Aidan Chastiel's Royal Guard numbered no more than twenty lycans. Not a single one of them was known or important, but they all had an unbreakable bond with their Alpha. They lived by the ancient law of the highest predator, and followed whoever they considered the strongest. The Silent Guard, they were called, for not a snarl sounded over the trails of blood they left in their wake.

“Aidan! To your right!”

Normally, that shout from Brennan would have been unnecessary, but they both knew Aidan was unfocused because of the mark.

The Alpha spun in the midst of a partial transformation, fangs and claws bared, a superior strength and a size that would impress even a lycan; he caught the rebel who was trying to attack him and before he knew it he had snapped his neck between his fangs.

Two other bodies were entangled in his claws, he felt the bite on one of his thighs and that only provoked him even more. He tore a throat, feeling the warm blood bathing his neck, and in mere seconds he had three dead beneath his feet.

Brennan had managed to finish off another two, half of the Silent Guard guarded eight prisoners and the other half had deployed a hunting to the south.

In Corgarff, they had stolen the silver deposits destined for the prisons. The hunt had left four insurgents dead.

In Callander, the resistance had burned every last food deposit of the crown's reserves, but only a small group of six rebels had been located and subdued.

In Garvok, they had contaminated the reservoirs with an odorless and tasteless drug, but the chase there had only ended up with the capture of two lycans.

And with that last hunt at Blindburn, the revolts were considered officially quelled. But something smelled fishy. They hadn't even needed a total transformation to sweep away their enemies.

“This was too easy...” Brennan came up beside Aidan, emerging from the partial transformation and wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I think exactly the same,” the Alpha muttered, looking around cautiously, as if expecting a trap. “Nothing they've done makes sense. They look more like children's pranks than real attacks.”

“What do you mean?” asked his Beta.

“Think about it. They stole some silver, burned down a food warehouse... as if markets didn't exist!” Aidan snorted. “They drugged an entire pack. They could have just poisoned the water and killed everyone, but what we found was a bunch of naked lycans dancing like crazy.”

Brennan almost laughed at the memory, but Aidan was right. Too many things didn’t make sense. He heard him grunt uncomfortably and moved closer.

“Are you all right?”

The Alpha denied with a silent gesture, and Brennan knew exactly what he had to do.

“Take the prisoners back to the Watchtower!” he ordered, turning to the soldiers under his command. “The Alpha and I will meet you there.”

A little over two hundred miles away, the Watchtower was not only the oldest lycan prison, but also the most important. The entire Guard, accustomed to obedience, waved in acceptance and within minutes they were out of sight in the darkness.

Brennan turned in time to hold Aidan, who was breathing his rage out silently at not being able to fend for himself.

“Come on. I located a waterhole not far from here, you'll feel better when you get all this crap off,” he assured him.

Aidan jumped into that small waterfall in the middle of the mountain and the icy water comforted him. He couldn't say that receiving the mark was always the same, on the contrary, it seemed to get worse with each year, and his Beta was the only one he was willing to share that bitter experience with.

For more than six centuries, every year, on the same day, at the same time, a mark would appear on his right bicep, causing him unimaginable pain. No one knew why it came out, but Aidan was sure it was proof of his curse, the same curse that condemned him to be alone forever.

He came out of the water and sat on the shore, under the watchful eye of his Beta.

“How many is that now?” Brennan asked, looking at the hundreds of small scars on his arm.

“Six hundred and forty-eight with this one,” Aidan replied.

“I don't understand how the queen mother has not found a way to stop it. I mean... she was a priestess.”

Aidan shook his head. He wasn't bothering his mother with that anymore. On the contrary, he tried to be as far away as possible every time he received the mark.

“What is it like?” Brennan was always curious about it.

“When I was a child it was easier. It only appeared and hurt very little, but as the years went by each new mark is more difficult, more painful... It's as if it were announcing to me...”

“What?”

“That I'm going to die,” Aidan finished, and Brennan's face darkened.

“Don't say that. You're the strongest Alpha of all the packs. How can you think you're going to die?!”

“My father is the strongest Alpha in the packs..." Aidan tried to correct him, but his face suddenly tightened.

Brennan didn't even wait for the order; he subjected his wolf to a partial transformation and sat behind the Alpha. He slipped his right arm around his neck and held his left arm behind his back. It was all he could do: try to restrain him. In recent years, Aidan's first instinct had been to attack the mark, and if had he not been contained, sooner or later he would end up tearing that arm off himself.

This time, however, as every muscle in the Alpha's body stiffened, Brennan watched in horror as the wound began to open like a bloody, red star across his chest. Aidan's claws went automatically there, as if he wanted to scratch away the pain, rip it out... His screams filled the early morning and the Beta knew that in the midst of that madness he would end up tearing out his heart.

Brennan released Aidan and subjected his wolf to a total transformation, no other way would he be able to control the most powerful Alpha he knew, even in his weakened state. He pushed himself forward, crashing into Aidan's body, rolling him over and forcing him to face him. His fangs closed firmly on one of his arms, and he dragged him into the water.

He felt the claws digging into his right shoulder blade but did not let go of the prey. For minutes that seemed like years, it forced him to struggle between the water and himself, but at least his claws were focused on defending himself and not hurting himself.

When the first ray of sunlight crossed the sky, Aidan's whole body relaxed.

Brennan limped out of the water, leaving a prominent trail of blood, and a few seconds later Aidan leaned over him, scowling. He seemed to be back to normal and his Beta sighed with relief.

“Damn it, Brennan, how could you let me do that to you?!” Aidan scolded him, choking on his guilt.

“It was better than you doing it to yourself.” Brennan pointed to his chest, where the mark that had been dark red a few minutes ago was beginning to turn bright white. “Are you all right?”

Aidan was silent so as not to answer. He still felt like he was dying, but he didn't want to appear weak by acknowledging it.

“We'd better get going,” he said, slipping an arm under his shoulders and helping him to the van the Guard had left for them.

On the front dashboard of the car, a pair of cell phones vibrated persistently, and as soon as he read the messages on one of the screens, Aidan's face darkened.

“Here. Call the Guard and tell them to wait for us at Glan Conwy,” he said to his Beta, handing him one of the phones. “I don't want them to go into the woods without me.”

“What happened?”

“It happened that I was right. The riots were purely a distraction!” Aidan growled, turning to Brennan. “The Watchtower was attacked.”