended not to hear them. She had spent most of her life as an orphan. Being ignored was routine. Being judged was routine.

Still...

The closer she came to the temple gates, the faster her heart beat.

A cold breeze brushed against her cheek.

For a brief moment, she could have sworn someone whispered her name.

"Lyra..."

She turned quickly.

No one was there.

Only the wind.

She frowned.

I'm imagining things.

The massive silver doors of the Moon Temple slowly opened.

The sound of them moving was deep, like ice shifting on a frozen lake.

Moonlight—not sunlight—poured from inside.

Every conversation stopped.

The Alphas had arrived.

Even from where she stood, Lyra could feel the shift in the atmosphere.

Power.

Respect.

Fear.

The crowd bowed as the seven Alphas entered together, each dressed in the colors of their Great Pack.

Some carried themselves with quiet dignity.

Others radiated the confidence of seasoned warriors.

But it was the man at the center who drew every eye.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Black ceremonial robes trimmed with silver.

A scar cut through one eyebrow.

Golden eyes that seemed to notice everything and miss nothing.

Alpha Kael Blackthorn.

The youngest Alpha ever to rule the Blackthorn Pack.

The crowd lowered their heads even further as he passed.

Kael acknowledged them with a slight nod, his expression unreadable. He neither smiled nor demanded attention, yet the entire temple seemed to move around him.

Lyra looked away immediately.

Don't stare.

He was an Alpha.

She was no one.

Inside, the Moon Temple was breathtaking.

Moonlight poured through the crystal ceiling, bathing the marble floor in silver light even though morning had already arrived.

Ancient pillars stretched toward the heavens, carved with wolves and crescent moons that looked older than time itself.

At the center stood a glowing altar made from pure moonstone.

The High Priest raised his silver staff.

"Let the Ceremony begin."

One by one, young wolves stepped forward to receive their Moon Blessings.

Cheers echoed through the temple.

Families embraced.

Some cried with happiness.

Hours passed.

Lyra remained quietly at the back, watching.

Then the High Priest lifted both hands.

"It is now time for the Moon Goddess to reveal the sacred mate bonds."

Excitement swept through the temple.

Names were called.

Some couples laughed.

Others cried.

Then...

Every flame burning inside the temple flickered at exactly the same moment.

The room suddenly felt colder.

Several elders exchanged uneasy glances.

The moonstone altar began glowing brighter.

The High Priest frowned.

"That's... unusual."

The silver light pulsed once.

Twice.

A low hum vibrated through the temple floor.

Then the entire altar erupted with blinding light.

Gasps filled the temple.

The light ignored everyone else.

It rushed across the marble floor...

Straight toward Lyra.

Her wrist burned.

She cried out softly as a glowing silver mark appeared on her skin.

At that exact moment...

Someone else inhaled sharply.

Lyra looked up.

Alpha Kael Blackthorn was staring at his own wrist.

He had pulled back his sleeve without realizing it.

An identical silver mark glowed beneath it.

Silence swallowed the temple.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

"The Alpha..."

Someone whispered.

"She is the Alpha's mate."

Before Lyra could understand what was happening, an elderly man near the altar suddenly dropped his staff.

It crashed against the marble floor with a sharp crack.

His hands shook violently.

His eyes filled with horror as they locked onto Lyra's face.

He stumbled backward.

"No..."

His voice cracked.

"No... this cannot be..."

The temple remained frozen.

The old elder pointed at Lyra with a trembling hand.

Tears rolled down his weathered face.

Then he whispered the words that sent fear through every person in the temple.

"She's the girl we buried."

A chill raced down Lyra's spine.

Buried?

Every face in the temple had turned toward her.

Some looked terrified.

Others looked as though they had seen a ghost.

A few elders quietly made the warding sign over their chests.

Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs.

The silver mark on her wrist still glowed.

She had come to the Moon Temple believing she was just another orphan.

A girl with no pack.

No family.

No future anyone cared about.

But as dozens of frightened eyes stared back at her...

As Alpha Kael Blackthorn continued watching her with stunned disbelief...

For the first time in her life...

Lyra wondered if everything she believed about herself was a lie.