Chapter 2

Kael’s POV

“That’s him, right? Alpha Kael of the Crowned Howl?”

“Yeah. That’s the ruthless one.”

I didn’t care for these events. Too many suits. Too many smiles that meant nothing.

But I showed up anyway.

‘You know why you're here,’ my wolf’s voice cut through my thoughts, low and steady. ‘Your grandfather insisted.’

“Yeah, I know.” I sighed inwardly. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it. Find a mate, fulfill his hopes, whatever. But the wolves here—

‘They’re all ordinary, aren't they?’ My wolf interrupted, the tone in his voice giving away his own boredom.

‘None of them are worthy of you, Kael.’

I glanced around at the female wolves in the room. Pretty faces, yes. But nothing that sparked anything in me. They were all too eager, too desperate for my title. Too much of the same, none of them worth my time.

Roan’s voice snapped me back to reality. “Alpha Kael. No blood on your hands tonight?”

I let a half-smile slip. “Didn’t feel like dragging bodies on a full moon.”

He laughed. “Still the same.”

“Only when needed.”

We exchanged the usual small talk. Alliances, rogue activity, and territory disputes. I couldn’t care less.

The ballroom behind us buzzed with noise and heat. Music pounded in the background. Wolves danced, drank, and having sex.

A fight broke out near the back, two males, half-shifted, circling each other, their claws flashing in the air. A she-wolf leaned against the wall nearby, drunk off her ass, letting one of the males lick blood from her shoulder. She giggled, like it was foreplay.

I scanned the room again.

‘This is pointless,’ my wolf muttered. ‘These wolves don’t matter to you. You’ve come here to fulfill a duty, but none of them will be your mate.’

I sighed again, ignoring the noise of the party.

“I know, I know.”

The thought nagged at me as I stepped away from the crowd, seeking some peace.

The second-floor balcony greeted me with a cool breeze, offering a brief relief from the heat and noise.

I leaned against the railing, watching the madness below when I heard a voice that caught my attention.

“Excuse us.”

The voice snapped through the air. It was sharp and angry. I turned my head slightly.

It was Novene, the bride of this wedding ceremony.

She wore her gold-trimmed white gown. Her hair was pinned up with jewels, her lips painted the perfect shade of red, and her posture screamed elegance and pride, just as I remembered.

But none of it stirred me.

I was about to look away when I noticed someone beside her.

I felt the shift instantly, like the air had been knocked out of me, and suddenly, Novene’s glow meant nothing.

She was dragging her down the hallway by the wrist, her tone furious. The woman didn’t resist. Just walked silently with her with her eyes lowered.

Curious, I followed at a distance, staying in the shadows to stay hidden.

They stopped. Novene shoved her so hard that her head slammed against the wall.

“What the fuck are you doing, bitch?” Novene’s voice snapped through the air like a whip.

I froze mid-step, hidden just beyond the hallway, my curiosity getting the better of me.

“You came here to seduce the guests? You came to steal attention from me?!”

What the hell?

“No, I didn’t—” a softer voice replied. It was shaky and defensive.

Then came the sharp crack of a slap.

The sound echoed through the corridor.

“Liar!” Novene screamed, and I watched as she shoved the woman.

I saw her fall to the floor, her knees hitting the tile with a sickening thud. She winced, but didn’t cry out. Her blood smeared across the glossy surface.

What the fuck is happening?

“You’ll pay for this,” Novene snarled, her voice low and venomous. “You want to act like some innocent lamb? I’ll make you bleed like one.”

Novene grabbed her arm and yanked her toward a side room, an old art studio no one really used anymore. My feet stayed rooted, but my fists clenched.

She dragged her in like a damn prisoner. Like property.

“You’re going to paint my wedding portrait. Right now! And you’re not leaving this room until it’s done!”

I moved closer, just enough to peer through the cracked door.

“You don’t get food. You don’t get water. And if you try to scream—” Novene reached under her corset and pulled out a thin, gleaming blade.

What the fuck is she doing?!

“I’ll cut out your tongue and make you paint with the blood.”

Then she stormed out. I made sure she wouldn’t see or sense me. The moment she was gone, I turned my attention back to the woman she’d locked up.

I don’t even know why I stayed there. Maybe out of boredom. Maybe curiosity. Or maybe my instincts just told me to wait.

Through a narrow crack in the door, I watched her.

She was just standing there, staring at a blank canvas. Her face didn’t show any emotion, no panic, no resistance. Her shoulders were straight, her hands relaxed. And then, without a word, she picked up the brush and started painting.

Her movements were calm. Too calm.

Every stroke was smooth and controlled, like she’d done this a thousand times before. She didn’t tremble. She didn’t even hesitate.

And yet… it felt off.

She was too quiet.

She was too obedient.

She looked like one of those omegas raised to follow orders and keep their heads down. Beautiful, sure, but not in a way that pulled me in.

Her face was soft, delicate, almost ethereal. But something about her made me think she’d been trained to be invisible. She did everything she was told, didn’t question, didn’t rebel. And that kind of submission? It bored me.

My wolf stirred low in my chest.

‘That girl… she’s not what she seems.’

I frowned.

She’s an omega. Only an omega would obey like that. What else could she be?

‘Her wolf isn’t silent. It’s hiding. And it’s not tame.’

That didn’t make any sense.

“She looks like an omega,” I muttered under my breath. “There is no wolf.”

But my wolf growled again, louder this time, like it was offended.

‘You’re wrong. Her wolf’s there. And it’s full of fire. She’s wild.’

I exhaled, irritated. Maybe I was just bored. Maybe I was hoping she’d do something interesting so I wouldn’t have to return to that pool of forced smiles and drunken wolves downstairs.

But I kept watching. Just to prove my wolf wrong.

She didn’t do anything.

She just kept painting.

No breaks. No tantrums. Not even a shift in expression.

And after a while, I started to believe I was right. She was exactly what she looked like, another pretty face who’d been taught to obey.

I turned around and was about to leave.

But then—THUD!

A loud crash echoed down the hallway.

I froze and turned around.

The door was wide open now.

And she was standing on the second-floor balcony. Canvas in hand.

What the fuck?! When did she get out?!

Then, she screamed…

“NOVENE! Congratulations on your fucking wedding!”

Before I could blink, she threw the painting off the edge.

I rushed to the railing, leaning over to see where it landed.

The ballroom below had gone completely still. Music cut off mid-note. Conversations died in mid-sentence. A few glasses shattered as wolves stood up, chairs scraping loudly across the floor.

The painting hit with a heavy slam.

I narrowed my eyes.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. A few wolves even screamed.

A blood-red nightmare painting.

Bodies were torn apart, their faces twisted in agony. Blood poured across the canvas like it had been spilled fresh. And at the very top, the bride and groom, naked, clawed, mating shamelessly on a throne made of the dead.

People began shouting.

“What the hell is this?!”

“Is this some kind of sick joke?!”

“She’s lost her damn mind!”

Novene’s shriek cut through it all like a blade. “Syria! What are you doing?!”

So that was her name.

Syria.

She didn’t answer.

She just stood there.

She stood above everyone like a queen watching her empire burn.

Then… she turned.

And her eyes locked with mine.

My wolf let out a long, low growl that rumbled deep in my chest.

‘I told you. She’s not what she seems.’