chapter two

Cedric POV

I sat on my bed, cigarette smoke curling around me, the bitter scent lingering in the air. Nightmares still haunted me - the memories of Santos Gray slaughtering my parents.

"My Lord, are you alright?" Lily, my occasional companion, asked. Her voice was laced with concern, but I wasn't interested.

I grasped her wrist, my grip tight. "Out. Get out now."

Lily's eyes widened in surprise at my sudden aggression. "My Lord, if I—"

I cut her off with a low growl. "Leave."

Lily cowered, fear etched on her face, before hastily dressing and departing with a hasty curtsy.

I crushed the cigarette beneath my heel and lit another, the flame dancing in the morning light. Lily had ruined my already sour mood.

As Cedric Silver, the Rogue King, or Alpha, I answered to no one. Leader of the rogues in Elton, my rule was absolute.

The morning bustle of servants and maids filled the air, their noises amplified by my werewolf hearing. The cacophony grated on my nerves.

I glared at Colima, my aunt and beta, as she stormed into my room. "What's the emergency?"

Colima's eyes locked onto the cigarette burning between my fingers. "You're killing yourself, Cedric. One day, those will be the death of you."

I snorted, releasing a stream of smoke. "Werewolf, remember? I'm not that fragile."

Colima's expression turned stern, her voice laced with concern. "That's exactly what worries me. You're not invincible, Cedric. You're still hurting."

I stiffened, my gaze dropping to the floor. My parents' brutal deaths at Santos Gray's hands still haunted me. Colima knew that.

"Santos Gray is dead," she announced, her words slicing through my thoughts.

My head snapped up, shock coursing through me. "What?"

Colima's face twisted in satisfaction. "The council finally tracked him down. And there's more."

I raised an eyebrow, my mind racing.

"Gray's daughter will serve as a maid in this manor," Colima continued, her voice dripping with malice. "She'll answer to those her father wronged."

My gut twisted, memories of that fateful night flooding back. My parents' screams, the smell of blood, Gray's triumphant laugh.

I took a long drag on my cigarette, buying time to process. Gray's daughter, serving me? The irony was bitter.

"It's fitting," I said finally, my voice even.

Colima frowned. "You're not reacting. Don't you care?"

I shrugged, hiding my turmoil. "Too much to handle already. Funeral arrangements, pack business... I don't need a new maid to complicate things."

Colima's eyes narrowed. "You're not fooling me, Cedric. This affects you deeper than you admit."

I dismissed Colima's concern, my mask firmly in place. "Later, Colima. I have work to attend to."

Colima's eyes flashed with frustration, but she knew better than to push me further. She bowed stiffly, her footsteps heavy with annoyance as she left.

The tension lingered, until my personal maid, Elara, knocked gently on the door. "Enter," I called out.

Elara's quiet efficiency was a balm to my frazzled nerves. She filled my bath with warm water and fragrant flowers, her slender hands moving with precision.

As I watched her work, I couldn't help but notice her delicate features, her petite frame. Beautiful, but off-limits. I didn't indulge in maids; it was a rule I enforced strictly.

Once Elara finished, I immersed myself in the soothing water, letting the stress seep away. She handed me a towel as I emerged, her eyes cast downward.

I took the towel without a word, my gaze already focused on the day ahead.

"Prepare a room for our new maid. Gray's daughter arrives today," I ordered, my tone curt.

Elara's gaze flickered, surprise fleeting across her face. "Yes, my lord," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

She quickly gathered her cleaning supplies and departed, leaving me to my thoughts.

The arrival of Gray's daughter stirred unease within me. A constant reminder of the past, and the vengeance I'd yet to claim. I descended to the training grounds, my warriors awaiting me with eager faces.

"Good morning, Alpha Cedric!" they chorused.

I silenced them with a raised hand, my gaze scanning the assembled pack. "Marci, what's the status on the burial arrangements?"

My delta, Marci, stepped forward. "My Lord, the priestess from Elgar has yet to arrive due to the harsh weather."

My frown deepened. "Unacceptable. Find another priestess. Now."

Marci flinched at my harsh tone, but I couldn't afford to sugarcoat my frustration. "Find a solution, Marci," I growled, my irritation simmering.

Marci's eyes dropped, his tone cautious. "My Lord, most priestesses across Elton refuse to attend due to our... rogue status."

My jaw clenched, anger boiling within me. But it wasn't Marci I was angry with – it was the hypocritical fools who ruled Elton. The werewolf council, with their self-righteous laws and biased judgments.

Among the four cities of Elton – Elgin, the capital, Dogar, Elgar, and Dowin – the council held sway. But they had a way of making rogues feel less than human. When we defend ourselves, we are labeled feral and ruthless.

My thoughts drifted to my father, who had forged a sanctuary for rogues like us. Our pack was a beacon of hope, a refuge from the council's persecution. And now, our power was undeniable. Even the council hesitated to cross us.

"My Lord, perhaps we could invite the witches to conduct the burial?" Marci suggested, his voice hesitant.

I cut him off, my tone firm. "Those wolves deserve a proper funeral, after suffering Santos' torture. It must be a werewolf priestess."

Marci's expression fell, his eyes clouding with uncertainty. He knew the challenge ahead, but as my Delta, he wouldn't falter.

"I understand, my Lord," he said, his voice resigned.

I nodded, dismissing him. "See to it, Marci."

As Marci departed, I turned to the warriors still gathered around me. "You're all dismissed. Return to your duties."

They bowed, scattering to their assigned tasks. I stood alone, my thoughts swirling.

Suddenly, a strange restlessness settled over me. I felt an inexplicable urge to retreat to the comfort of my room. The thought of venturing into town, as I'd initially planned, now seemed daunting.

What's wrong with me? I wondered, unsettled by this uncharacteristic vulnerability.

Shrugging off the feeling, I headed toward the stables, seeking solitude. With a sigh, I dragged my reluctant legs to the enclosure where my beloved black stallion, Kaelos, awaited.

Kaelos, with his gleaming coal-black coat and muscular physique, was a sight to behold. His eyes, like polished onyx, seemed to hold a deep intelligence. I'd had him since I was thirteen, and he'd become more than just a horse – he was family.

His mane, wild and unruly, framed his regal face. I chuckled, running my hand through the tangled locks. "I think I need to trim this mess," I whispered, earning a snort of indignation.

Kaelos hated people, a trait that made him perfect for me. Only I could ride him, and even that was a privilege he granted sparingly.

Opening the stall, Kaelos burst forth, stretching his powerful legs and arching his neck. I swung onto his back, and he responded instantly, surging into a gallop as we thundered into the woods.

The wind whipped through my hair, and the trees blurred around us. Kaelos' mane streamed behind, like a dark banner. For a moment, I forgot my troubles, lost in the rhythm of his hooves pounding the earth.

As we rode, the forest grew denser, shadows deepening. My thoughts began to untangle, clarity emerging from the chaos.

The ride was catharsis, freeing me from the weight of my responsibilities. This was why I considered Kaelos family – he instinctively knew when I needed space.

Santos Gray's demise had unearthed unhealed emotional traumas, lingering from the brutal murders of my parents. The memories still seethed within me.

The crisp air and serene surroundings were balm to my soul. I lost track of time, spending hours exploring the woods with Kaelos. We galloped through sun-dappled clearings, played in the waterfalls, and savored the breathtaking views.

Refreshed and renewed, I realized the day had slipped away. To avoid Colima's worried searches, I reluctantly headed back.

I guided Kaelos to the stables, ensuring his comfort before departing. His soft nicker echoed as I left.

As I approached my room, a captivating scent wafted through the air, enticing me.

My curiosity piqued, I rounded the corner and froze.

A girl, drenched and shivering, knelt before my room. Her slender form trembled, water dripping from her tangled hair.

What the hell is she doing here? I wondered, my mind racing.

I kicked her sleeping legs awake, and her eyes fluttered open.

Our gazes clashed, and time froze, suspended in the electric tension between us.

"MATE!" I growled, shock, anger, and rage erupting within me like a tempest.

She whispered, "Mate," her voice barely audible, a gentle breeze amidst the storm.

Our eyes locked, burning with tension, two fiery souls bound together by an unbreakable thread.

I stared, my mind reeling, thoughts racing like a runaway train.

Her face was a haunting echo of Santos's features – the same piercing emerald eyes, the same determined jawline, the same defiant curve of her lips.

The shape of her eyes, the curve of her lips, and her dark hair, a cascade reminiscent of Santos's raven tresses, all screamed one truth.

Santos's daughter... my sworn enemy's bloodline... my mate.

The realization struck like a thunderbolt, shaking my very foundations, rattling the walls of my soul.

My enemy's legacy, bound to me by fate, taunted me with its cruel irony.

The implications swirled, a maelstrom of conflict and emotion, threatening to consume me whole.

How could fate be so cruel?