Diana I feel the shift in Dominicus beside me — a slow coil of intensity that tells me his patience is wearing thin. Alpha Lucien Silvanus stands tense, his jaw clenched so tightly I can see the muscle ticking in his cheek. The only sound is the faint, pitiful shivering of the young Gamma — Ned — who still won’t lift his head. His shoulders quake as though he’s holding in sobs, but no sound escapes him except for the occasional broken whimper. “What the hell does this mean, Ned?!” he roars, his voice crashing through the silence. “Speak up! What have you done?!” I flinch a little at the sheer force of his voice, but the pregnant woman beside him stays steady. Her hand instinctively lifts, resting protectively over her belly — but there’s no fear in her eyes. She stands tall, chin up, no cowering, no panic. That hand on her stomach is a mother’s reflex, nothing more. She turns sharply to the Alpha. “There has to be a misunderstanding,” she says firmly. Her tone is measured, ser
DianaDominicus lets his words hang in the air, then calmly says, “You may go.”There’s a collective, almost audible exhale — the sound of dozens of wolves feeling the leash loosen. Relief floods the room as the Alphas and their entourages begin to stir, scraping back chairs, murmuring to one another, clearly eager to get the hell out.But then —“That’s right,” Dominicus says softly, just as they start to rise.Everyone freezes mid-motion.“Before I forget…” he continues, his tone casual, almost lazy. “I’m sure none of you would do something as foolish as, say… having contact with the dark witches. Right?”There’s a pause. A ripple of uneasy glances spreads through the room.A few Alphas frown, confused. One or two even start to bristle, offended — about to protest.And that’s when Dom softly says:“Answer me.”He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t snarl or growl.But that — that quiet answer me — hits like a hurricane.The Alpha Command floods the room.I feel it sweep out of him l
Diana My eyes slowly take in the room. The air shifts palpably, settling into something quieter, heavier. The earlier arrogance, the puffed-up posturing the Alphas had swaggered in with, is gone — snuffed out completely. Where there was once prideful tension, now there’s only subdued silence, a shared, unspoken understanding that the Amadeus wolves and the people affiliated with them are not to be underestimated. Around the table, shoulders lower, gazes soften or flick away, and even the boldest Alphas now sit with a touch more caution, their egos silently recalibrating in the face of hard reality. Dominicus slowly sweeps his gaze across the room — and I don’t miss the way the Alphas his eyes land on visibly flinch, their shoulders tightening. Except, of course, for Alpha Alaric. That one perks up, a grin spreading lazily across his face as he meets Dom’s gaze head-on, entirely unbothered. I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips as I watch the brief, silent ex
Diana As Alpha Dennis sinks stiffly into his seat, his face still burning, he shoots venomous glares toward Alpha Stefan and Alpha Alaric. “I’ll remember this,” he hisses under his breath, his voice tight with fury. Alpha Stefan lets out a sneer. Alpha Alaric, on the other hand, only blinks at Dennis with wide, innocent eyes — the very picture of ‘who, me?’ — as though he has no idea what Dennis is talking about. Around the table, the other Alphas cast quick, sidelong glances at Dennis, their expressions ranging from mild pity to thinly veiled amusement. A few can’t quite hide the flicker of schadenfreude in their eyes, glad it wasn’t them on the floor. The Betas and Gammas present — sharp enough to read the room — keep their heads down, shoulders tight, doing their best to reduce their presence. Two Alphas had just been publicly humbled. No one here wants to catch the next wave of humiliation or become the target of any redirected wrath. Dominicus turns smoothly toward El
Diana At the front, Alpha Dennis narrows his eyes at Clyde. He sneers at the younger man’s expressionless face, his lips curling back. “I don’t like the look on your face,” he growls — and then he lunges. His body blurs forward, muscle and fury in motion, his fist arcing fast toward Clyde’s jaw. But Clyde moves. No — he disappears. One second, Dennis’s punch is cutting through the air; the next, Clyde has side-stepped so smoothly, so impossibly fast, it’s as if he was never there. His hand comes up, fingers curling — not into a full punch, no, but a sharp, decisive tap against Dennis’s shoulder, using the Alpha’s own momentum to shove him slightly off balance. Dennis snarls and spins, feet thudding hard against the polished floor. He throws another blow, this one a brutal hook aimed at Clyde’s ribs — —but Clyde catches his wrist mid-swing. The sound is a sharp snap of fingers tightening around bone, and Dennis’s eyes go wide as Clyde jerks his arm down and forward, s
Diana I feel the tension ripple faintly through the room again — a low, uneasy hum under the surface. Of course they’re nervous. Everyone here has heard the stories. The Amadeus warriors aren’t just strong — they’re something else entirely. For the longest time, everyone here knew them as the Council Army. And when they were the Council Army, they were revered, but as the Amadeus wolves, an element of fear is injected. They’re like a blade that has been buried for centuries finally unsheathed. When Alpha Dennis sees Clyde step forward, he warily studies the man — eyes narrowing just slightly, as if trying to assess what exactly he’s up against. Dominicus’s voice cuts smooth. “Clyde, introduce yourself — your wolf, your duties.” Without missing a beat, Clyde nods. “Yes, Alpha.” He turns calmly to face the room, his posture relaxed but sharp-edged. “My name is Clyde Faelan,” he says simply, voice steady. “I am a Gamma wolf and serve as Beta Brodik’s administrative se
DianaAlaric glances at Dominicus with a worried frown. “The present Amadeus pack used to be the Council Army, and if my information is right, then they should have only about the same headcount as my own Grimmholt pack.”His words are concerned, “It’s a fairly considerable number, but still… that is only the population of a single pack. There are even other packs with numbers higher than mine.”Dominicus gives a small nod, his face unreadable. “That’s true.”For a moment, the tension in the room seems to rise once more.“Will it really by okay? Won’t the Amadeus pack be overwhelmed?” he asks.It’s Eleanor who answers.Her soft, lilting voice fills the space. “Witches, as a whole, have never been a numerous race,” she explains quietly. “And after the war, our numbers were drastically reduced. Compared to the werewolf population, the ratio is roughly… ten to one.”A quiet murmur ripples through the room.Eleanor’s serene expression doesn’t change. “The gods maintain balance. The more p
Diana “Well then, if you’re sure, Alpha Stefan…then sit”. Dominicus’s voice cuts icy, and sharp. Stefan flinches. But then, like a death row prisoner who’s just been granted amnesty, he gives a jerky little nod, quickly dragging his chair over and dropping into it with almost comical urgency, as if afraid the offer might be snatched away if he hesitates. The two Alphas beside him shuffle back toward the table as well, their chairs rolling softly on the polished floor. Dominicus leans back slightly, his eyes cool as they sweep the room. “I believe,” he says smoothly, “that should have convinced you — all of you — just how grossly unmatched any of you would be against a dark witch. And, of course…” His gaze flicks lightly to Eleanor, who smiles pleasantly, “…that you are all sufficiently convinced of Eleanor’s competence.” A moment of strained silence — and then, the polite Alpha seated beside Stefan clears his throat. “Yes, Alpha,” he says quickly, his voice respectful but calm.
DianaEleanor’s smile is soft. Almost pleased. She lets him stew in his own sweat before she speaks.“Mmm… I think that should do.”Then, with a flick of her finger, the blade softens — the sharp crescent dissolves into formless wind, shimmering faintly as it coils around Stefan’s neck.I watch, breathless, thinking it will disappear — but instead, the condensed currents split, sliding smoothly along both sides of his throat, brushing the skin with the gentlest, most deliberate, and menacing caress, before they meet again behind his neck.There, in a heartbeat, the wind snaps back into form, reforming into a razor-fine blade.And then — faster than the eye can track — it whips across the room.CLANG.The windblade slices straight through a steel art sculpture standing by the far wall — a polished metal spiral about thirty centimeters wide — and cuts it clean in half.The halves clatter apart with a ringing sound, the edges gleaming sharp and fresh.The blade itself dissipates before i