Moonbound Alpha: King of the Forsaken

Silvercrest Academy – Midnight

Ronan Blackwood had died.

At least, that's what the world believed.

He sat on the edge of the narrow bed in the dark dormitory, staring at the sealed letter the silver-haired woman had left behind. The wax emblem of Silvercrest Academy glowed faintly under the dim lighting.

His fingers twitched.

His body felt off.

He clenched his fist, expecting to feel the familiar pulse of his wolf's presence—but there was nothing.

A deep, empty silence.

His wolf had been a part of him since birth, its instincts sharpening his senses, its growl always lingering beneath the surface. But now? It was as if a part of him had been ripped away.

And yet…

Something else was there.

Something ancient.

Something wrong.

Ronan inhaled slowly, forcing his mind to focus. This wasn't the time to panic.

His pack had betrayed him. His title had been stripped. He had been left for dead.

But he wasn't dead.

And if fate had brought him to Silvercrest Academy, he would find a way to take back everything that was stolen from him.

Including his revenge.

---

Ronan stepped out of the dorm, his movements slow but controlled. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant fire magic.

Silvercrest Academy was no ordinary school.

It was the power hub of the supernatural world—a place where werewolves, vampires, witches, and other supernatural beings trained to become leaders, warriors, and rulers.

But it wasn't just about academics.

Power ruled here.

Packs operated like mafias, vampire clans controlled the underground, witches formed exclusive covens, and demons? Well… they did whatever the hell they wanted.

It was a place where the weak were devoured, and the strong reigned supreme.

And right now?

Ronan was considered weak.

His status as Alpha Heir had been erased. His name had been scrubbed from the pack records. No pack. No allies. No wolf.

He was a Forsaken One.

---

As he made his way through the dormitory halls, Ronan caught the scent of wolves. Three of them.

He didn't have to wait long before they appeared.

Three werewolves stepped into his path, blocking the exit.

The leader—a tall, broad-shouldered guy with raven-black hair and gold eyes—smirked, arms crossed over his chest. His scent carried the unmistakable stench of dominance and arrogance.

An Alpha.

"Well, well," the Alpha drawled. "Look what we have here. A rogue walking Silvercrest's halls."

Ronan met his gaze, unfazed. "And you are?"

The guy's smirk widened. "Name's Silas Vaughn. Heir to the Bloodfang Pack. And you? You don't smell like a pack wolf."

The two wolves behind him chuckled. One, a lanky blond, grinned. "You know what that means, right? He's nobody."

The other, a stocky brute, sneered. "Bet he's too weak to even shift."

Ronan didn't blink. He had faced armies, ripped through warriors, and stood at the peak of strength.

But right now? He had no wolf. No power. And in this academy, appearances meant everything.

If they sensed weakness, they'd try to tear him apart.

Silas stepped closer, invading his space. "Let's make this simple. You bow now, swear loyalty to Bloodfang, and I'll let you live peacefully in this academy."

Ronan tilted his head. "And if I refuse?"

Silas's smirk sharpened. "Then we make an example out of you."

A challenge. Public dominance. It was a way to humiliate him before the entire student body.

Ronan's fingers itched to tear them apart. But he had no wolf. No true power.

So instead, he did something unexpected.

He laughed.

Silas's smirk faltered. "The hell's so funny?"

Ronan met his gaze, eyes cold. "You think I need a pack to survive?" He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "That's where you're wrong."

Something in his tone made Silas hesitate—just for a second.

It was enough.

Ronan brushed past them, walking away as if they weren't worth his time.

Silas's expression darkened, but he didn't attack. Not yet.

Not in public.

But Ronan knew this wasn't the end.

Bloodfang wouldn't forget this.

And neither would he.

---

Silvercrest Academy's campus was massive—a blend of gothic castles and modern supernatural infrastructure. Ancient stone towers housed the classrooms, while sprawling battlefields served as training grounds for combat classes.

Ronan's first stop? The Headmaster's Office.

He needed answers.

Why was he here? Who sent him? And what the hell was happening to him?

He arrived at the grand double doors, reaching for the handle—

"You're late," a voice murmured from behind him.

He turned sharply.

Standing beneath the dim chandelier was a woman with silver-white hair and striking violet eyes.

It was her.

The same woman who had been in his dorm last night.

She leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed. "Took you long enough to find your way here, Forsaken One."

Ronan narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

The woman smirked. "Selene Nightshade."

The name struck something familiar in him.

Nightshade. That was a name whispered in werewolf circles, tied to old magic, assassins, and the kind of power that made even Alphas wary.

"Why am I here?" Ronan demanded.

Selene's expression turned unreadable. "Because something far worse than death has claimed you."

A chill ran down his spine. "What do you mean?"

She stepped closer, her violet gaze sharp. "You think you survived that night by chance?"

Ronan's jaw tightened.

Selene lowered her voice. "Your wolf is gone. Your bond to the pack severed. But something else is inside you now. Something that shouldn't exist."

Ronan's fists clenched.

He already knew something was wrong.

But her words made it real.

Selene's gaze flickered with something almost like pity. "You're no longer just a werewolf, Ronan."

She leaned in, her breath warm against his ear.

"You're something else."

A pause.

Then, in a whisper, she added:

"And soon? The whole academy will know it too."