All Chapters of THE ALPHA MUST DIE: Chapter 81 - Chapter 89

The moon was already weeping.It hadn’t reached its full bleed yet—still pale and half-clothed in clouds—but the red had begun to bloom like a bruise across its surface. As if it remembered the last time blood was spilled beneath its eye.Emilia stood at the edge of the bone circle, barefoot, her feet sinking into the cold soil. Around her, the Hollowborn dead whispered without mouths, their presence a static hum just below sound. The trees had bent inward, forming a ring of shadows. No wind. No birds. No air. Just the weight of everything she'd become pressing down on her shoulders like a crown made of iron and regret.She unsheathed the dagger Julian had given her—the one etched with her father’s name and her mother’s sigil—and held it over her open palm.The blood rite required more than courage. It required surrender.“Not to him,” she murmured. “To them. To the wolves before me.”The first cut was shallow. A line across the palm, neat and clean. Her blood hissed when it hit the b

Darkness opened like a mouth.Asher dropped into it.The stronghold's entrance was hidden beneath a mountain of charred bone and twisted stone, carved into the side of a cliff that had long since lost its name. No light welcomed him. No guards barred his path. The trap wasn't steel or claw. It was silence.His boots crushed shards of old sigils as he moved. The air stank of sulfur and blood-magic. This was Victor's domain now... not ruled, but possessed. And deep inside it, Emilia slept, curled in the prison of a dream forged from pain and longing.He’d seen her scream through it. Heard her voice rip the night. And then silence.That was when he knew.She wasn’t just trapped.She was fading.The corridor twisted like intestines, narrowing, pulsing, humid with rot. A flicker of movement to his left—nothing. He didn’t draw his blade. The wolf in him was already out, crouched just beneath skin and sinew, breath steaming from his lips as the temperature dropped. His claws lengthened sligh

The forest had grown too quiet.Not the silence of peace. Not even the kind bred by death.This was the hush before something broke.Emilia knelt beside the charred circle where the bone wolves had bowed. In her hands, she held a box made of bone and blackened iron. It was cold even in the rising heat of the Blood Moon. Her fingers trembled around the edges of the clasp—not from fear, but something harder to name. Something closer to recognition.The artifact had been buried beneath the Hollowborn altar, hidden in a compartment marked only by a ring of dried blood that never faded. Julian had found it when the dust settled, his voice flat when he handed it over.“You’ll know what to do,” he said.But she didn’t. Not yet.Asher stepped into the clearing behind her. He didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe too loudly. Just stood there like he knew this was not a moment to interrupt.Emilia opened the box.Inside, nestled in ash and silver thread, was a ring—no jewel, no elegance. Just a plain ba

He came like a storm walking on two legs.Not for love.Not for power.But for vengeance.Not the seething, silent kind that waits in the shadows. No—this was fire vengeance. Screaming vengeance. The kind of wrath that could birth legends or burn worlds to ash, and didn’t care which came first.Victor crossed the Hollowborn border with no crown and no sigil.Only bone.Bone armor lashed to his chest with the tendons of traitors. Bone claws that scraped against stone when he walked. Bone wolves at his heels—half-spirit, half-skin, stitched together from nightmares and the dead.And worst of all?His eyes.Gone was the smolder. The seduction. What remained was hollow gold, burning not with lust or hunger anymore—but with judgment. A god scorned. A creature made only to unmake.They say the forest warned them before they saw him.The trees bent the wrong way.The birds choked mid-flight.The rivers curved backward, like they, too, were fleeing.At the edge of the Hollowborn territory, Em

The night didn’t begin like any other.It began with silence.A cruel, bone-deep silence.Not the kind that settled over peace…The kind that came before a storm. The kind that waited for blood to touch ash before it screamed.Julian stood on the ridge, above the last Hollowborn trench, his breath misting in the cold. Wolves weredying in the field below...ripped apart by the Bone Army. Creatures made from twisted history, from rottedsinew and the memories of dead things that should have stayed buried.They came in rows. Hollow eyes. Fangs made of carved teeth from others. Wolves that didn’t bleed when cut. Wolves that didn’t stop moving when torn in half.And still, the Hollowborn fought.Flesh tore. Claws broke. Screams echoed, not just from throats but from the very earth.Julian bled from a cut above his eye. One arm hung limp. His shoulder had been bitten to the bone, but he still stood.He looked down at the battlefield.At Emilia.At the woman they’d called girl, witch, alpha,