The Last Of The Originals

The bond between the Red Tail Pack and the Thick Fur Pack was older than the oak trees of Askia Forest. For centuries, their cubs were bound to one another in marriage, a tradition so sacred that to break it was to invite ruin upon both bloodlines. Elders told the story often: two packs, one bond, one promise. And for many years, it had held true.

So when Cassie was born under the crimson glow of a hunter’s moon, the elders of both packs nodded knowingly. The child of Alpha Elias of Red Tail would be given, when she came of age, to Caleb—the youngest son of Alpha Tobias of the Thick Fur Pack. It was not only expected; it was destiny.

But destiny is fragile. And sometimes, it bends under the weight of desperate choices.

On the night that would unravel centuries of trust, the moon was full, casting its silver light across the hunting fields near Iskaba. Alpha Elias stood at the edge of the boundary, his crimson-furred wolf pacing, eyes scanning the shadows. His youngest son, barely nine, had wandered too close to the human hunters’ traps.

The stench of iron and blood clung to the air, warning Elias too late. A poisoned arrow hissed through the trees, and though his reflexes were sharp, he did not move quickly enough. The shaft was buried deep into his shoulder.

A howl tore from his throat—a sound of pain and rage that echoed across the valley. His men rushed forward, but the poison worked swiftly, spreading through his veins like fire.

“Take the boy back,” Elias growled, his breath shallow. “Tell the Luna… I will follow.”

But he would not have followed without help.

The White Fur Pack was summoned. Their healers were renowned across the seven regions for their mastery of roots, herbs, and secrets whispered by the moon itself. And it was Alpha Louis of the White Fur Pack who arrived at Red Tail’s stronghold, his robes gleaming white, his expression unreadable.

The healer at his side bent over Elias, examining the black veins spreading from the wound. She muttered in the old tongue, fingers tracing protective sigils in the air. But her herbs alone could not draw out this poison. It was crafted by men who hunted wolves for sport, and it ate at Elias’s strength like acid.

When Alpha Louis finally spoke, his words carried the weight of an executioner’s hammer.

“There is but one cure,” he said, his voice steady. “But I cannot give it freely.”

Elias narrowed his eyes. “Name your price.”

Louis’s gaze slid to the cradle in the corner of the chamber, where little Cassie lay sleeping, her tiny chest rising and falling, oblivious to the destiny being written for her.

“My price is her hand,” Louis said, each word deliberate. “When she is of age, she shall be wed to my son, Moab. No gold, no silver, no tribute. Only this. A promise for a life.”

The chamber fell silent. The Red Tail warriors shifted uneasily, exchanging wary glances. To break the pact with Thick Fur was unthinkable. But to let Elias die… that would leave the pack vulnerable, leaderless, broken.

Elias’s jaw clenched. His heart warred between duty and survival. He thought of Caleb, the boy Cassie had been promised to—the tradition, the bond, the future that had been mapped out for them since birth. To deny that bond was to spit on centuries of loyalty.

Yet when he looked into the healer’s eyes, he saw the truth. Without their aid, he would not live to see another sunrise.

“Do it,” he rasped. His voice was hoarse, but resolute. “Save me. I will give her a hand.”

The healer pressed a bitter paste into the wound, chanting as smoke rose from the blackened flesh. Elias cried out, his body arching with the force of it, but slowly, the poison began to recede. His breathing steadied. His strength returned.

But so too was a seed of betrayal planted.

When word reached Alpha Tobias of the Thick Fur Pack, his fury shook the mountains.

“You gave her away?” he thundered, his fist slamming against the council table. “After all our years, after all our bonds, you chose a White Fur trickster over your own blood-brothers?”

Elias lowered his head, shame burning his heart. “It was my life, Tobias. They held the cure. Would you have me die and leave my pack to rot?”

“I would have had you keep your honor,” Tobias spat. His wolf form flickered at the edge of his anger, his claws digging into the wooden table. “You have cursed us all. This bond you broke cannot be mended with words. My son has been shamed, and your daughter will pay for your cowardice.”

Thus the alliance fractured, leaving only enmity where once there was kinship.

Far from the packs’ quarrels, in the deep heart of Wonder Woods, the witches whispered over the flames of prophecy. Their eyes glowed with visions of futures yet to come.

“The child of Elias,” one witch murmured, her voice rasping like leaves in the wind.

“She carries the mark,” another confirmed.

“She is the one foretold.”

For centuries, their coven had guarded a secret older than any Alpha’s reign. The Originals—the first Alpha and Luna, and the spirit pack who had walked with them—were bound within the Sacred Temple of Icabod. Sealed away by the Elders’ Council, their power was locked beyond reach.

But prophecy promised that one child, born under the hunter’s moon, would rise with the bloodline of the Originals, and with her mate, would open the Temple once more.

That child was Cassie.

The witches of Wonder Woods bent their will to protect her. But the Elders’ Council, those ancient rulers of the seven regions, feared what her birth would mean. A power shift. The end of their dominion. And so, even as they sat in their high seats of judgment, they plotted her end.

Cassie grew, unaware of the web tightening around her. She was twelve when the whispers of her betrothal first reached her ears. Caleb, son of Alpha Tobias—though mocked for his deformity, gentle of spirit and wise beyond his years—was the one tradition had chosen for her. And in her heart, she did not mind.

But destiny had been twisted the night her father chose survival over loyalty.

Alpha Louis would not forget. The Elders’ Council would not forgive. And as the years passed, tension between the packs grew sharper, the air heavy with the scent of war.

The witches saw it clearly:

The girl was the key.

Her bloodline was the last of the Originals.

And before her eighteenth birthday, she would either be claimed by the wrong hand and doomed, or marked by her true mate and saved.

No one yet knew which fate awaited her.

But one thing was certain: Cassie’s life would never be her own.