The Rogue Alpha And The Werewolf King Novels & Stories

After 10 minutes London came barging into the office with a slightly angry face. "Any casualties?" Mahnoor asked. "Two pack warriors were badly injured but they are out of danger now, no one was dead" London said. "And how many rogues were there?" "25 including the prisoner" "Has he said why they attacked?" Mahnoor asked. "He said that he doesn't know the name of their leader but everyone calls him the king Alpha, Also that he is planning to take over the packs and rule over the werewolves." "And how do they plan to do that, do they have enough rogue to take over a pack"

My heart went to my stomach as they began to circle Alexander, their growls echoing off the quiet evening. Fear paralyzed me, for a moment. Then I remembered who Alexander was: the Alpha, the Lycan King. No one stronger, no one more powerful. And deep inside my heart, I knew these rogues had no idea what they were getting themselves into. Alexander didn't waste a second. Launching himself at the nearest wolf with impossible speed, the muscles rippled beneath his skin as he moved. In one swift motion, he had the rogue pinned to the ground, claws ripping with brutal efficiency into flesh. A high-pitched yelp escaped the rogue before he went limp.

*Hadley* Having spend so much time by Logan's hospital bed, the soft hum of machines in the background has become a comforting, albeit constant, reminder of the thin line between hope and despair. His hand feels warm in mine, a stark contrast to the cold fear that has nestled itself in my heart since the attack. The bruises on his face are fading fast, a testament to the remarkable healing powers of an Alpha werewolf. Yet, the bruises were never my main concern; it's the unseen injuries, the ones lurking beneath the surface, that have me holding my breath, praying to the ocean depths and the moon above for his recovery.

I could hear the sound of my heart pounding as I stared at the shadow from where the voice came. The man who stepped forward looked carved from violence itself. His black shirt clung to a chest marked with tattoos that twisted up his throat, curling around the sharp line of his jaw. His dark hair was cropped close, his stubble shadowing lips set in a hard line. His eyes, silver edged with storm, pierced my body as if they could strip her bare. “Alpha Kael Draem,” someone whispered, their voice almost reverent. I swallowed hard. I had heard the name before, always spoken in warning. Alpha of the Blackfang pack. Cold. Ruthless. A wolf who crushed anyone foolish enough to stand in his way.

His expression was calm, almost peaceful — like he'd already made his peace. "I've lost my Alpha title. I've been exiled. There's nothing left worth living for. Just go. I won't blame you." He stood there, unmoving, waiting for the end. But the pain he expected never came. When he opened his eyes, he saw me — shifted into my wolf — tearing into the rogues. Blood and dust sprayed everywhere, stinging my eyes. I wasn't just fighting for Adrian. I was fighting for myself. Everyone in the pack knew that Adrian was fierce in love and grudges alike — cross him, and he'd make you pay tenfold.

A second rogue whispered, eyes darting wildly, “Isn’t that… isn’t that the Alpha of Rogues?” Those words. The weight of that title crashed into the clearing like thunder. Alpha of Rogues. The one wolves whispered about at night, when they thought no one was listening. A wolf with no pack-blood right to leadership, but who had fought for it, killed for it, earned it through brutality alone. Feared by the council. Hated by the purebloods. Respected by no one, but dreaded by everyone. A war-forged, battle-scarred king among monsters.

The werewolf court of law is powerful and nobody can escape it, not even Lycans. Everyone answers to it. It’s the only thing that keeps us from freely killing each other. Technically, I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not a cop; I’m only an Alpha who works closely with the authorities due to my connections in the werewolf world. I’m more of a permanent volunteer, if that makes sense. The bust is successful. We capture the werewolves involved—they’re just pigs who torture their own kind to please the Lycans they work for—and free the rogues being used for profit.

Smith said, letting a puff of smoke out of his lips. "Smith! You're the son of the Alpha and Luna of the Golden Crescent Pack and if there's anything that's demanded of you, it is total compliance with the rules of the pack. Running away from home and living in a penthouse is not typical for an alpha wolf like you! Do you even have any idea that one day you'll be the Alpha of your pack? Or you just want to live as an outcast all your life!" Alex said in a high-pitched tone. In this instant, Smith knew he had to do something to calm his friend down because Alex is not one to get angry or raise his voice at anyone irrespective of how pissed off he felt.

More dust fell from the ceiling. “She’s carrying my heir!” His voice. Raw. Broken. Man and wolf together. There was no crown in that cry. No throne. No King demanding obedience from the world. Only a sire calling for his child. He was at the bottom of the hill. The rogue growled again, louder this time, but then it retreated a single step into the darkness. I heard its paws striking the wet leaves. Even a hungry rogue understood what was coming. An Alpha King who had doubled his pace into neutral territory with his heir at risk, with his soul somewhere outside his own body, was no longer thinking like a King.

“This bond will not cage you. It will not weaken you. And it will never be rejected.” I swallowed. “You don’t know that.” “I do,” he said. “Because I am not a pack Alpha.” My wolf stirred, suddenly alert. “What are you, then?” I whispered. “King.” The word echoed in my mind. Not just any king. The Rogue King. The ruler of the borderlands. The one whispered about in fear and awe. The Alpha who bowed to no council and no Goddess—except one. My knees weakened. “Impossible,” I breathed.