Death of the Alpha King

Serena.

The air in the chamber is heavy with sorrow and fear. The great Alpha of Nythera lay on his bed, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. Warriors, advisors, and nobles stand around him in silence, their faces tight with unease.

I stand at the farthest corner of the room, my fists clenched at my sides. I should not be here. I should not be forced to witness the final moments of the Alpha responsible for my family’s slaughter.

Then, a murmur passes through the gathered wolves.

“Bring him in.”

The doors burst open, and my breath stops in my throat.

A healer is shoved into the chamber. A powerful one, and not just any healer, the healer of my pack.

His wrists are bound, his once elegant robes tattered and stained with blood. His face, though bruised, still holds the dignity of a man who has spent his life saving others.

“Fix him,” one of the warriors barked, shoving him forward.

The healer didn’t move immediately. His dark eyes scanned the room until they landed on me, and then, to my horror, he bowed a slow, solemn bow as an act of respect and recognition.

I barely had time to react before a sickening crack echoes through the chamber as a soldier strikes him across the face. The healer collapsed, but he does not cry out even when he is hit again and again.

I cannot take it anymore so I rush forward instinctively. “Stop”

A hand yanks me back by the hair, dragging me away. “Treason,” the voice growls in my ear.

Tears sting my eyes as I watch him collapse onto the cold floor, his blood staining the stone.

He had done nothing. Nothing but acknowledge me, and for that, they would kill him. I am thrown into the dungeon before I can see what becomes of him.

Hours pass in darkness and my body aches from the rough treatment, but my mind is elsewhere, back in that room. Did the healer survive? Has he saved the Alpha?

The answer comes almost immediately. I hear shouts of joy and jubilation carried through stone walls to the dungeon.

I should be sad or mad that the Alpha is healed but a part of me is proud that the healer from my own pack is as competent as they come.

However, the jubilation is shortlived when midnight arrives. Footsteps echoes through the stone corridor, stopping in front of my cell. The door creaks open, and a guard grabs me by the arm. “You’re being reassigned.”

I frowned. “What?”, but the guard doesn’t explain. He drags me out, his grip bruising my arm as we ascend the stairwell.

That is when I hearmurmurs, whispers, and the shifting energy in the air.

“The Alpha is finally going.” “He shifted.” “He will not last the night.”

My stomach twists. I should have been happy. I should have felt satisfaction knowing the monster who led the slaughter of my people was breathing his last, but that means death for the healer.

All I feel is cold. Outside, the manor grounds has been transformed.

Every wolf in the pack has shifted, warriors, nobles, servants. Even the lowest-ranked is forced to show their respect in their true forms.

I remain human. I will not bow, but before I can steel myself against their orders, a rough hand grips my neck, forcing me down.

“Shift.”

I gritted my teeth. “I will not.”

Another hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back painfully. “You will.”

I can feel the eyes of the wolves surrounding me, and can hear the low growls of warning. I am powerless against them, a lone survivor among my enemies.

So, with hatred burning in my veins, I shift.

Thankfully, the funeral is a blur. The Alpha’s massive wolf form lay still in the center of the gathering. The pack howls in unison, mourning him, but I do not mourn.

I decide to wait. Wait to see who would rise in his place.

After the ceremony, I am led through unfamiliar hallways, my feet dragging with exhaustion.

“This way,” the guard mutters.

I barely have time to catch my breath before I am shoved into a dimly lit room. A massive fireplace crackles at the far end, casting flickering shadows against the stone walls. The scent of leather, steel, and something dark and dangerous fills the air.

A figure is sat in a chair near the fire with broad shoulders, long legs and silver eyes that gleams like ice.

Tristan Sinclair. I recognize him immediately. The man I bumped into in the Alpha's chamber. The warrior heir. The cold-blooded son of the Alpha. He does not look like a man in mourning, instead he looks like a predator lying in wait.

His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. Then, his voice cut through the silence.

“On your knees.”

I stiffen, not expecting that, my chin lifting in defiance.

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Disobedient, are you?” He stands, crossing the room in slow, deliberate strides. The closer he is, the heavier the air feels.

I clench my fists. I would not kneel. Not for him. Not for any of them.

But before I can open my mouth to refuse, his hand shoots out, gripping my jaw.

“You will show me your utmost submission at all times,” he murmurs, his voice eerily calm.

I struggle against his hold, but he does not let go.

“You’ll face constant punishment for your shortcomings.”

His fingers dig into my skin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “I control every aspect of your existence.”

His words sends a shiver down my spine. Not from fear but from rage. I am no one's slave.

But as I glare up at him, I realize something terrifying.

Tristan Sinclair wants me to fight back and that makes him the most dangerous man I have ever met.