Claiming the Alpha's Heart

I hadn't planned on coming back to Crescent Valley.

If I were being honest with myself, I would admit that I had spent years doing everything I could to forget it existed. The forests. The fog. The way the town always felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something unseen to happen. Crescent Valley was a place I had learned to push to the back of my mind, locking it away with memories I didn't want to touch.

But when my grandmother's voice trembled over the phone thin with age, strained by stubborn pride there was no version of me that could say no. I heard the effort it took for her to sound calm. I heard the pauses where she wanted to say more but didn't. And I knew, even before she asked, that I was already on my way back.

So I drove north.

Mile after mile passed beneath my tires as the world slowly changed. Road signs faded. Cell service weakened. The trees grew thicker the farther I went, pressing in from both sides of the road like silent watchers. The sky remained gray, heavy with clouds that never quite broke. By the time I reached the narrow stretch of highway leading into town, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away.

Crescent Valley welcomed me the same way it always had quietly and without warmth.

The air felt heavier the moment I stepped out of my car. Cold settled into my skin, sharper than I remembered, seeping through my clothes like it had been waiting for me. It felt deliberate, as though the town itself wanted to remind me that I didn't belong here anymore. Fog clung low to the ground, curling around my ankles like it was alive, like it knew my name.

I pulled my jacket tighter around myself and glanced up at the line of trees bordering the road.

They looked unchanged. Too tall. Too dense. Too close. Their dark branches tangled together, blocking out light and sky alike. The forest had always loomed over Crescent Valley, but standing there again, I realized how little distance there truly was between the town and the wilderness surrounding it.

Grandmother's house sat at the edge of town, just far enough that the forest crept close to the backyard fence. It was smaller than I remembered, the paint peeling slightly, the porch steps worn down by time and weather. Still, it stood firm, stubborn in the way only old things could be, refusing to yield even as everything else aged around it.

She was waiting for me at the door.

"Elara," she said, relief softening her sharp eyes as she pulled me into a hug. Her arms felt thinner than before, but the strength in her grip was the same. "You took your time."

"I came as fast as I could," I replied, breathing in the familiar scent of herbs and old books that clung to her sweater. For a moment,