🦋ALTHEA
​My skin sizzled under the pressure of the red-hot brand.
​White-hot pain exploded across my back. The scent of my own charring skin filled my lungs. I grimaced, clenching my jaw so hard my gums split and I tasted iron.
​Above, the birds circled closer.Â
​"Althea Nocturne, the fifth and final tribute." The High Gamma's voice cut through the silence. "Tribute of the High Alpha."
​Dread wrapped around my neck like a noose. I raised my head slowly, my skin crawling under the weight of a thousand stares. Five of us stood on the platform—a spectacle for the pack's judgment.
​I'd always known this day would come. I was an Omega, after all. Dregs. Replaceable.
​Of all the gazes in the crowd, none cut deeper than my mother's. She didn't look at me with pity; she looked at me like a debt she was finally paying off.
​At least Wren would be alright. I told myself. That has to count for something.
​I offered a wry, bloody smile. My mother's expression only hardened.
​"The five tributes have been chosen," she announced, her voice echoing the same lies she spoke every Harvest Moon. "They serve the High Alpha, whose divine power shields us from the Red Mist. We honor their sacrifice. By the moon!"
​"By the moon!" the pack roared back.
​By my moon, my foot, I thought. I wanted to scream it, but I knew better. They'd already taken enough of my blood today.
​"Alpha Draven," my mother called out.
​My spine straightened. Treacherous, aching memory flooded my mind at the sound of his name.
​"Second only to the High Alpha himself," she continued. "Hollowhowl's savior..."
​I felt sick. If only they knew the truth. But what good were the words of a "murderess" against a god?
​Draven rose. "Hollowhowl," he addressed the crowd. His voice was soft, authoritative, dancing on the edge of a command.
​I forced back the echoes of the promises he'd whispered against my skin. Promises made after I made him Alpha. After I saved this pack.
​"And this year—" I felt his gaze lock onto me. "—we have a traitor amongst the tributes. Althea Nocturne."
​Disapproval rippled through the crowd like a wave.
​"Tonight, I offer leniency," Draven said, his voice cracking with perfectly timed grief. "Though she took my heir—my child—I give her the honor of the tithing. It is the noble way."
​The other tributes shifted away from me. Even among the doomed, I was an outcast.
​I tuned him out. Every lie was another lash on my scarred back. I looked toward the woods instead. Beyond the clearing, I could feel them watching. Waiting. Agitated.
​"My darling wife, Luna Circe, will give the final farewell."
​Careful footsteps made me shake. I bit my tongue until it bled. My half-sister stepped in front of me, her midnight-black hair a stark contrast to my own silver strands.
​Her expression was gentle. Contrite. "May the Moon Goddess guide your way," she whispered.
​I caught the gleam in her eyes—the victory—before she masked it. She cradled her belly, her blue eyes theatrically downcast. "I forgive you for what you took from me. I hope you can forgive yourself."
​The pack applauded her "mercy."
​She signaled to the Vargans. I rose to my feet, the heavy chains dragging at my buckling knees. Thal, a young Vargan who had once snuck me scraps of food, caught my eye. He gave me a small, sad smile. He knew we were walking into a grave.
​They led us down, the pack muttering obscenities as we passed. Every step made the brand on my back scream.
​Above, the birds dropped lower.
​I raised my head. In the shadows of the treeline, amber eyes ignited like matches.
​No, no, no...
​Chaos erupted. A snarl shattered the silence as a pack of wolves burst from the trees, racing straight for me.
The wolves came like a wave of fury and desperation. Their amber eyes were wild, their snarls tearing through the night air.
​"BACK!" I screamed, my voice cracking. "GO BACK!"
​They wouldn't listen.
​The Gammas reacted instantly. They shifted mid-stride, their bodies exploding into massive wolves—gray, black, and brown. They were larger, stronger, and trained to kill.
​The clash was brutal. Blood sprayed as jaws ripped into fur; bones crunched under the pressure of Alpha-bred strength.
​"NO!" I lunged forward, but the chains snapped tight, the silver biting into my wrists. "STOP! PLEASE!"
​A small brown wolf with a scarred muzzle lunged at a Gamma. He was fast—his eyes stayed locked on mine even in the air—but he wasn't fast enough. The Gamma caught him mid-flight, jaws clamping around his throat.
​A deafening snap stole the air from my lungs. He went limp.
​"NO!" I screamed, tears streaming down my face. One wolf fell, then another. I couldn't reach them. I couldn't stop the carnage. The Gammas laid waste to them as if they weren't living things—as if they weren't part of the same species.
​Above, the birds descended.
​Their dark, iridescent wings gleamed in the moonlight as they dove toward the chaos, their cries frantic. A Gamma leaped, claws extended, and snatched a bird out of the air.
​The crack of its neck was sickening. It hit the dirt, twitching once before going still.
​"Please, go back!" I choked. Yet the wolves kept coming, and the Gammas kept killing.
​I thrashed against the chains until my throat was raw. "THEY'RE NOT ATTACKING YOU! THEY'RE TRYING TO SAVE ME!"
​The pack stared at me with cold, judgmental eyes.
​"She's lost her mind," someone muttered.
"The traitor's gone mad."
"Talking to animals like they're people. Pathetic."
​I shook my head frantically. You don't understand—they're not just wolves—
​But no one was listening. Another wolf fell, its blood pooling in the silver moonlight.
​I collapsed to my knees, the weight of the chains dragging the other tributes down with me. They cursed and stumbled, but I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I could only watch as everything I'd tried to protect was torn apart.
​The sobs came hard and violent, tearing out of me like something jagged. I cried for the wolves. I cried for the birds. I cried for the baby inside me that had known nothing but pain.
​My tears fell, hot and heavy, soaking into the dirt.
​There, beneath my knees, lay a withered flower—gray, crushed, and dead. As my tears hit the petals, color bled back into them. A pale pink uncurled like a hidden breath. The stem straightened, reaching hungrily toward the moon.
​"Get up," a Vargan hissed, yanking my chain. "You're slowing us down."
​I stumbled forward, my legs barely holding. The wolves were dead or scattered. The birds had fled. I was alone again.
​They were only supposed to watch me go, I thought, my heart breaking. They were never supposed to attack.
​We were pulled deeper into the forest, toward the edge of the world.
​We stopped at the border.
​The line between our territory and the Red Mist was marked by ancient, moss-covered stones etched with symbols of a forgotten tongue. The air here was heavy, imbued with a darkness that made my skin prickle.
​A Gamma stepped forward, pulling crude amulets of twisted iron from a leather pouch.
​"Put these on," he ordered. "They'll protect you. Somewhat."
​When Thal reached me, his hands trembled as he tied the cord around my neck. His eyes met mine for a brief second. I saw the apology there. I wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, but my voice was gone.
​The iron felt cold against my chest.
​"The Vargans will lead you through," the Gamma continued, his eyes sweeping over us with pitiless indifference. "They are somewhat impervious to the Mist—a 'gift' of the Witch Luna who cursed these lands."
​A few pack members laughed darkly.
​"You'll walk for three days. You'll be given water, nothing else. If you reach the Labyrinth, you'll do whatever the High Alpha commands. If you reach it."
​He leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
​"One more thing. Ignore the voices. No matter what you hear. No matter who calls your name. No one who loves you lives in that Mist. They'll sound real. They'll look real. But they are lies."
​He stared directly at me.
​"If you follow the voices, you're dead. Understood?"
​I nodded, though my mind was still on the wolves. Thal was turned away; he was too young for this journey, yet here we were.
​The Vargans tightened their grip. "Move out," the command rang out.
​We stepped into the red.
The Mist invaded us. It felt like breathing wet wool, the air pulsing with a faint, sickly red light.
​"Althea."
​My head snapped up. I knew that voice.
​"Althea, sweetheart."
​A shape coalesced in the fog—a russet-furred wolf with amber eyes. My stepfather. My heart hammered against my ribs, a pathetic, hopeful thing. For one second, I wanted to run to him. To see his face, his kind amber eyes.Â
​Ignore the voices. The Gamma's warning echoed in my mind.
​I blinked, and he was gone, dissolving into wisps of red smoke. I looked down at my feet, focusing on the rhythmic clink of the chains.
​Not everyone was as strong. On the second day, a young girl—hardly more than a pup—began to wail. "My mother... she's calling me!"
​"Don't look," I rasped, my throat feeling like it had been scraped with glass.
​She didn't hear me. She lunged into the red, screaming a name. The Vargans didn't blink; they simply unhooked her cold iron collar and let her vanish. Her screams lasted for miles. Then, silence.
​By the third day, the Mist bled away, revealing the Labyrinth.
​It rose from the fog like a jagged tooth. Massive stone walls stretched toward a sky that remained a bruised purple.Â
​Wolves prowled the perimeter. They were larger than any I'd seen in Hollowhowl, their eyes glowing with a predatory red light. As the wrought-iron gates groaned open, we were herded inside like cattle as other tributes from other packs joined us.Â
​The Vargans dropped to their knees.
​"The tributes, my lord," Our gamma said.Â
​A figure stood in the center of the courtyard, draped in armor that seemed to swallow the torchlight. He didn't speak, but his gaze was a physical weight, pressing the air from my lungs. He seemed familiar…
We were guided inside.
​The interior was a trap of gold and marble. It was opulent, dripping with crystal chandeliers and black marble veined with red like frozen blood.Â
​We walked until my legs were numb, finally spilling into a hall so vast it dwarfed our terror. Columns as thick as ancient trees lined the path to a throne made of dark stone and twisted iron.
​And there he sat.
​The High Alpha.
He wasn't old.
​I had expected a monster—something ancient and withered. Instead, the man on the throne looked no older than Draven. His skin was luminous, his hair a river of midnight spilling over his shoulders.
​He was beautiful. He should have been perfect.
​But his eyes were depthless pits of obsidian. Cold, sharp, and invasive, they peeled back my skin to see the rot beneath.
​He reclined in black silk and furs, a crown of twisted silver resting on his brow. Ethereal women knelt at his feet, feeding him like he was a god. He bit into a piece of meat, blood staining his chin, and smiled.
​With a lazy wave of his hand, the women vanished like smoke.
​His attention turned to us. Twenty tributes, chained and broken, standing like offerings on a bloody altar.
​"Welcome," he said. His voice was silk over steel. "To my Labyrinth."
​He leaned forward, chin resting on his hand, his gaze lingering on me until my breath hitched. "Some of you are strong. Some are clever. But you..."
​His smile sharpened, revealing canines that were too long, too predatory. "Tell me, little tribute. What are you?"
​I couldn't answer. I could barely breathe.
​He clapped his hands—a sound like a gunshot—and the hall exploded into chaos.
​Wolves lunged from the shadows. They didn't growl; they hunted. I watched in a blur of motion as the other tributes were snatched away. Jaws clamped onto limbs and chains. Screams were cut short as doors opened and swallowed them whole.
​I stood frozen. I didn't fight. I didn't beg. I just waited for the end.
​Then, the screaming stopped.
​The hall felt smaller now. Suffocating. The towering columns had vanished, and the distance between us had evaporated. He was no longer across the room. He was right there.
​"There you are," he purred.
​He rose from the throne with a fluid, lethal grace. I wanted to run, but my legs were lead.
​"I wondered if you'd beg," he murmured, stopping inches from me. He leaned in, his black eyes drinking me in. "I was starting to think Morgana would fail her vow to me."
​My chest caved in at my mother's name. "What?"
​"Althea," he whispered, and I could see my own terrified reflection in his onyx eyes. "You might be my tribute, but you are no Omega."
​He reached out, his rings cold against my skin.
​"Your mother hasn't been protecting you. She's been hollowing you out with Wolfsbane since you were a child."
My eyes widened, the world dissolving around me until the only that remained was his words echoing in my ringing skull.Â
The words didn't land at first.
They hung in the air between us, meaningless sounds, syllables without weight.
And then—
They crashed into me.
Wolfsbane. My mother. Since childhood.
Whatever remained on my world, imploded.