My End

ALYRA

I never thought betrayal could hurt worse than death. That was before the day I was escorted to the Red Mountain.

Four nights. That’s how long the journey took.

Four nights of silence, sleeplessness, and the steady march of palace guards who refused to look at me. I cried until my tears ran dry. My feet blistered, my heart cracked a little more with every step. I was walking straight into my own execution, and everyone knew it except me.

When the guards finally stopped, I expected relief. It never came.

“This is where we turn back,” the leader said, his voice clipped and hollow. The air around him was colder than the mist curling around the mountain trail.

They left me standing alone.

The fog was so thick I could barely make out my own hands, yet something enormous loomed ahead. I sensed the palace before I even saw it—a pulse in the air, like a heartbeat alive within the stone. My legs ached, but I kept moving forward.

As I got closer, the structure took shape: gold-lined spires, marble steps, and an iron gate taller than any I’d ever seen. It made the Silver Moon Pack’s gate look like a toy.

“Stop right there!”

A blade pressed to my chest before I could breathe. The man holding it looked like a fortress—black armor, black boots, black helmet. The only light came from the steel glint of his sword.

“What brings you to this pack?” he barked.

“She looks like a foreigner,” another guard muttered.

My throat tightened. I forced myself to look up, even though both men towered over my five-four frame. “I came to see my father,” I said, hoping they couldn’t hear the tremor in my voice.

The guard’s eyes narrowed. “And who might that be?”

“Elder Dagnoth,” I lied.

Silence stretched between us. Then, to my shock, the sword lowered. “Open the gate,” the first one ordered.

I exhaled shakily, whispering a silent thank you to the Moon Goddess.

One guard stayed behind me as I stepped through the gates. The palace was… overwhelming.

The walls were high and traced with golden vines. Chandeliers hung low, dripping crystals the size of my fists. Every inch of the place screamed wealth and dominance. Even the air smelled of roses and smoke.

A strange mix of beauty and warning.

I brushed my fingers against a marble column, half in awe, half in fear.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked the guard beside me.

“To the Alpha.”

My stomach turned. Alpha Viktor. My heart raced, my pulse quickened, and a slick of sweat formed across my skin.

‘Stay calm, Alyra. You can do this,’ Meira’s voice echoed in my mind, firm yet soothing, the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

We stopped in front of a tall red door. Two wolf statues stood on each side, one silver, the other pitch-black. Their carved eyes glowed faintly, watching me.

“Go in,” the guard muttered.

“What?”

“You heard me.” He turned and walked away.

My heart pounded so hard it hurt. But there was no turning back.

I pushed the door open. It groaned under my hands. The air inside shifted—heavier, colder and charged with something powerful.

The throne room stretched endlessly. Golden drapes flowed from the ceiling, and the marble floor gleamed like glass. At the center, seated on a raised platform, was a man.

He didn’t have to speak for me to sense the danger. Power radiated from him in invisible waves, like fire waiting to consume.

When he turned his head, my breath caught. Emerald eyes. Deep, wild, and impossibly alive. His hair was dark brown, long enough to brush his shoulders. His jawline looked sculpted from stone, and his lips were too perfect for someone who radiated that much violence.

He looked like sin dressed in grace.

“Are you dead or just dumb?” His voice cut through the silence, smooth and cold, with an edge sharp enough to bleed on.

I froze. Then, without meaning to, I took a shaky step forward.

“Elder Dagnoth’s daughter?” he asked, his gaze never lifting fully to my face. The guards must have mindlinked him.

“That’s what I was told.”

“Explain.”

“I woke up five years ago in a pack. I don’t remember anything before that. They said I was his daughter… that I belonged here.”

He studied me for a long moment, then the corner of his mouth lifted—not a smile, but something darker.

“So you don’t remember a thing?” His tone was almost amused, as if I were telling him a bad story. Then his eyes hardened. “Do you think I’m a fool?”

My breath hitched. My body screamed to run, but my legs refused.

He stood.

He was tall—easily six foot four and every step he took toward me felt like a countdown. My pulse thundered in my ears. He stopped inches away, his warmth brushing against my skin.

“Do I look like a fool to you?” His words were low, dangerous.

Before I could answer, he hooked a finger under my chin, forcing my eyes up. His touch burned, but not with pain. It was something electric, unsettling. My stomach flipped, and I hated that my body reacted.

His eyes were a storm, filled with rage and something else—restraint, maybe.

He lowered himself to my height, his movements slow and deliberate, making his words even more menacing.

“Elder Dagnoth,” he said, his voice a dangerous whisper, “was never part of my pack.”

I could feel his breath against my lips; it was hot, controlled, and far too close.

The world tilted. My chest tightened.

Then his scent hit me—smoke, cedarwood, and something sharp, almost intoxicating. It filled the air between us. I hated that I noticed it. I hated how it pulled me closer.

“Axnarr!” His voice cracked like thunder.

The door burst open. Two guards rushed in, blades drawn.

“Take her,” Viktor said, his tone cold and final. “Slaughter her.”

The words hit harder than the blade ever could. My knees weakened, breath catching in my throat. Hands grabbed me, rough and unyielding, binding my wrists with rope.

I guess this was it—the end of my story before it even began.