Page 22 of Rejected Alpha Mate

Heavy with something that reminds me of the way Delilah’s cottage in Scarborough felt when she’d been in the clutches of dark magic.

My paws slow, my ears pricking at attention when the fur at the back of my neck rises with sharp alertness.

Then I see it, and a cold wind passes through my spine.

Nestled between two roots is a small burlap pouch, blackened by the dirt and tied with red twine.

A hex bag—I know because Delilah and Arianna left some around our pack territories to keep out evil, but they’d buried them deep enough to not be found.

Evan shifts first. “You think this is one of Delilah’s? I don't know who would have dug it out, though.”

I shift to human form then, crouching low as I pick up the bag, my chest suddenly tightening when I catch a whiff of the unbearable stench coming from the bag. The thing hums faintly, like it’s alive on my palm, the energy dark and clinging. “No. It's not Delilah's. Hers would never reek like this. This one's new.”

I untie the thread and dump the contents onto my palm, and a collection of ash, bones, and a clump of hair comes tumbling out. Along with those is a folded note, the parchment aged, edges scorched as if they’d been burned purposely.

“What the hell…?” Evan mutters, brows furrowed.

I unfold the note slowly, frowning at the strange markings scribbled across the page, looping in jagged patterns. But one symbol catches my eye—a circular emblem etched at the bottom.

The same one that Delilah and Arianna wear around their necks. I recognize it from the intricate details of the sigil and how they form the roots of a tree.

My pulse quickens just as I notice my shoulder throbbing beneath my jacket, right where Tobias bit me, as if the items from the burlap bag are heavier than they should be. I flex my shoulder, but the pain only deepens, sharp and burning. “This isn’t just dark magic…” I murmur. “It’s a message.”

Evan frowns. “From whom?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug, the dull ache gnawing on my mind now. It might be a hunch, but nothing feels independent about all these strange occurrences. From Donna being targeted, to me getting bitten, and now this…I have to report this to the others. “But whoever…whatever it is…it’s coming for us. We need to be ready.”

Chapter 7 - Donna

The forest is endless, cold air cutting through the trees, thick with fog, and the taste of iron in my mouth. Moonlight filters through the canopy of trees in silver ribbons, just enough to show me the path ahead, just enough to remind me how far I still have to run.

The sound of footsteps follows me, heavy, uneven, but ominously human.

My lungs burn as my heart thunders, every breath I inhale scraping raw in my chest. I don’t know where I’m going, only that I can’t stop because I’m being chased. The forest seems to move with me, branches twisting overhead, trunks morphing in my vision as if the woods themselves are trying to keep me lost.

“Donna….”

The voice drips through the fog like sludgy oil. I recognize Tobias’s voice, but there’s something wrong about it.

It echoes too low, too distorted, like it’s coming from inside my head rather than behind me. My heart stutters as the air thickens, almost choking me. I stumble over a loose root, nearly falling, then catch myself against a tree trunk slick with something warm. When I look down at my hands, I gasp when I see my palms covered in crimson.

Blood.

A branch breaks behind me and snaps me out of the momentary daze, and I spin around, only to find nothing but mist. My heart hammers in my chest as my brows furrow, fear and anticipation trickling down my spine.

Then I see it—movement—quick and sinuous as a serpent between the mist, a shadow darting between the trees.

“T-Toby?” My voice cracks, my bottom lip trembling. “This isn’t funny.”

A soft chuckle responds—Tobias’s chuckle, the one I used to hear at every inside joke, now hollow, edged with something cruel, something eerie.

“I thought you trusted me….”

His whisper comes from everywhere and nowhere. I spin in a circle, scanning the forest, but it’s too dark, too dense to see his face. Every sound—the rustle of leaves, the groan of the wind, the croaking of frogs, and the hooting of owls—sounds like my name.

Then, a figure steps out of the mist.

Tobias.