5: A wolf-man still lived

The next morning, Lena’s eyes fluttered open. Pain rippled through her body as she tried to move, but her limbs felt like lead. Every inch of her ached, her muscles stiff from the torment of last night. She felt numb. Empty.

The cold stone beneath her sent a sharp reminder—she wasn’t safe. She wasn’t free.

The heavy sound of boots echoed in the corridor.

"Where is she?"

Darius.

Lena barely had the strength to lift her head, but she heard the metallic clank of chains unlocking. Only then did she fully register where she was. A cell. A prison.

The iron door groaned open.

Darius stepped inside, his presence filling the cramped space like a dark storm cloud.

He crouched before her, his mismatched eyes studying her with something unreadable.

Lena flinched and tried to shrink away from his reach.

His lips curled. "No, wife. That is not how you greet your husband."

Her breath hitched. "Stay away from me!"

He ignored her protest. "Kara," he murmured, tilting his head. "Don’t you know why you’re here?"

"I don’t care! Please—just leave me alone!" she spat.

His jaw tightened. In a flash, his hand shot out, wrapping around her throat.

Lena gasped, her nails digging into his wrist as he squeezed—not enough to choke, just enough to remind her who held the power.

"I do not expect you to care, considering whose daughter you are." His voice was ice, each word sharpened to a blade. "But you will suffer for your mother’s sins. For the blood she spilled—my mother’s blood."

His grip tightened slightly, his eyes burning with something ancient and cruel.

"You’ll beg for mercy," he promised. "But I’ll never grant it."

A tear slipped down Lena’s cheek.

"My mother is not—" The words stuck in her throat.

No. Not again.

It was as if something was physically pulling the truth from her, silencing her.

Darius watched her struggle, then chuckled darkly. "You’re always looking for a way out of this, but here’s a news flash—there is no escape."

He finally released her, his gaze drifting down to her wrist.

His smirk faded.

The wound from last night—the ritual cut—was still fresh. The edges raw, the blood barely clotted. It should have healed by now.

His eyes narrowed. "Why aren’t you healing?"

Lena yanked her arm away, curling her fingers over the wound.

"Because I’m not a werewolf, you fool!" she spat.

Silence.

Then, to her horror, he grabbed her neck and forced her head to the side. His thumb brushed over her skin, searching.

And then he found it.

The moon mark of restraint.

His lips parted slightly, his expression unreadable.

"Your mother really prepared you, didn’t she?" His voice was softer now, but no less dangerous. "Did she think that if I saw you were human—without power—I would let you go?"

He finally straightened, towering over her. "It’s for the better. I won’t have to chase after wolves like you."

Then he turned and walked out, leaving her with nothing but questions.

Lena stared at the ceiling, heart pounding.

What did he mean?

What had he seen in her birthmark?

---

"Alpha, the rogues are camping outside the border, looking for a way in. Their presence is blocking humans and other species from entering the clan," Beta Cedric reported, following closely behind Darius as he strode toward his study.

Darius reached his desk, scanning the scattered scrolls with an irritated sigh. "And that’s bad for business, isn’t it?"

"Yes, Alpha."

He exhaled sharply before sinking into his chair. "Tell Jade to prepare his army. Have them draw the rogues into the woods—I feel like going on a hunt." A smirk curled on his lips.

Cedric bowed. "Yes, Alpha."

As he turned to leave, Darius's voice stopped him. "Go to my wife's cell and take her to the healer."

Cedric hesitated. "Is the Luna not a wolf?"

Darius’s expression darkened instantly. "Do not call her that again," he warned, his tone like ice.

Realizing his mistake, Cedric dropped to one knee. "Forgive me, Alpha."

---

Darius stood at the edge of the woods, one hand resting on his jaw as he surveyed the darkened landscape.

"Alpha, they’re in." Jade’s voice echoed through the mind-link.

A smirk tugged at Darius’s lips. "Good."

Without hesitation, he took off running, his speed unmatched even in human form. The narrow paths of the forest blurred past him, but he reveled in the sensation, his body gradually shifting with every step.

Darius possessed a rare gift—an Alpha strong enough to run for miles without tiring, shifting only when he chose to. He enjoyed the slow transformation, savoring the moment when his beast took over.

And then, he let go.

Bones snapped, muscles stretched, and his body expanded into something monstrous. A massive, black-furred beast emerged, standing on two feet, towering over the trees. His eyes—burning crimson—gleamed with hunger.

"Draven, do you hear anything?" Darius asked through the bond.

"They’re scattered all over the field," his wolf rumbled, licking his lips.

Darius stilled, his gaze scanning the clearing. Over a hundred and fifty rogues stood gathered, their howls shaking the forest.

"You like what you see?" Darius taunted.

"Of course. It’s been too long since you let me out."

Then, the rogues charged.

A mistake.

Draven despised when prey ran toward him—he preferred the chase.

"Fools," he growled, his deep voice reverberating through the clearing.

Then came his howl—an earth-shaking, bone-chilling sound that made even the bravest wolves cower.

One step. The ground trembled.

Another. The rogues hesitated.

"RUN, YOU RATS!"

His roar sent them into a frenzy, their courage shattering as they turned and fled.

Draven grinned. Finally.

With a feral snarl, he lunged—giving them the chase they so desperately feared.

Draven was a storm of death.

One after another, he tore through the rogues like they were nothing more than leaves caught in the wind.

His claws ripped through flesh, sending blood spraying across the forest floor. He caught a wolf mid-lunge, fangs sinking deep into its throat. A muffled whimper escaped before he whipped his head, snapping its neck with a sickening crunch.

Another rogue charged from behind—foolish. Draven spun, slashing with enough force to send the wolf’s head flying before its body even hit the ground.

A third tried to escape. He wouldn’t allow it.

With a single leap, he landed on its back, his claws digging deep into muscle. The wolf howled in agony, but Draven silenced it with a crushing bite, tearing its windpipe out in one vicious motion.

More came. They always did.

A smirk curled his massive maw.

He welcomed them.

Draven lunged again, sinking his claws into the chest of a rogue, ripping it apart with the sheer force of his strength. The warm scent of blood filled the air, intoxicating.

Another tried to run—he pounced, pinning it to the ground, his teeth closing over its skull. A quick jerk, a sickening crack, and the fight left its body.

Kill after kill, he moved like a shadow of death, leaving only carnage in his wake.

This was the hunt.

This was the thrill.

This was what he was born for.

When he was done, he shifted back to his human form—fully clothed, untouched by the usual agony of transformation.

While others howled in pain, their shifts tearing through them, shredding their clothes in the process, he remained unaffected. His control was absolute.

No one needed to remind him.

He was no ordinary Alpha.

He was a wolf-man.