Chapter 10: The Alpha’s Wrath

The forest was alive with danger.

Celia's breath came in ragged gasps as she ran alongside Killian, her injured arm throbbing with each stride.

Twigs snapped beneath her feet, the damp earth swallowing the sound of their hurried escape.

Behind them, the night echoed with distant howls—each one growing closer.

"They're tracking us," she whispered, barely able to push the words out through her panting.

Killian didn't slow. "Then we run faster."

Celia pushed forward, her legs burning as they wove between towering trees.

Moonlight dappled the forest floor, casting shifting shadows that played tricks on her already tired nerves.

Then, the sound she feared most—a second chorus of howls, this time coming from ahead.

They were surrounded.

Killian swore under his breath. His grip tightened around the dagger still slick with rogue blood.

Celia slid to a halt, her eyes darting in every direction. The trees stretched endlessly around them, offering no safe passage.

And then she saw them.

Dark figures moved between the trunks, their yellow eyes glowing like embers in the night.

The rogues had found them.

Celia clenched her fists. She wasn't ready to die.

Killian positioned himself in front of her, blade at the ready. "Stay behind me," he murmured, his tone sharper than steel.

The first rogue stepped forward, its twisted form half-shifted.

It grinned, revealing teeth too sharp for a human and not sharp enough for a full wolf.

"You really thought you could run, little queen?"

The words sent ice through Celia's veins.

Queen.

They knew.

The rogue lunged.

Killian moved faster.

His blade met flesh, carving deep into the rogue's side before the creature had a chance to react. A pained snarl ripped through the night, but before the rogue could fall, another took its place.

Celia barely had time to react before claws swiped at her.

She ducked, rolling instinctively as the rogue's attack missed by inches. Dirt coated her palms as she scrambled to her feet.

Killian was a blur of movement, his dagger flashing as he cut through their attackers. But there were too many.

A rogue broke through, eyes locking onto Celia.

She stepped back.

It lunged.

Celia raised her arms to shield herself—

A snarl ripped through the trees.

Not from the rogues.

From something much bigger.

A massive black wolf crashed into the rogue mid-air, its powerful jaws snapping down with deadly precision. A sickening crunch followed.

The rogue fell limp.

Celia's heart nearly stopped.

Damon.

The Alpha's wolf was pure power—muscles rippling beneath thick, obsidian fur. His red eyes burned with fury as he turned on the remaining rogues.

They hesitated.

Celia knew why.

They had made a mistake.

They had underestimated the King of Beasts.

Damon didn't wait for them to run.

He lunged.

It was carnage.

Blood sprayed as Damon tore through the rogues with the merciless efficiency of a true Alpha.

One rogue tried to shift and flee—Damon caught it mid-transformation, his claws slicing through its throat before it could take another step.

The forest reeked of iron and death.

The last rogue standing trembled, backing away. "W-We were just following orders," it stammered, its voice shaking. "The Council—"

Damon moved before it could finish.

A single snap of his jaws, and the rogue crumpled.

Silence fell over the clearing.

Killian exhaled sharply, wiping blood from his cheek. "Took you long enough," he muttered.

Damon didn't shift back. His massive wolf form turned to Celia, his red eyes burning into her.

Her breath hitched.

Even in wolf form, his presence was suffocating.

Damon stalked forward, his towering frame casting her in shadow.

Celia's instincts screamed at her to run, but something else—something primal—kept her frozen in place.

He sniffed the air, his lips curling back slightly.

Her blood.

His growl was low, possessive.

Celia's pulse pounded. She took a small step back. "Damon…"

With a flicker of movement, he shifted.

One second, there was a massive beast before her.

The next, Damon stood in his human form—tall, powerful, and furious.

His bare chest heaved with tiredness , streaked with blood that wasn't his. His dark hair was tousled, his eyes locked onto hers.

Celia swallowed hard.

Damon's hand shot out, gripping her chin. "You disobeyed me."

She shivered at the raw dominance in his voice. "I—"

His grip tightened, but not enough to hurt. His thumb brushed over her jaw, his gaze flickering to the wound on her arm.

His expression darkened further.

"Who did this to you?"

Celia hesitated. "A rogue. I handled it."

Damon's jaw clenched. "That's not your job."

She glared at him, forcing herself to stand taller. "Then what is my job, Damon? To sit and wait while secrets are kept from me? To be a prisoner?"

His eyes burned. "To be safe."

Celia pushed his hand away. "Safe from what? The rogues? The Council? You?"

Damon stilled.

For the first time, something unreadable flickered across his face.

Then, slowly, he exhaled.

"They want you because of who you are," he said, his voice quieter now. "Because of what you are."

Celia's throat tightened. "Then tell me the truth."

Damon hesitated for only a second before he answered.

"You are the last of the First Alpha's bloodline," he said. "The true heir to the Lunar Throne."

The ground beneath her seemed to disappear.

"No," she whispered. "That's not—"

"It is."

Celia shook her head, the weight of his words crushing her. The Lunar Throne. The ancient line of Alphas—the first rulers of their kind.

Extinct.

Or so she had believed.

"You were hidden," Damon continued.

"Your mother tried to keep you safe, but the Council always knew. They let you live because they thought you were weak."

His eyes gleamed with something dangerous. "They were wrong."

Celia's pulse thundered in her ears.

Everything she had known—her entire life—had been a lie.

She looked up at Damon, her heart pounding. "And you? Where do you fit into all of this?"

Damon's lips parted slightly.

Then, softly—almost too softly—he answered.

"I was always meant to find you."

A chill ran down her spine.

Damon reached for her hand, his touch warm against her cold fingers.

"I won't let them take you." His voice was low, a promise sealed with something deeper. "You are mine, Celia."

She should have pulled away.

She didn't.

The bond between them pulsed, stronger than ever.

Killian cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "We should move. The bodies will draw more."

Damon didn't look away from Celia. "Go ahead. I'll bring her."

Killian hesitated. "Are you sure that's wise?"

Damon's expression darkened. "Go."

Killian sighed but turned, disappearing into the trees.

Now, it was just the two of them.

Celia's heart pounded as Damon reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

"You were meant for more than this," he murmured. "You were meant to be mine."

The night air was thick with tension, the promise of war lingering on the horizon.

And in that moment, Celia knew—

There was no running from her fate.

And no running from Damon.