Chapter 5

5

Valen

Sin has a flavor, and in my family, we drink it like fine wine.

The Moon Goddess clearly had us as her favorites, because if she truly punished the wicked, my father’s throne would be a pile of ash.

Why else would a man who dominated both the human and werewolf worlds be invading a small pack?

I could taste that sin now, mixed with the copper of my own blood and the stagnant scent of wet earth.

”Focus!” My trainer shouted from the boundary line.

The bag was tied tight around my neck, suffocating and blinding me as I stumbled through the dirt.

This was standard practice every Tuesday night since I’d returned. Stripped of my sight, the training session didn’t end until the death-row criminals my father released into the arena were dead.

I didn't need my eyes to find them, I could hear the ragged breathing of the men circling me. I was, unfortunately, my father’s son and worse than every cruel thing they whispered about him.

”Focus, Valen!” he roared again.

Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who’d lost a whole night’s sleep furiously milking his cock to the memory of a certain brunette riding him.

It was a pathetic slip-up.

I rationed sex to a single, clinical release every three months with a nameless she-wolf just to clear my head. I was trained to see it as a liability that left men pathetic and feral—just like the rest of the beasts in this pack.

And I wasn’t them. I had a legacy to uphold.

“Too slow” I whispered just as a rush of displaced air shifted on my left.

I caught the criminal’s wrist mid-swing, and snapped it backward like a dry twig. He screamed loudly, the sound vibrating through the mud.

A sweep of air rushed toward my ankles.

“Gotcha” I smiled, grabbing a fistful of greasy hair from the second, tearing his head completely off his spine.

The remaining fighter panicked, thrashing against my hold with the strength of a dying animal. He managed to tackle me, dragging us both down and I took the impact hard, my shoulder slamming the floor first.

“Shit,” I growled as a white-hot flash spiked through my chest. My shoulder was out of its socket.

Annoying, but manageable.

Ignoring the fire in my joint, I locked my good arm around his throat before he could scramble away. Channeling the raw strength of my wolf, I lifted him off the ground with one hand and slammed him into the wall.

He went silent instantly, and the sudden burst of cheers from my trainer and the watching pack members confirmed the kill.

I yanked the blood-soaked bag off my head, my eyes adjusting as the guards rushed in to drag the carcasses away.

I picked up my glasses from where they were discarded and adjusted them on the bridge of my nose, wiping blood from my cheek with the back of my hand.

It was an uncommon sight for a werewolf to wear glasses, but the scar over my left eye was beyond what the healers’ herbs could fix.

Sure, I could channel my wolf vision to force the blur away, but burning through that kind of energy just to navigate a room was a waste.

Inconvenient myopia.

“Anaesthetic?” a healer asked, rushing to my side.

I shook my head.

The needle pierced my skin, forcing the healing process in my shoulder to accelerate. I didn’t flinch, my eyes staying locked on my father across the training grounds.

I forced myself upright, ignoring the fire burning through my entire body.

“My office.” His voice echoed directly into my mind.

I acknowledged him with a single nod, knowing exactly what this was about.

“All done,” the healer muttered, stepping back.

I ignored him, my gaze tracking my father as he turned and walked toward the main building.

My eye twitched as I followed., The old scar burning faintly the closer I got to the man who had given it to me.

A familiar scent flooded my nostrils on the way to him and I froze for a fraction of a second, my lungs burning as my body reacted before my brain could stop it.

Nyxaria.

What was the village girl still doing here when her pack was in trouble?

The pack women lingered and their whispers followed me down the exit, their eyes tracking the blood drying on my bare chest.

“You did amazing, Alpha Valen,” one of them murmured as I passed.

I didn't smile or even slow my pace. I just gave her a brief dip of my chin to acknowledge the respect.

I hated small talk.

Her scent grew thickest right outside my father’s door, coating the back of my throat and my brows furrowed deeper in confusion.

Before I could even raise my hand to knock, the heavy oak door flew open and Nyxaria burst out, anger rolling off her in waves.

She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes flashing as she took in the blood drying on my chest. “The fuck are you smirking at?” she snapped.

Only then did I realize the corners of my mouth had ticked upward. It was an involuntary reaction to her. When she was furious, her accent was twice as thick.

I usually met chaos with silence. But looking at her now, with the memory of her skin still hot against mine, I just wanted to see her burn a little hotter.

“I’m having flashbacks, Nyxaria,” I said softly.

She scoffed, a dark flush hitting her cheeks as she shoved past me, her shoulder bumping mine as she stormed down the hallway.

The faint smirk lingered on my face, but it vanished entirely the second my father came into view.

I knew what was coming. Saving the village boy from getting killed after he killed one of my fathers wolves was a hassle, but I had a troublesome habit of keeping my word.

A clear violation of the old man's golden rule: Don’t interfere.

My plan was to release him. He just had to fuck it up.

My heart threatened to speed up when I saw my mother’s brother seated in the corner, but I didn’t dare let it. I kept my pulse flat.

“Uncle Sergei,” I nodded at him.

He waved his hand dismissively, not even looking up. I stayed silent, letting them do the talking.

“Ever the problematic son, Valen,” my father said, stepping into my space. His fingers wrapped around the strap of my Alpha necklace, toying with the leather.

He ripped it off and the leather bit deep, tearing the skin of my throat but I didn't react. I stood silent, watching the thin line of blood well and seal itself just as fast.

“Close the door behind you, son,” he said, his tone entirely conversational.

I moved to shut it immediately but it wasn't fear that moved my boots, it was calculation. I knew the rules, and as I always did, I locked my emotions away and prepared to take it.

But the silence was shattered before the lock could click.

A loud, piercing scream cut through the pack grounds from below.

My father and uncle exchanged a look. Moving past me and heading downstairs to investigate.

I didn't follow. I stepped over to the window, looking down at the chaos unfolding in the courtyard.

Nyxaria stood in the center of the clearing. Her teeth were bared, and blood that was obviously not her own stained her clothes.

From the floor below, I could hear my father yelling for my brother and me to get down there, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from her.

“Nyxaria,” I enunciated slowly, the whisper barely leaving my mouth.

With a werewolf’s hearing, she caught it. Her gaze snapped up, locking onto mine at the window. Her eyes were a fierce, golden brown completely consumed by her wolf.

She was a wild one. Everything I avoided up until now.

Yet, looking down at the beautiful disaster she had just created, I smiled.

“What the hell did you do now, Gadyuka?”