The Alpha’s Fated Outcast: Rise Of The Moonsinger

Lyla

"False alarm," Ramsey announced as he strode into the war room. "There was no breach at the northern gate."

I looked up from the ritual preparations I was reviewing with Nanny. "What about the dead sentries?"

"That part was real," he said grimly. "Three warriors, throats slit. But there's no evidence of an invading force. No tracks, no scents, nothing."

Something cold settled in my stomach. "An inside job."

Ramsey nodded. "Someone wanted to draw our attention away from something else."

"Or someone," Gamma Darius added, his eyes meeting mine. "Like the bomb in your car."

We all fell silent, the implications hanging heavy in the air. White Moon had a traitor—perhaps more than one—working for Nathan.

"The ritual must continue", I said finally. "We need those Ferals fighting for us, not against us."

"I'll increase security around the ritual grounds," Ramsey decided. "No one gets within a hundred yards except those directly involved."

I shook my head. "No, Ramsey. The ritual requires solitude. Just me and the Ferals."

"Absolutely not." His tone was firm. "Not with a traitor in our midst."

"The ritual won't work otherwise," Nanny interjected. "Ancient magic has requirements that can't be ignored. Interference from others will disrupt the energy flow."

Ramsey looked torn, his desire to protect me warring with our desperate need for the Ferals' strength.

"I'll be fine," I assured him, touching his arm. "The Ferals won't hurt me. They respond to my voice."

After much argument, we reached a compromise: guards would maintain a perimeter around the ritual grounds, far enough away not to interfere with the magic but close enough to respond if anything went wrong.

As sunset approached, I retreated to prepare myself. In my room, I bathed in water infused with sacred herbs, cleansing my body and spirit. Nanny helped me dress in the traditional ritual garb—a flowing white gown with golden embroidery that caught the light like liquid moonbeams.

"Are you certain about this?" she asked as she wove moonflowers into my hair. "Converting so many Ferals at once has never been attempted."

"Nathan arrives by morning.

eyes sad. "I've been rereading

focus on tonight first," I interrupted. "One impossible task

was waiting. His breath caught visibly when he saw

the Moon Goddess

the awe in his voice. "Let's hope I can

to the edge of the ritual grounds—a natural clearing in the heart of White Mountain territory. The full

stopping at the perimeter line. "If anything

nodded, though we both knew that interrupting the ritual once it began could have disastrous consequences. With a final kiss, I

signal. These weren't ordinary Ferals—they were the elite fighters the Dark One had been sending all along to White Mountains, and Ramsey had been wise enough to capture them. These were

discovered that only elite Ferals had a Trinax, and each Trinax could only control seven

moonlight began to spill through the trees. The Ferals sensed

my

hesitated,

"Now," I insisted.

retreated to the perimeter. The Ferals watched them go but made no move to

to hum softly, establishing a connection with them. The familiar melody calmed their restless

rose higher, I moved to the next phase. I took a handful of crushed herbs from a golden bowl and cast them into the

moon," I chanted, my voice gaining power, "hear my call. These souls before me are lost between

stirred, some whimpering as if in pain. I continued, my voice rising and falling in the ancient cadence

Neriah, line of the first Moonsinger, I command the darkness to release its

across my palm, letting droplets of blood fall into the fire. The flames surged higher, illuminating the clearing with ghostly blue light. The Ferals howled in unison, their bodies beginning to shift

part. I stepped toward the nearest Feral—Shadow, my little protector—and placed my bleeding

I commanded. "Remember who

my eyes, his form began to change—not to human, but to a normal wolf. The feral

up at me and bowed his

Feral and repeating the invocation. Some transformed more easily than others. The most vicious ones fought the change, snarling and snapping. But my

midnight approached, my strength began to wane. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my hand throbbed where I'd cut it. Converting so many at once was draining me faster

a few more," I whispered, stumbling slightly as I approached one of

warriors during the first attack. His eyes still burned with madness as I placed my

the light," I commanded, but my

Feral sensed my weakness. With a vicious snarl,