ALPHA'S DARK PAYMENT. HE REJECTED HER. HIS WOLF CHOSE HER.

Elara couldn't bear the taunt anymore.

The Blood Moon Pack never slept, not truly, but that morning a strange stillness gripped the land—too quiet, too heavy, as if the world itself held its breath. Even the birds had abandoned the sky.

Elara walked with her hands cuffed behind her back, her wrists aching from the silver chains burning her skin. Guards flanked her on both sides, tall warriors in dark armor that reflected their bitter hearts. Their boots crushed dead leaves as they marched her toward the central square.

She didn’t ask questions.

Not because she couldn't get the answers she sought, but because questions were useless now.

She only breathed slowly, carefully, as though breathing in air was a sin.

“Keep walking,” one of the guards roared.

She did.

The pack had gathered—hundreds of wolves forming a circle around the execution platform. Their faces blurred together, full of judgment. Some eyes held pity; others held savage satisfaction.

But all of them were waiting.

Waiting for the Alpha.

Waiting to watch her father die.

Waiting for her to be executed alongside her father?

She was still thinking when she was pushed forward and thrown on the ground.

"Ahh!" Elara yelled, landing on thorns; her smooth, milky skin peeled and bled from there.

"There she is!" the pack members yelled.

The screams she heard made her look up from where she lay.

She doesn't deserve to be alive!

She needs to die!

She should be made to feel what those young wolves felt.

Before she knew it, they began throwing heavy stones at her. All landed on her body. some on her head, nose, lips, chest, and legs.. all over her body in an instant.

"Get up."

Elara swallowed nothing and stood up from the ground. Her legs felt like feathers; her steps faltered, but the tiniest hesitation made the pack members stone her and the guards shove her from behind.

The execution frame glared at her, its wooden frame fresher than it should have been...

"I guess a fresh frame was designed for the once feared and respected Beta," Elara bit her lips.

At its center, her father knelt with his hands bound, eyes blindfolded, and chains clamped around his throat. His once dreaded presence was gone, replaced by the terrified shell of a man.

He lifted his head when he sensed her presence.

“Elara…” he rasped, his voice hoarse and thin.

Her breathing hitched.

"Elara.... My child..."

Elara couldn't remember moving her feet, but she suddenly stood at the gram's edge, wiping his tears. His face was swollen from the beating, his once blond hair tangled and stained with blood.

Elara bit her lips, tasting her own blood. She had imagined many versions of her father over the years: 

Cold. 

Cruel. 

Stern. 

Mean. 

But never this broken version, which pierced her heart more than all the others.

She glanced at the judging eyes.

She wanted to speak.

Wanted to shout that she didn’t know.

That she had no part in his horrors.

That she had never even guessed the things he had done.

But her voice ceased.

"My father made wealth from his evil deal, and I was treated like a princess in her own place. I enjoyed that wealth made... from the tears and sweat of innocent young wolves."

I deserve this.

The crowd shifted as a tall, hefty figure stepped forward; wolves parted like water.

Alpha Kane Blackthorn.

The moment he appeared, the air changed—sharp, tense, cold.

The crowd straightened instinctively, heads bowing, eyes lowering. His presence commanded obedience without a single word.

Alpha Kane walked with the confidence of one who feared nothing.

Not death.  

Not fate.

His dark hair fell over his forehead in careless strands, and the long black robe he wore fluttered in the cold wind.

He looked too young to hold such power,  

too young to have inherited a pack drowning in darkness,  

too young to carry the weight of so many sins.

Yet the ground itself cracked under his feet.

Packs trembled under his gaze.

He strolled towards the frame and glared at Draven with a calm, darkened expression.

"Draven of the Blood Moon Pack," he spat. "You have been accused of crimes... crimes against our people: trafficking young wolves to be sold as slaves, breeders, and sex slaves. You have confessed to these crimes."

Loud gasps tore through the crowd, even though everyone had already heard the news.

Even though the pack members knew.

Kane’s gaze sharpened. “Do you have anything to say before your sentence is carried out?”

Draven swallowed, his eyes flickering toward Elara. For a minute, guilt surfaced—real guilt, rare and raw.

“Elara,” he whispered. “I’m… sorry.”

Her stomach twisted.

Elara felt every gaze shift toward her.

Traitor’s daughter.

Beta’s girl.

Possible accomplice.

Kane followed Draven's eyes and turned to glare at her.

The Alpha’s eyes landed on her like targeted prey—penetrating, unblinking.

His expression remained the same: cold, unreadable, But something in his gaze changed, just for an instant. Pity? Calculation?

She couldn’t tell.

“Begin,” Kane commanded.

The execution was swift.

Draven didn’t scream. Pride or guilt—Elara didn’t know—but he bowed his head as if accepting the final blow.

A cry tore from her throat, choked and raw, but the guards caught her arms before she could rush forward.

When it was over, snow began to fall—not gently, but in harsh, icy flakes that stung her cheeks like tiny insect bites. Wolves murmured prayers; others whispered curses; some simply turned and walked away.

And Kane… Kane didn’t look at the body once more.

He turned, coat flaring behind him, and walked away as though the execution had been nothing more than a meeting to attend.

But he stopped when he reached her.

Elara froze.

A little space separated them.

Snow clung to his dark lashes, a cruel contrast to the heat in his gaze as he studied her—the daughter of the pack’s most reviled traitor.

“You knew nothing of his crimes?” he asked, surprising her.

His voice wasn’t harsh, but the question struck like a blow.

“No,” she whispered. “I swear it.”

One of the guards scoffed. “They always swear—”

The other laughed.

Kane raised a hand, silencing them instantly.

He kept his eyes on her.

Searching.

Deciding.

“He has been executed,” Kane said, his voice steady. “But the pack demands justice beyond death.

Your fate will be decided in the palace.”

Her body went cold. “My fate?”

“You will be brought to the palace,” Kane said. “Until I decide what is to be done with you."

“You’re taking her?” Luciano, his beta, asked.

“Why spare her?” his head warrior hissed.

A woman spat near Elara’s feet. “She’s his blood. She’ll be just like him.”

The murmurs grew ugly.

Elara bowed her head—not in fear, but in shame.

“Enough,” Kane growled.

The crowd fell silent.

The Alpha stepped closer, lifting her chin with the slightest touch of his fingers.

Elara stiffened, finding it hard to breathe at the sudden closeness—at the strange feeling that shot through her nerves.

Kane spoke again.

“Your life is now mine to command, Elara Draven.”

His words were colder than the snow falling around them.

“When you step into my palace, you are no longer a citizen of the Blood Moon Pack.”

Her breathing hitched.

“You belong to me.”