The forest did not sleep that night.
Not after the Trial. Not after the flames chose her.
Not after the Hollow howled.
A strange silence lingered across the woods, as if even the wind feared what had been awakened. Trees swayed not with the breeze but with breath—an ancient one, pulsing with the weight of prophecy.
Seraphina stood on sacred soil. The dagger rested in her palm, heavy with unseen eyes, and her mark burned faintly under her skin like ink soaked in fire.
All around her, the Pack remained bowed—not in worship, but in awe-struck dread.
They had watched her step into the fire.
They had watched her speak the truth.
And they had watched the Hollow name her.
She wasn't one of them.
She was something older.
Something worse.
Lucien approached her slowly. His cloak dragged behind him, edges singed from the blue fire. His golden eyes flicked toward the dagger in her hand and then up to her face.
"You should rest," he said quietly.
Seraphina didn't move.
Her eyes were locked on the dark tree line—the threshold of the cursed forest. Something breathed out there. Something vast. Something hungry.
She could feel it now… watching.
"Not yet," she murmured.
Lucien reached out, gently touching her shoulder. "There's more we need to talk about. Somewhere private."
She finally nodded.
The Pack parted for them as they walked. Some lowered their eyes. Others didn't even blink, as if her presence rooted them to the ground.
They made their way through the thick woods until they reached a clearing deep inside the Hollow's edge—where the light couldn't quite reach, and the trees grew in twisted arches, like ribs of some long-dead god.
Lucien stopped. The tension in his body radiated like heat.
"I need you to listen carefully," he said.
His tone held weight. Not as Alpha. As something else.
Seraphina met his gaze, her own still glassy from the fire's truth. "I'm listening."
He looked down, as if gathering thoughts too dangerous to speak aloud. "The Hollow named you. That isn't just power. It's a warning."
"A warning for what?"
Lucien's jaw tightened. "Before this Pack… before even the witches had covens or the wolves had laws… there was the Hollow. A god. A force. A judge. When it speaks, it doesn't offer gifts—it delivers consequences."
Seraphina blinked. "You think I'm a consequence?"
"I think you're a response," Lucien said. "The Hollow sees what we've become. The broken lines. The blood. The pride. And now… it demands balance."
She frowned. "So why did it name two Alphas?"
Lucien turned his face to the trees. "Because one isn't enough anymore."
The weight of those words sank into her chest.
Lucien stepped closer. "You stood in the fire. You held your truth. The Pack knelt. But that doesn't mean they'll accept it. Not all of them."
She swallowed hard. "Then let them not accept it."
"No," Lucien said sharply. "If they splinter, the Hollow might choose a side. And if it chooses them…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't have to.
Seraphina looked down at the dagger. The runes were shifting again, glowing faintly blue in the moonlight. "You think the Hollow can unmake us?"
"I know it can."
Lucien turned to her, and for the first time, she saw it—the fear. Not for himself. But for her.
"I would burn the forest down for you," he said. "But I don't want to watch it burn you first."
She touched his hand, voice soft but sure. "Then we stand together. Fire and fang."
Lucien's jaw clenched. He nodded.
But something still lingered in his eyes.
Doubt. Or maybe destiny.
—
They returned just before dawn.
The Pack had dispersed, but tension clung to the den like smoke. A few wolves remained outside, pacing. Others watched from behind trees, their gazes wary and unreadable.
Seraphina moved through them without speaking. Her presence disturbed the very air. Even the roots recoiled from her footsteps.
She didn't stop until she reached the old altar.
She knelt before it.
The stone hummed beneath her skin.
And then—without warning—her mind was not her own.
A vision struck her.
—
She saw a woman cloaked in fire, standing atop a mountain of bones. Two blades in her hands. Wolves howled at her feet—but not in loyalty.
In fear.
Behind her, a shadow moved. It wasn't wolf or witch. It wasn't even flesh.
It was a third presence. An old one.
And it whispered:
"When fire and fang fail, shadow will reign."
—
Seraphina gasped as she tore her hands from the altar. She stumbled back, breath ragged.
Lucien was already at her side.
"What did you see?" he asked urgently.
Her voice shook. "The first Hollow Alpha. And something… darker behind her."
Lucien froze. "Then it's true. The Hollow always leaves a third."
Seraphina blinked. "What do you mean?"
He looked at her grimly. "When two rise, a third always waits. It's balance. The Hollow doesn't choose leaders. It creates trials."
—
By nightfall, the Pack was summoned again—not for Trial. For Council.
And not all came willingly.
They gathered around the fire pit, its black stones cold now but forever marked. Seraphina stood beside Lucien, her presence igniting another wave of murmurs.
"She isn't one of us…"
"She bears the Hollow's touch…"
"She'll curse the bloodline…"
Lucien raised his voice. "Enough."
The murmuring stopped.
"She stood the Trial. The fire burned blue. You saw it. That is truth."
A voice called from the back, sharp. "Truth or trick?"
Lucien didn't waver. "Then face the flames yourself."
Silence.
Lucien gestured toward Seraphina. "She is not here to rule over you. She is here to protect you—from what comes next."
Another wolf growled. "What comes next?"
Seraphina answered, stepping forward. "The Hollow showed me a war. A darkness. A third Alpha. If we fracture now, we die."
Lucien met her eyes, then turned to the Pack. "She speaks the Hollow's will. She walks beside me. And if any of you challenge that—then step into the ring and speak your truth."
No one moved.
Lucien continued, "If fire and fang are to survive, we must fight together. Not as wolves and witches. But as Hollowborn."
A deep silence followed.
Then, slowly—one wolf knelt.
Then another.
And another.
Until the circle bowed once more.
But not all.
A few remained standing in the shadows, eyes cold.
Watching.
Waiting.
—
That night, Seraphina sat alone beneath the altar again.
The dagger lay beside her, humming softly.
She closed her eyes.
And the Hollow whispered again.
"If the Pack burns… will you rebuild it in your image?"
—
Just before dawn, a scout burst through the trees—bloodied, trembling.
Lucien caught him before he fell. "What happened?"
The scout gasped. "Smoke. East ridge… they're coming…"
Lucien's voice dropped. "Who?"
The scout lifted bloodstained eyes to Seraphina.
"The Broodborn…"
—
Lucien's entire body went still.
The name hadn't been spoken in centuries.
Not since the days the Pack tried to forget.
He turned slowly to Seraphina.
"They're not rebels," he said coldly. "They're descendants of those who defied the Hollow—and lived."
Seraphina felt her stomach twist.
"I thought they were myth."
"They were," Lucien growled. "Until tonight."
—
And as the moon bled silver over the cursed woods, Seraphina felt it again.
A second presence.
A third force.
Not just a rival.
A reflection.
The Hollow was not done with them.
Not yet.
-------------
Dear readers,
Thank you so much for reading "The Last Alpha King" and joining me on this dark, emotional, and magical journey through the Hollow. Every comment, vote, and gift truly means the world to me.
Writing this story is not just about fantasy or romance—it's about power, survival, pain, and rising from the ashes. If Seraphina's fire and Lucien's loyalty touched your heart, I ask you to please support this book. 💙
Your power stones, comments, and collections help keep the story alive—and they remind me why I write every single day. Let's take this story to the top charts together! Let's make the world feel the heat of the Hollow!
Keep reading, keep supporting, and don't forget:
No throne without a queen. No fire without you. 🔥
With love,
—DarkInkqueen