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37. The Witch and The Warden

Author: KATHLEEN HAYAT
last update Last Updated: 2025-06-20 20:19:02

Dawn bled slow and silver through the canopy, seeping into the world like the exhale of an ancient god.

Mist coiled between the gnarled trees, thick and spectral, like the breath of sleeping giants dreaming in the earth below. Every step Freya took felt heavier, not from fatigue, but from a gravity older than time. The soil was thick with memory. The roots beneath her boots pulsed faintly, as if alive, aware of her presence, brushing against her mind like distant echoes trying to remember her.

There were no birdsong greetings, no rustling of creatures in the underbrush. The air whispered instead, soft syllables in a language she didn’t recognize, but one that made her blood stir like it should. It was not sound, but memory. Not words, but remembrance of something that was hers.

The witch walked ahead in silence. Her silver cloak drifted just above the moss-covered ground, trailing mist like vapor spun from moonlight. She didn’t seem to step on the forest floor so much as through it.

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  • The Alpha King's Omega   43. The Warden's Reckoning

    The sanctuary held its breath. Even the flames dared not flicker. Smoke coiled like ghost-flesh through the shattered arches, and the air trembled with a silence that didn’t feel empty, but watchful. The runes carved into the ancient stones pulsed weakly, as if anticipating the inevitable.Then... A soundless pressure. A shift. And the Guardian Gate exploded inward in a storm of fractured stone and shrieking wind. Ash surged like a tidal wave, flooding the mountain’s heart. Pillars cracked. Walls buckled. Screams tore the silence apart. Ragnar’s eyes snapped open.He pulled Freya upright in a single motion, shielding her body with his own as the storm crashed into them. Her breath hitched. Her mark burned white-hot, casting fevered light across her skin.Nyra stumbled through the dust, her cloak torn, dust on her temple. “He’s here,” she said. “The Warden has come.”Ragnar turned, his voice a command forged in fire. “Ward the sanctuary! Seal the inner runes!”But Freya didn’t move to

  • The Alpha King's Omega   42. Deadly Vision

    Ragnar was frozen. Not from pain, though he was bleeding. Not from fear, though it twisted around his lungs like chains. But because Freya wasn’t moving.Her body lay limp in his arms, glowing faintly with threads of silver light that shimmered across her skin like veins carved from stardust. Her silver lashes trembled but did not open. Her lips were parted, her breath shallow, and her heart barely pulsing beneath her skin.He held her close, as if sheer force of will might drag her back. Her scent was wild magic now. Not just wolf. Not just flame.Skyrana. Freya. His mate. His undoing. He could feel her pain, though he felt just a fragment because of the matebond, but it was there.“Come back to me,” he whispered, voice deep and raw. “Please.” He didn't know what he was saying. Why was he even saying all that?The wind screamed above the sanctuary, and the flame at the mountain’s heart flared high once more, gold shifting to silver, like it, too, mourned what was unfolding.Nyra knelt

  • The Alpha King's Omega   41. Confrontation in the Dream

    Freya slipped beneath the surface of consciousness like a stone through black water, fast, silent, inevitable.Oblivion didn’t swallow her whole. It studied her, unraveling time in silver ribbons that shimmered and snapped around her limbs. She drifted down, through skies that pulsed like molten glass, the taste of blood and smoke still raw on her tongue.But the blood was too sweet.And the smoke... it was so familiar.When her feet found ground again, it wasn’t solid.She stood in a world neither alive nor dead. A forest of black trees stretched to a ruptured sky, their branches draped in ghostlight that burned without heat. The heavens above were streaked with gashes of violet and crimson, bleeding light like the wounds of gods. It was terrifying and yet beautiful at the same time.The earth beneath her feet smoldered like ancient coals; it was warm, breathing. Each step echoed not through the air but through her bones, like her heartbeat had become part of the land itself. She cou

  • The Alpha King's Omega   40. Blood beneath the Flame

    The cold wind bit harder than before, as if the mountain had turned against her.Freya stormed into the darkness like a blade freshly drawn, sharp with fury and trembling restraint. Once silent and sacred, the air now howled around her with jagged breath. It sliced through her cloak, into her skin, past her ribs. It sank into her bones.The sanctuary stood still and ancient, bathed in moonlight and mist, but inside her, everything screamed.She barely reached her hut before the growl ripped out of her throat.It wasn’t delicate.It wasn’t weak.It was guttural. Violent.Born of betrayal.Freya slammed the wooden door with a force that rattled the frame, then sagged against it, fists clenched so tightly her nails bit into her palms. Her breath stuttered in her lungs, broken and uneven.But all she could feel was him.His hands. His mouth. His voice.The way he looked at her, like she was both his doom and his salvation. And that sinister smirk... She wanted to rip it off his face.Her

  • The Alpha King's Omega   39. Mine

    The training circle had barely cleared before Ragnar moved.He didn’t walk, he hunted.Each step was an unspoken vow, silent and sharp, the kind of silence that came before a kill. His eyes, those molten grey eyes, never wavered from Freya. She was still wiping blood from her lip, her braid half-undone, tendrils of hair stuck to the sweat along her jaw. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, but she didn’t look weak.She looked wild.Untamed. Defiant. Burned through with exhaustion but still standing.She turned toward him, instinct already coiled to fight, but not fast enough.His hand clamped around her wrist.Firm.Unyielding.His voice was low, rough as gravel dragged through fire. “Come with me.”Freya didn’t wince. Didn’t jerk away. But she felt the burn of his grip, not on her skin, in her soul. Like he was touching more than flesh. The mate bond and its spark was doing its freaking thing.Nyra stepped between them, her silver cloak catching the breeze like a blade.“She needs rest,

  • The Alpha King's Omega   38. Training

    The eternal flame burned steadily outside, casting long shadows across the walls of her hut.The ointment made of herbs lay on the side for her wounds, which she got in the forest fight. Freya didn't use it. She wanted to heal on her own.Freya lay on the narrow bed, arms crossed beneath her head, the cloak now lay securely on one of the wooden chairs. The ceiling above was made of braided roots and moss-veined stone, but she stared past it, through it, into the far-off world that now felt like a memory blurred by smoke.She missed them.Her people. Her village. The way they used to laugh around bonfires before fate had ripped her from everything she thought was hers. She missed the simplicity of not knowing. Of living. Of being just a girl who wanted to feel the sun and not carry the weight of centuries. There was only one motive she had for her omega people. To protect them and kill the ones who kill them and enslave them, but now she was far too gone in the visions and history of w

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