The Alpha Who Watches

Chapter Five: The Alpha Who Watches

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Alpha Rex's POV

I sat at the edge of her bed, watching her sleep, too peacefully, too soundly, like the world hadn’t tried to break her just days ago.

I told myself I’d only come to check on her.

That was the lie I clung to.

But the truth?

I wasn’t looking at her—I was looking at the mark on her neck.

His mark.

And it burned something inside me I didn’t want to name. My knuckles reddened around the stem of the wine glass, jaw tight. I hated that it was there. That he got to her first. That even in sleep, she wore a reminder of him.

He marked her, I thought bitterly. But why does it feel like she’s already mine?

Her voice cut through my thoughts, soft and trembling even in sleep.

 “Please… don’t touch me.”

That—That shattered something in me.

Seeing her like this, so helpless, and knowing I couldn’t protect her?

It gutted me.

I reached out without thinking, fingers hovering just inches from her hair. But I stopped mid-air. Touching her wasn’t part of the plan. Feeling anything wasn’t part of the plan.

I pulled my hand back.

This wasn’t about her.

It couldn’t be.

I told myself it was just a concern. Just business. I was here because she was the key to a war Kael had already started, and I needed to know how damaged that key was.

But even that lie rang hollow.

Her face from the courtroom flashed in my mind, eyes wide, lips trembling, every inch of her steeped in pain and disbelief.

A look that should’ve meant nothing.

And yet…

The glass cracked in my grip. A sharp, splintering sound.

She stirred.

My breath caught.

If she opened her eyes right now, she’d see me, standing there like a fool who’d lost control. Something I never did.

But she didn’t wake up.

Thank the gods.

Because if she had… she would’ve seen the one thing no one in this cursed world ever had:

Me, unraveling.

I walked out of her room, slow and silent. The hallway swallowed my steps as I made my way to the west wing, my wing, where only shadows knew my name.

I stood at the balcony, staring out into the night, wind cold against my face.

My thoughts were anything but calm.

I tipped the last of my wine down my throat, letting the burn anchor me.

The deal with the Crescent Moon Pack.

Back then, it had been simple. Among the Seven Packs, interference was forbidden. We ruled our own, kept to our lands, our laws. But then Kael, Alpha of Crescent Moon, came crawling.

To me.

The youngest Alpha in history. Eleven. Maybe twelve. And even then, I understood power better than men twice my age.

Kael didn’t go to his Beta. Didn’t trust his own. 

No. he came to me, the Alpha of Black Hood. He knew what my name meant. What my silence alone could do.

He asked me to protect his pack while he left on one of his many self-righteous missions. In return, he offered me anything. A favor, someday, any day.

I laughed.

And took the offer.

I never thought I’d call it in.

Until her.

The girl.

The curse.

The shame of Crescent Moon… and the fire in my blood.

 “That girl,” I muttered into the night, jaw tightening. “She’s the one. And Kael’s already ruined her.”

I turned back inside, rage simmering low and deep. Then I picked up my phone.

A joint call.

“Meet me in the council room. Five minutes.”

I didn’t wait for replies. They’d come.

They always did.

I threw on my black coat, the one I only wore when things were about to change. By the time I entered the council chamber, both were already waiting.

Cassian—my strategist. Sharp. Elegant. Deadly. His tongue started wars faster than his blade ever could.

And Branox—my enforcer. Fierce. Loyal. Built like vengeance. He didn’t speak often, but when he did, everyone listened.

I nodded once. They straightened.

“Forgive the hour,” I said, smirking at the flicker of annoyance on Cassian’s face. “Urgent matters. Unless you both have better places to be?”

Branox grunted. “We’re yours, Alpha Rex. Always.”

Cassian sighed. “Not that I had a choice. My mate was thrilled to be woken by your growl.”

I didn’t dignify that with a response.

“I’ve made a decision,” I said flatly. “Alera, the daughter of Crescent Moon’s ex-tyrant is here. In this pack.”

Cassian’s brow rose.

Branox stiffened.

“She’s staying in my quarters,” I added. “Close. Until I decide what to do with her.”

The silence that followed was thick.

Branox was the first to speak. “Alpha… that’s trouble.”

Cassian crossed his arms. “You could’ve made her a healer. A diplomat. A pawn. But this? Keeping her close?”

I met their gazes, cold and firm.

 “She’s marked by Kael. But that doesn’t make her his. I’ll decide what she becomes. And I’ll decide who she belongs to.”

Branox narrowed his eyes. “And if the other Alphas find out you’ve taken in the cursed bloodline, given her protection under Black Hood?”

“They won’t,” I replied. “Not unless one of you plans to run your mouth.”

Cassian tilted his head. “What is she to you?”

I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t know. Not yet.

“I would advise you to reconsider your actions, Alpha,” Branox said quietly. “Forgive me for saying this, but she’s an Omega. A marked mate of Kael. She will bring nothing but war.”

 “And don’t forget her bloodline,” Cassian added. “The prophecy, the one that says she’ll become like her father.”

 “Enough of this nonsense!” I snapped.

My voice cracked like thunder.

They flinched. I saw it. And I didn’t care.

 “There is no prophecy,” I snarled. “Just rumors. Ghost stories. She is leverage. She is powerful. And she stays, because I say so.”

Branox’s voice was barely a whisper. “But she’s affecting you, Alpha.”

I said nothing.

Because he was right.

********

Later that night, I found myself in her room again.

This time, she was awake.

Her face was swollen, bruised from the hands of those who dared touch her.

 “Take this,” I said, offering her a bottle of water from the table.

She looked at me. A flicker, quick, uncertain. No eye contact. Almost like she feared it.

Still, she didn’t take the bottle.

> “It’s not poisoned,” I said dryly, lifting it and draining a few gulps. “See?”

 “N-No… it’s not that…” she stammered.

I handed it to her again. This time, she took it.

She drank slowly, like every sip might betray her. She looked… judged. But not by me.

Silence stretched between us.

Then, finally—

 “Why are you helping me?”

I didn’t answer right away. Because I didn’t know.

It wasn’t power. It wasn't a strategy. It wasn't my duty.

It was her.

“Because I don’t like broken things,” I said quietly. “And I hate the ones who break them… even more.”