THE ALPHA'S MISTRESS

(Cullen’s POV)

The forest was burning and people were running helter skelter.

The flames crawled over trees, licking the bark of trees and bone alike, turning everything into glowing ruins. Smoke thickened the air, choking the stars, painting the night sky with red and black. The howls of dying wolves echoed through the valley — long, raw, broken.

Cullen Blackthorne walked through it all with slow, steady steps commanding respect and power.

His boots crunched over ash and fallen bodies. His eyes were cold, sharp, but the fire reflected in them made him look almost inhuman. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His warriors knew what to do.

The Phoenix Pack moved like shadows — silent, ruthless.

Every swing of a sword, every crack of bone, every scream that died out behind him… it was all part of his vengeance.

“Burn it all,” he said. His voice was low but heavy enough to silence the wind.

The Silver Moon Pack deserved this. They had destroyed his bloodline, murdered his father, and left him to carry the scars of that night and made him take on many responsibilities at such young age. For years he had waited for this. For the smell of their smoke, the sight of their fear. And yet, standing there, all he felt was emptiness.

The fight was ending fast. His warriors were efficient.

The bodies of men and wolves alike covered the ground, and the forest glowed like hell’s own gate. But then — through the iron scent of blood — something cut through the air. Something sweet.

He froze.

It wasn’t the fire, or the fear. It was her scent.

It hit him hard — wild, soft, faintly sweet, like sunflowers crushed under rain. His heartbeat faltered. His wolf inside him rose sharply, pressing against his skin, pacing, growling, wanting.

“Alpha?” Darius, his Beta, came up behind him. His sword dripped red. “The last few are running. Should we finish—”

Cullen raised a hand. “Quiet.”

He tilted his head, sniffed the air again. There. The scent was stronger now, pulling him forward like a hook buried deep in his chest. Without a word, he followed it.

He walked through smoke and fire, through fallen walls and broken furniture, until he reached what was left of the Silver Moon hall. Flames crackled inside, eating through old wood and banners. The air shimmered with heat.

And then he saw her.

She stood in the center of the chaos — a figure wrapped in smoke and light. Her hair was loose, tangled with ash. Her clothes torn and bloodstained. A blade shook in her hand, and yet, even standing on the edge of death, she looked like something untouchable.

Her eyes caught his. Silver-gray, bright even against the flames.

“Stay back,” she said. Her voice trembled but didn’t break.

Cullen stepped closer. “You’ll hurt yourself with that toy.”

She raised the blade higher. “I’ll hurt you.”

He almost smiled. “A wolf without a pack still bares her teeth?”

“A king without mercy hides behind his,” she shot back.

His amusement darkened into curiosity. He took another slow step toward her. The light hit his face now — sharp jaw, blood-spattered cheek, the faint golden mark of the Phoenix glowing just above his collar.

“I could end you right now,” he said.

She met his gaze, chin lifted, eyes fierce. “Then do it. I’d rather die standing than crawl before you or even think of worshipping you.”

Something twisted inside him. The calm, ruthless Alpha blinked — once, slowly — trying to understand why her defiance burned hotter than the fire around them.

Instead of raising his blade, he reached for her.

Her arm jerked when his fingers closed around her wrist. She gasped — not from fear, but shock. Her pulse raced under his touch.

The blade slipped and fell to the floor with a dull clang.

He pulled her closer until there was barely an inch between them. The smell of blood and smoke mixed with her scent, driving him mad.

“You should’ve run,” he whispered.

“I don’t run from monsters.”

He leaned in, close enough for his breath to touch her skin. “No, little wolf… you just tempt them.”

Her lips parted slightly, her breath shaky. His thumb brushed her jaw, forcing her to look up. She tried to pull away, but he held her tighter, his wolf snarling possessively beneath his calm.

He should’ve killed her. He knew he should’ve. But he couldn’t.

“Take her,” he said finally, eyes still locked on hers. “Alive.”

Darius hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, Alpha.”

As his men came forward, she didn’t scream or fight. She just stared at him — anger and pride burning in her eyes, but underneath it all, something else flickered. Pain.

He watched as they dragged her out through the firelight.

Watched her disappear into the smoke.

When she was gone, the silence hit harder than the flames.

Cullen turned his gaze to the burning forest once more, but the satisfaction he’d waited years for never came.

He clenched his fists, jaw tight, heart heavy with something he didn’t have a name for.

For the first time in years, Cullen Blackthorne — Alpha of the Phoenix Pack, the cold-hearted conqueror — felt something he couldn’t destroy.

And it terrified him.