Chapter 9: Hunt the Impostor

Theo – POV

This day keeps getting better and better.

I rise from my chair, already smirking at the thought of catching the idiot pretending to be me. Can’t wait to get my hands on him.

“Let’s shift and have a good run too,” I suggest, heading for the door and tugging off my shirt.

The moment I end the mind link with Parker, it hits me—the voice, the girl, the white bedroom. A memory I shouldn’t even have. My grin widens. Tomorrow’s guardian election is going to be interesting—but right now? Time to catch… well, me.

I take the back exit through the east corridor, slipping past the guards unnoticed. It leads directly into the woods—my favorite route when I want to avoid attention. Moonlight filters through the trees, painting the forest silver. The air is cool, carrying the familiar scent of pine and freedom.

Parker’s already waiting at our usual meeting spot. His grin is wide, and there’s mischief in his eyes. Beside him, two guards look more amused than alert.

“You look like a guy ready to hunt his own face,” Parker says.

“Only mine’s better looking,” I shoot back.

We strip down without hesitation. Shifting feels like exhaling tension—my muscles stretch, bones rearrange, and a familiar wildness pulses through me.

Aries, my wolf, bursts forth—black as the night sky, massive and powerful. His ice-blue eyes gleam like frost in moonlight. Two silver lines between his ears mark my bloodline: Alpha King, chosen by the Moon Goddess.

Parker’s wolf, Caesar, follows—a little smaller but fierce, brown with white paws that earned him the nickname “socks.” He growls low in greeting before bumping his shoulder against mine.

Together, we run.

The forest blurs around us, leaves whipping past as our paws pound the earth. The freedom of movement, the primal rhythm—it clears the mind better than any council meeting ever could. Tension drains away with each step, replaced by focus. We’re hunting. We’re alive.

Ten minutes later, we slow near the tree line. Just ahead sits the bench where we keep spare clothes for emergencies—or nights like this.

We shift back, still buzzing with energy. The guards catch up, breathless but grinning. We dress quickly and make our way to the club—a hotspot for rogues, travelers, and troublemakers who think they’re above the law. Perfect place for a fake king to show off.

As we step inside, music thumps through the floor, and the air reeks of sweat, perfume, and alcohol. It’s packed, bodies swaying under flashing lights.

Parker mind-links one of the girls from earlier. Where’s our royal wannabe?

Her response is instant. At the bar. Flirting.

Parker’s eyes scan the room until they land on our target. His lips curl into a wolfish smirk.

“Look,” he nods toward the bar. “It’s you—just shorter.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m way better-looking than whatever that is.”

Still, I can’t deny the resemblance. The guy’s wearing a jacket that looks suspiciously like one of mine from last year’s royal gala. He even has my hairstyle. Unbelievable.

We move in silently, slipping behind him through the crowd. I catch snippets of his voice—low, smug, absolutely ridiculous.

“And girls,” he says, puffing his chest, “I’ll make sure you get to stay in the castle, right next to my room.”

He leans in. “I’ll check if you’re fit. You know what I mean.”

I suppress a laugh. Parker’s eyes are gleaming with secondhand embarrassment.

The guy glances around like he’s revealing classified information. “I’m undercover right now, so we’ll go to my hotel. If you want, of course… no pressure.”

The girls he’s talking to spot us and immediately bow, their faces shifting from amused to mortified.

“Awwww… no need to bow, ladies. At least not yet,” the idiot grins, completely unaware of the two very real alphas standing behind him.

Parker clears his throat loudly. “Your Highness. What a surprise finding you here.”

The guy freezes.

Parker’s hands clamp down on his shoulders and spin him around.

“You’re wrong, Parker,” I say, eyeing the guy. “I don’t see the resemblance.”

“You’re wrong, my King,” Parker replies with mock seriousness. He cups the impostor’s face like he’s inspecting fine jewelry. “Look at these eyes.”

“What the hell, Parker?” I snort. “You trying to kiss him or me? He’s not that handsome, you know.”

The color drains from the guy’s face. His once-cocky grin evaporates.

Good.

Lesson one: never impersonate a wolf king.