Filed to story: Wolf Crying Mate of the Alpha by Jazz Ford
I follow the moon as I’m running but feel like the moon distances herself further away from me.
Moon Goddess. Where is she? Please tell me. Where is my mate? I ask, not knowing if the moon can hear me. Finally, the moon stops moving and turns blood red.
What is happening? What does this mean?
Sounds of drums in the distance, getting louder and louder, mingle with sounds of war, swords clashing, and agonizing screams as war arrows soar over my head through the air. I’m suddenly standing in the middle of a warzone. Blood stains everything I can see. There are dead humans and wolves everywhere, and thousands more still fight each other.
A beautiful melodic voice sings in the distance, a song so touching and solemn. It knows devastation and pain. My wolf, drawn to it, feels compelled to follow the song.
I wander through the war zone in a fog, in the direction of the singing, avoiding the humans who, with their swords, are slicing wolves open and the wolves ripping the heads off these humans. It’s a bloody war indeed, an absolute m******e.
I spot the girl sitting on a rock. She is comforting herself and looks crestfallen and forlorn.
Close to her, she smells amazing, like wild violets and honey. ‘Mate!’ I say, placing my hand on her shoulder so she will turn to look at me. She turns, and her face morphs into King Fenris’s.
Covered in sweat, I am jolted awake and shaken. I sit up in bed to find Eric standing over me, worried.
‘Alpha, you were having a nightmare. I could hear you down the hall. I’ve never known you to cry out in your sleep,’ Eric says, sitting on the end of my bed.
Panting, I try to gather my senses.
‘It must have been a nightmare. It felt so real. The moon turned blood red. There was a violent, bloody war. My mate was there. She’s alive. I saw her. Her scent was a mixture of violets and honey. She was downcast and afraid. She was singing the saddest song I have ever heard. Our mate bond compelled me to go to her, but she morphed into King Fenris’s face when she turned to face me. I think she might be in trouble,’ I explain.
‘I’ll fetch the doctor,’ Eric says.
I grab his arm tightly and sternly look him in the eye.
‘I’m serious, Eric. This dream was a message. The Moon Goddess is warning me of what is coming and telling me my mate is alive.’ I let go of Eric’s arm when he realises I’m not mucking around.
‘Ok. What do we do about it?’ He asks.
‘I need to find her. We need Beta Troy back here as soon as possible,’ I say, and Eric nods.
‘I’ll find out if he’s on his way back,’ Eric says and leaves the room.
The next day, standing in the front foyer, Beta Troy still hasn’t reported back to me.
‘Eric. Where’s Troy? Why hasn’t he reported back to me?’ I ask while slamming my fist down on the table in the centre of the room.
Everyone in the foyer flinches and keeps their heads bowed. Eric kneels before me.
‘I’m sorry, Alpha. Unfortunately, it seems Troy’s mind link is blocked. However, he did say it could be a week until he is back from investigating West Wallow. But, we have, unfortunately, had more reports of more rogues being found dead and skinned near the forest border.’
‘King Fenris has to be who is responsible for the deaths, I’m sure of it.’ I say.
I walk by Eric to the dining room and sit down in my chair at the head of the ornate mahogany table. Rogues were never an issue here, and they preferred to be left alone and live alone, away from rulership.
Earlier in the year, I had a meeting with King Fenris regarding their deaths. He denied any involvement in their deaths but said he would kill any wolf who crossed into his territory. His hate for werewolves was made very clear when he called us filthy vermin.
A few days ago, I sent my second-in-command, Beta Troy, undercover into West Wallow to get to the bottom of their deaths. If anyone can find answers, it’s Troy.
Beta Troy
The forest is the most serene, harmonious place I have ever seen. Trudging through thickets and bramble, I hear leaves and twigs crunch under my boots. The forest has a sense of magic about her. She truly is enchanting.
Halfway through the forest, I hear the sound of trickling water. Feeling quite thirsty after such a long trek, I follow the sound and eventually find a stunning waterfall. I hold my flask underneath the stream for a while to fill it before having a drink.
In the distance, someone with a very melodic voice sings a very beautiful song.
I make my way toward West Wallow in human form and arrive a few hours later. Had I been in my wolf form, I would have arrived sooner, but going undetected by the humans when war could be approaching, is extremely crucial.
I wander around the market in Wellmore and buy some of the juiciest fruit I have ever had. The King’s soldiers stop at stalls with carts and place half the contents on the wooden tables into wooden crates. A soldier addresses the whole village with an announcement.
‘By order of King Fenris! King Fenris orders everyone to donate half their food to their sovereign again. These donations will feed his soldiers when we prepare to go to war against Alpha King Damon.’ So, the rumours are true. They are planning a war, and humans outnumber werewolves greatly, and we’re not our strongest without a Luna.
I look at the goods belonging to a stall beside me, and my stomach lurches when I realise what I’m seeing. Furs belonging to my kind, displayed on metal iron hooks, with little fox furs.
Werewolf fur! They’re the ones killing the rogues. Pack wolves or rogues this should not be happening to our kind!
A young woman accidentally bumps into the wooden table, and the pelts on the hooks sway from side to side. ‘I’m so sorry…’ the young girl apologises, and the stall-holder assures her not to worry.
She clasps a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp, shocked by what this stall is selling. Reserving my disgust, I purchase all of the werewolf hides from the stall and sling them over my shoulder. The girl watches me and then runs off.
Poor thing. She was just as horrified as I was at the sight of the furs. Odd, a human is so upset over them, though. No one else bats an eyelid.
Walking back toward the edge of the forest with the pelts, I try not to imagine their last moments.
After burying the hides, I return to Wellmore Village. I approach a group of middle-aged women sitting on wooden crates, crocheting, and ask them if they can tell me anything about the wolf pelts. They give each other funny looks before one of them speaks.
‘Villagers have been scouring through the forest and going as far as entering Moon Crest to hunt and kill rogues and bring back their pelts to sell at market. It has helped everyone pay the tax rise. They fetch more at the market than a normal wolf because they’re thrice the size. Most of the villages in West Wallow sell these pelts. If taxes are unpaid, it’s five lashes by King’s orders,’ she explains. I thank the women and head to the next village.
Arriving in Treehold at sunset, a group of locals complain about the tax hike and the food shortage they now face. An elderly lady chats quietly with her husband outside a tavern.
‘We can barely afford the regular tax! War costs money, and protection from the werewolves is paramount, but where does he expect us to get the money?’ She says, her hands clasped in her lap.
‘My dear, it puts Treehold and us in dire straits. I might have to accept lashes instead.’ Her husband says, patting her knee.
‘Don’t talk nonsense, Harold, you old fool! If anyone is going to get lashes, it’ll be the soldiers, by me!’
‘Now, who’s talking nonsense, Margaret? They’d execute you on the spot if you tried to fight them. We’d be very lucky if they didn’t burn our house down for it,’ Harold says.
‘You’re right. We’ll just have to think of a way to come up with the money,’ Margaret sighs, and I approach the couple.
‘Good evening, I wonder if you can direct me to your local Tavern, please?’
Margaret c***s a brow and looks me up and down with a smirk of approval.
‘What business does a handsome man like you have in a small town like this?’ Margaret asks flirtatiously.
‘Margaret!’ Harold shouts.
‘Oh, calm down, dear. I’m just having a little fun.’
Even though I’m young enough to be her grandson, I reach for her hand and place a gentle kiss on the back of her hand.
‘I’m very flattered you think me handsome. It’s a shame you are married, Margaret, for I’d scoop you up now and run far, far away with you.’