chapter 6

Bane’s POV

The air in the Brooks territory was stagnant, smelling of iron and antiseptic even before I crossed the threshold of the manor. It was a dying house, clinging to the fading echoes of a power it no longer possessed.

My brother’s pack—my father’s legacy—had become a hollowed-out shell, a contrast to the razor-sharp efficiency of my own corporate holdings.

As I stepped onto the marble floors, the Beta, a man named Silas who had served my father before us, was already waiting. His face was a mask of strained neutrality.

He didn’t offer a hand; he simply turned, his boots clicking rhythmically as he led me toward the Alpha’s private quarters.

"He’s been asking for you," Silas said, his voice low. "The fever has taken most of his mind, but he remains obsessed with the succession."

I didn’t respond. I didn't have to. We both knew why I was here. This was a trial, a formal reckoning for the "theft" of a mate. But before we could reach the heavy oak doors of the master suite, the rhythm of the house shattered.

A guard, his uniform torn and blood-slicked, rounded the corner at a dead sprint. "Beta! The southern perimeter is gone! They’ve bypassed the wards, invaders are inside the inner sanctum!"

The sound of shattering glass followed. Then, the unmistakable, visceral snarl of shifting wolves and the rhythmic thud of silenced gunfire.

Through the arched windows, I saw them: masked men, moving with a tactical precision that suggested they weren't mere rogues. They were professionals.

"Ready the guards," I commanded Silas, my voice cutting through his momentary paralysis. "Seal the wing. I’ll secure Raymond."

"Lord Blackwood—"

"Go!" I snapped, the Alpha in my blood surging to the surface.

I didn't wait for his compliance. I pivoted, my lungs burning with the scent of ozone and copper as I sprinted toward my brother’s chambers.

The hallway was a gauntlet of chaos. I passed guards locked in mid-transformation, grappling with silent, masked figures who fought with silver-edged blades. I didn't stop to help. My priority was the man who held the legal keys to the throne.

I burst through the doors of the Alpha’s quarters.

The room was silent, save for a wet, ragged wheezing. The smell of blood here was concentrated, ancient.

Raymond lay in the center of his massive, four-poster bed, his frame looking skeletal beneath the silk sheets. A pool of dark, arterial red was spreading rapidly across the white linens.

A knife, its hilt carved from obsidian, was buried deep in his abdomen.

I walked toward him, my footsteps heavy. There was no assassin in the room; whoever had done this had moved with the speed of a ghost, leaving only the wreckage behind.

I reached for the hilt, my intent to stem the flow, to give him a few more minutes of life so he could sign the papers, so he could speak the words I needed.

"Don't," Raymond gasped, his hand—thin and cold as a winter branch—clamped onto my wrist. "Let it... let it be, Bane."

He screamed, a high, thin sound of agony that vibrated in the quiet room. I went still, my jaw clenching so hard I felt the bone groan. I looked down at him. This was the man who had been my shadow for thirty years. The pure heir. The legitimate son.

"I never knew this day would come," he whispered, his eyes unfocused, drifting toward the ceiling. "The day you were born... I saw you in the nursery. You were so small, but your wolf... it was already there. Strong. Capable. Reliable."

He let out a wet, hacking laugh that brought more blood to his lips. "Everything I wasn't. I was the Alpha’s son, and I was born dying."

"Raymond, save your strength. The doctors—"

"The doctors can’t fix a curse, brother." He gripped my hand tighter, his fingernails digging into my skin.

"I was always jealous of you. Every time our father looked at me with disappointment and then at you with pride... I hated you. But I respected you. I knew the throne should have been yours by right of strength."

He coughed, his body racking with tremors. "But the Royal Court... those bastards care for nothing but the pedigree. Pure bloodlines. That’s why they demanded the heir. That’s why I pushed Claus. I wanted to prove that my line could produce something as strong as you."

He looked at me then, his blue eyes—so like our father’s—clearing for a brief second. "I wish you hadn't done it, Bane. I wish you hadn't gotten involved with my son’s mate. I wish you hadn't put a child in her just to take what you think is yours. It’s a messy game for a man as clean as you."

The accusation tasted like ash in my mouth. I looked at the man who was dying because of a war I had helped escalate.

"I didn't choose the bond, Raymond," I said, my voice like grinding stones. "But I will take responsibility for the consequences. I will make sure Zelda is protected. I will make sure those children are safe."

A faint, bittersweet smile touched his lips. "Twins.” He nodded, his smile widening. “That... that is why I always admired you. Mature. Responsible. Even when you were a boy, you carried the weight of the world while I could barely carry my own skin."

His breathing became a series of short, violent hitches. He struggled to find the air, his chest heaving. "Promise me, Bane... promise me you won't let the quest for the throne swallow you whole. Treat her better than Claus did. He’s my son, but he’s... he’s hollow. Don't become hollow."

He reached up, grabbing my lapel, pulling me down so his final words were a ghost’s breath against my ear. "Protect the head pack. Even if the Court denies you... even if you never wear the crown... don't let our father’s legacy burn. Protect... the home."

His hand went limp. The light in his eyes didn't fade; it simply blinked out, like a candle caught in a sudden draft.

I sat there in the sudden, deafening silence. My hands were covered in his blood—the blood of the pure Alpha. I felt a strange, hollow ache in my chest. Not grief, perhaps, but a profound sense of the inevitable. The line of succession was broken.

The war was no longer about boardrooms and tradition; it was about survival The silence didn't last.

The doors burst open. Silas charged in, followed by a phalanx of guards, their weapons drawn and dripping with the gore of the invaders. They stopped at the edge of the bed.

They saw the Alpha, dead in a lake of his own blood. They saw me, the illegitimate brother, the rival, the mate-thief, sitting over the body with red staining my palms and my shirt.

The knife was still vibrating in Raymond’s gut. From their perspective, I wasn't the grieving brother. I was the assassin.

"The Alpha is down!" Silas bellowed, his face twisting into a mask of pure, righteous fury. "He’s killed the Alpha!"

"Silas, listen to me—" I began, standing slowly, my hands raised.

"Seize him!" the Beta screamed, pointing a finger at me. "Take the usurper down! Dead or alive!"

I looked at the guards, their eyes glowing with the primitive need for vengeance. Beyond them, I thought of Zelda, sitting in my pack, carrying the only future this pack had left.

I didn't fight them. I didn't shift. I let the cold weight of the metal cuffs snap around my wrists, my eyes locked on Silas.

"You’re making a mistake," I said softly, the lethal calm returning to my soul. "And when the dark plans Claus has unleashed finally reaches these walls, you will realize that you didn't just arrest a murderer. You arrested your only chance at living through the night."

They dragged me toward the dungeons, the blood of my brother drying on my skin, while the sound of the invasion outside grew louder, a herald of the chaos to come.