Beneath the Alpha's Moon
Chapter 175: Mai Blackwood

Chapter 175: Mai Blackwood

The Moonpeak Pack was quiet—too quiet.

Their estate stretched endlessly, a symbol of strength and dominance, ruled by Alpha Blackwood, a leader fierce enough to protect it with his life. By his side was Luna Teresa Blackwood, just as powerful and fierce.

The training grounds, usually alive with warriors sharpening their skills, were eerily still under the pale morning light.

But inside the main house? Chaos was unfolding.

"MAI!" Ollie Blackwood’s voice thundered through the halls. Heavy footsteps pounded against the polished floors, growing closer, more frantic.

Mai Blackwood barely reacted. She lounged on the edge of her bed, her long, curly light brown hair spilling over her shoulders, her silver eyes gleaming with amusement. A wicked smirk curled her lips. She twirled a dagger between her fingers, the blade catching the dim light of her bedroom.

The door slammed open.

Ollie stood there, his breathing heavy, his face twisted with barely contained rage. He was taller than her by a few inches, his broad frame filling the doorway. His bright green eyes were so much like their father’s and tonight, it burned with frustration.

"What the hell did you do?" he demanded.

Mai feigned innocence, pressing a hand to her chest. "Why, dear brother, whatever do you mean?"

Ollie clenched his fists. "Don’t play dumb, Mai. The training grounds are a disaster. Broken weapons, shredded training mats—oh, and let’s not forget that someone let the wild horses loose." He crossed his arms. "Let me guess—pure coincidence?"

Mai bit back a laugh. "Horses need freedom too, you know."

"Mai," Ollie growled, his patience wearing thin. "Dad is furious and let’s not talk about Mom; you know very well how she gets. The warriors are already sick of your games, and I swear if you don’t—"

"Ugh, you’re so boring," Mai groaned, stretching lazily. "It’s like all you ever do is scold me. When did you become such a grumpy old man?"

Ollie took a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "When I realized my twin sister is a menace to society."

Mai threw her dagger into the wall, just beside Ollie’s head. He didn’t flinch, but his jaw tightened.

"That could’ve killed me," he muttered.

"Oh, please. If I wanted to kill you, I’d actually try." She flashed him a sharp grin, but Ollie wasn’t amused.

"Why do you do this?" His voice softened, just a little. "Why do you make it so hard for anyone to be close to you?"

Mai’s smirk faltered for the briefest second. Then it was gone. "Because people are weak, Ollie. They either bore me or disappoint me. Sometimes both." She flicked her silver gaze to his. "Except you. You’re stubborn. Annoyingly so."

Ollie exhaled sharply, stepping further into the room. "This isn’t a game, Mai. You can’t just keep pushing people away."

"I’m not pushing them away. I’m making sure they don’t get close enough to push me first."

Silence stretched between them. For a moment, Ollie looked like he wanted to argue, but he knew better. Instead, he ran a hand through his soft brown curls and sighed. "You need to go see Liam."

Mai’s smirk vanished entirely.

Liam Rivers. A seventeen years old boy. Same age as Mai. Liam was always quiet and distant. A ghost of the boy he used to be.

He had burn scars on his forehead that crept into his hairline; the scar was a permanent reminder of a moment that should have faded with childhood. But scars don’t forget. Neither do people.

He used to be bright—too bright, always smiling, always kind. Until Mai. One little mistake, one cruel joke, and she snuffed that light out. His parents told him to stay away from her, to run if he had to.

But fate, or maybe just Mai’s own stubbornness, never let him slip too far from her grasp.

Ollie saw the flicker of hesitation in Mai’s eyes before she masked it with indifference. "And why would I do that?"

"You broke his damn bike," Ollie said flatly. "Again."

Mai shrugged. "It was ugly."

Ollie let out a frustrated groan. "You’ve been tormenting him since we were kids. And don’t act like you don’t care, because we both know you do."

Mai tensed, her fingers curling into fists. "I don’t—"

"You do," Ollie interrupted, stepping closer. "And I don’t know why, but I know this—whatever this thing is between you two? It’s not hate, Mai."

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

Ollie studied her carefully. "You don’t even realize it, do you?"

Mai hated the way her stomach twisted, the way something inside her clawed at her chest whenever Liam’s name was spoken. It was irrational. It was annoying.

It was dangerous.

And she wanted it gone.

Mai shoved past Ollie, ignoring the knowing look in his eyes. "I’ll fix his damn bike."

Ollie arched a brow. "You’ll fix it?"

"...Fine, I’ll buy him a new one."

Ollie chuckled, shaking his head. "Try not to set it on fire this time."

Mai rolled her eyes. "No promises."

Finding Liam Rivers wasn’t difficult. He was always in the same place—by the lake in the forest, sketching in that worn-out notebook of his.

She found him sitting on a rock, his head bent over the pages, completely unaware of her approach.

Mai tilted her head, watching him. He was different now. Taller, broader, but still quiet. The burn scars on the left side of his forehead were partially hidden beneath his blond hair, but she knew they were there. She had put them there.

And yet, despite everything, he never looked at her with fear. Only resentment.

"You’re stalking me again," Liam said without looking up.

Mai smirked. "I prefer ’casually observing.’"

He finally looked up, his blue eyes narrowing. "What do you want?"

She pretended to think. "To see your beautiful face, obviously."

Liam didn’t laugh. "Go away, Mai."

She clicked her tongue. "Rude."

He turned back to his sketchbook, ignoring her.

Mai frowned. Annoying. She wasn’t used to being ignored.

She stepped closer and snatched the sketchbook from his hands.

"Mai—"

Her eyes skimmed over the drawings, her fingers hovering just above the page as if touching them might make them disappear. He was good—frustratingly good. Every line was deliberate, every shadow carefully placed. His strokes were confident, effortless, like he wasn’t just drawing but seeing.

And then she saw it.

Her.

Mai’s breath caught in her throat.

It wasn’t a perfect portrait, not some polished, idealized version of her. But she knew herself in those rough lines—the sharpness of her gaze, the wild, untamed curls, the hint of mischief lurking just beneath the surface. He hadn’t tried to make her beautiful.

He had made her real.

Mai barely had time to react before Liam tried to snatch the sketchbook from her hands, his movements sharp, almost panicked. She glanced up, startled, only to find him glaring at her, his jaw tight, the tips of his ears tinged pink.

"Give it back," he muttered, his voice low, almost a growl.

A slow, knowing smile curled her lips. She tilted her head, mischief dancing in her eyes as she held the sketchbook just out of reach.

"Oh, Liam," she purred, drawing out his name like a secret. "Do you like me?"

His face darkened instantly. "I hate you."

"Yet here I am," she teased, tapping the cover, "immortalized in your sketchbook."

Liam tensed. "It’s not what you think," he snapped, pushing himself to his feet.

Mai took a lazy step back, still grinning. "Liam Rivers, you are so obvious."

His fists clenched at his sides. "You’re such a bully, Mai."

She shrugged. "I know."

For a moment, neither of them moved. The space between them felt electric, charged with something unspoken, something neither of them dared name.

And yet, it was there.

Mai could hear her heartbeat. It was irritating.

She shoved the sketchbook into his chest, scowling. "Fix your bike by yourself, or don’t. I don’t care."

Liam grabbed the book, watching her warily. "Then why are you here?"

Mai hesitated. Why was she here?

Her silver eyes flickered, shadows dancing in them. Something inside her shifted, curled, whispered.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Liam watched her go, gripping the sketchbook tightly.

Mai didn’t stop walking until she was out of sight, until the pounding in her chest finally settled.

The next day, Mai found herself wandering the forest again—a habit she’d had since childhood. Something about the place called to her, pulling her in like a shadow embracing the night. Maybe it was the silence, the way the towering trees stood like sentinels, shielding her from the outside world.

Or maybe it was the thrill of watching Liam sketch in secret.

Or the whispers.

They were barely there—soft, insistent, maddening.

"Mai..."

She froze, her pulse hammering.

"Who’s there?" Her voice was steady, but the tremor in her hands betrayed her.

No answer. Just laughter. Low. Echoing. Knowing.

Mai exhaled sharply, shaking her head.

Then, barely above a whisper, she muttered to herself,

"Why am I like this? Why do I hear voices? Why do I care so much about a boy I’ve only ever hurt?"

A bitter smile curled her lips.

It’s a long story.

Maybe it’s best if we start at the very beginning.