Chapter Eight

The Alpha King's POV – Late Night

 

She shouldn't matter...

She was human. Ordinary. She worked in a diner. Kept her head down. Wore perfume too floral to be natural. She smiled like someone who'd practiced it too many times.

And yet—she kept coming back.

Not in reality. In thought.

In scent.

In moments that should’ve been dismissed but never were.

That morning at the diner. The brush of an arm. A soft apology. The same perfume that clung to her when she passed them outside the building. When she stood across the street in the rain, staring in at something that once broke her.

There was pain in her eyes. Not the kind people wore to be pitied—but the kind they wore when they didn’t expect to survive it.

He’d seen hundreds of wolves wear that look.

But she was human.

Wasn’t she?

He leaned back in his chair, hand absently circling the rim of his glass.

Then why does her scent feel so familiar?

That question had started small, but now it scratched deeper every time he saw her—or almost saw her. She always slipped away. Like she knew exactly when to vanish.

And there were other things.

The timing of her arrival in the city.

The spike in rogue activity shortly after.

Rogues who weren’t just acting wild, but like they were searching. Targeted attacks. Sudden interest in territories that had been quiet for years. Entire scouting parties torn apart as if they’d been trying to get to someone, not just survive.

The Moon Market attack. The narrow border breach near Hollow Ridge.

And then there was her scent again.

Always faint. Always contained.

But it lingered in too many places.

Coincidence? Maybe.

But he didn’t believe in coincidence.

She was always on the edge of things—near but never central.

Still, her name came up. In casual stories from his sister. In the background of timelines. She wasn’t suspicious. She was present.

And in his experience, the people you overlooked were often the ones hiding the most.

He didn’t know who she was. Not yet.

But the city seemed to shift slightly around her.

And that was enough to keep her in his mind.

**

Celeste was beautiful in the way legends are—softly, tragically, and impossible to forget.

She didn’t draw attention because she tried. In fact, she tried harder than anyone not to. But something about her slipped past the eye, past logic, and into the soul like a whisper of something ancient. A girl with silver-threaded hair, pale as snowfall. Eyes the color of melted ice, so light they looked nearly translucent in the right light. Pale skin that glowed in moonlight—and bore the hidden testimony of battle.

Scars lined her body like a map no one could read. Some old and earned with pride. Others newer, carved in silence, the kind no blade could deliver.

She was once a warrior. Not just by birth, but by blood and burden.

The WinterMoon pack—her home—was the oldest bloodline in existence. Once rulers of the North. Once the true sovereigns of the wolf dominion. But over two decades ago, they vanished. Erased themselves from history. Faded into ghost stories whispered around fires. Some said they died off. Some said they were cursed.

None of it was true.

They had simply gone into hiding. Deep into the frozen reaches of the winter forests, where no wolves roamed and no pack dared trespass. Out of reach. Out of time.

Her father had made the call—after watching every sibling, every ally, fall to greed, envy, or ambition. When the crown could no longer be worn without blood, he chose silence. And when his youngest child—a daughter—was born, he vowed she would never carry the curse of a throne. He gave her a new name, a new story. And they disappeared.

She was raised in secret. Trained in silence. The next heir to a throne no one believed existed.

And now, she walked among humans, hiding behind the name Celeste. The girl from the diner. The one with quiet eyes and a tired smile. Not Celeste Winters, daughter of the Alpha of the WinterMoon bloodline. Not the girl whose very blood threatened the balance the Alpha King believed he ruled.

No one knew the truth. Not even Victoria. Not even the Alpha King himself.

But someone did know.

Her father.

And he wanted her back.

He’d tried everything—diplomacy, distant watchers, pleas through the old channels. But Celeste had vanished even from the winds. She hadn’t just run. She’d erased herself.

So, he turned to what remained—rogues. Desperate wolves. Half-feral, half-lost. Promised protection, coin, power—whatever it took. They would tear through every territory, shred every alliance, and leave chaos in their wake if it meant getting her back.

Because it wasn’t just about lineage anymore.

It was about his daughter.

He didn’t care what packs burned. What bloodlines crumbled. The world could fall to ash for all he cared—so long as she came home.

But Celeste didn’t want to be found.

Because the weight she carried wasn’t just her name.

It was the knowledge that the world she left behind… might not survive her return.