Married To My Stepbrother Alpha

Chapter 4

Breakfast ended in tense silence. Marcus tried his best to lighten the mood, talking enthusiastically about the pack’s history, the beautiful views from the hills, and the friendly people I would meet, but every word felt forced, weighed down by Damon’s sharp, cruel words still hanging heavy in the air. I ate only enough to be polite, my stomach twisted into knots, my mind replaying the threat Damon had left me with: Some wolves like to hunt.

When we finally left the dining hall, Marcus led the way through the long corridors toward the main entrance, his steps firm and steady, though I could see the tight line of his jaw, evidence of his lingering anger toward his son. My mother walked close beside me, her hand resting lightly on my arm, a constant, silent comfort, as if she was afraid I might vanish if she let go.

“First, I want to show you the gardens,” Marcus said, pushing open the heavy oak front doors. “They’ve been here for generations, tended by the pack’s best gardeners. They are the pride of Blackwood Manor.”

Stepping outside, the fresh morning air hit me instantly—crisp, cool, and filled with the sweet scent of blooming roses and cut grass. The gardens stretched out before us, vast and breathtaking, with winding stone paths, colorful flower beds, marble fountains spraying sparkling water into the air, and tall, neatly trimmed hedges shaped into intricate patterns. It was like stepping into a fairy tale, perfect and peaceful, but even here, surrounded by beauty, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Every rustle of leaves, every shadow behind a bush, made me jump, half-expecting Damon to step out, golden eyes glinting, that cruel smirk on his face.

We walked slowly along the paths, Marcus pointing out different plants and features, explaining how the pack used herbs and flowers for medicine and rituals. My mother listened happily, asking questions, admiring everything, while I nodded along, barely hearing a word, my gaze constantly scanning the distance, toward the line of dark trees marking the edge of the forest. That was where he had stood last night. That was where he had watched me.

“Over there,” Marcus said, pointing toward a wide, open grassy area further down the hill, “are the training grounds. That’s where our warriors learn to fight, where we teach our young ones control and strength. It’s the heart of our pack’s power.”

I followed his gaze… and froze.

Down on that grassy field, a group of men were gathered—tall, strong, broad-shouldered, all dressed in tight training clothes that showed off muscles honed by years of combat. They were sparring, moving fast and fierce, their movements fluid and powerful, almost too quick for the human eye to follow. But my attention wasn’t on the group. It was on the figure standing at the center, directing them, moving among them like a king among subjects.

Damon.

He was holding a long wooden practice sword, his stance perfect, his body coiled and ready, every line of him radiating raw, unbridled power. He shouted orders, his voice carrying clearly up the hill, sharp and commanding, and every man listened, every man obeyed instantly. He moved from one fighter to another, correcting their stances, striking hard and fast, sending grown men twice my size stumbling backward or falling to the grass with a single blow. He was fierce, intense, terrifying… and undeniably magnificent.

“He is a natural leader,” Marcus said proudly, though there was a touch of sadness in his tone. “Born to lead. Even as a boy, he was stronger, faster, sharper than anyone else his age. The pack adores him. They would follow him anywhere.”

I could see it. I could feel it. The way the men looked at him—with respect, with loyalty, with absolute devotion. He was already their Alpha in everything but name. And I was the stranger who had walked in to disrupt everything, to take a place I didn’t earn, didn’t deserve in his eyes.

As if he sensed my gaze, Damon suddenly stopped speaking and turned his head, looking straight up the hill, straight at me.

The noise of training seemed to fade away. The wind stopped blowing. The whole world narrowed down to just him and me, separated by hundreds of feet of green grass. He didn’t smile. He didn’t wave. He just stood there, wooden sword resting easily on his shoulder, his golden eyes locking onto mine with that same cold, mocking intensity. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his free hand and tapped his chest once—me—then pointed straight at me—you.

The message was clear as glass: I am the power here. You are nothing compared to me.

Then, he tilted his head slightly, his lips moving in a silent whisper I could read perfectly: Run while you can.

My breath caught in my throat. My hands shook so hard I had to clench them into fists at my sides. I wanted to look away, to turn my back, to prove he didn’t affect me… but I couldn’t. I was trapped, frozen under his gaze, like a prey animal caught in the headlights of a speeding car.

“Elara? Are you alright?” my mother asked softly, touching my arm, concern in her voice. “You look pale.”

I tore my eyes away from Damon, forcing a shaky smile onto my face. “I’m fine. Just… it’s very big. Very overwhelming.”

Marcus nodded understandingly. “I know. It takes time. Come, let’s walk further. I want you to meet the pack healer, Mara. She is an old friend, and she will be very glad to meet you.”

We turned and walked away, moving toward the other side of the gardens, away from the training grounds. But even as I walked, my skin prickled, as if his eyes were still burning into my back, following every step I took.

We reached a small, cozy stone cottage hidden among apple trees, its windows bright with light, the smell of dried herbs and sweet bread drifting out through the open door. An older woman with silver hair tied back in a braid and warm, wise brown eyes stepped out to greet us, smiling broadly. She didn’t have the golden eyes of a werewolf, but she carried herself with a quiet strength that commanded respect.

“Alpha Marcus! Lila!” she called, her voice warm and rich. “And this must be Elara. Welcome, child. Welcome home.”

She stepped forward and took both my hands in hers, her skin rough and worn but her touch incredibly gentle. She looked deep into my eyes, searching, studying, and for a second, I thought I saw something flash across her face—surprise, confusion, maybe even awe—but it was gone so fast I almost thought I imagined it.

“So much power sleeping inside you,” she murmured, so quietly I barely heard it. Then she smiled again, bright and warm. “Come inside. I’ve made tea. We have much to talk about.”

We followed her in, sitting around a small wooden table, drinking sweet herbal tea that warmed me from the inside out. Mara asked me gentle questions—about my old home, my hobbies, my life—and for the first time since arriving, I felt relaxed, safe, understood. She didn’t look at me like I was weak or useless. She looked at me like I was something special.

But halfway through our conversation, the door swung open without a knock.

Cold air rushed in, carrying that familiar scent of woodsmoke and wild rain.

I didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

Damon stood in the doorway, filling the frame, blocking out the sunlight behind him. He was breathing hard from training, his chest rising and falling, sweat glistening on his skin, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead. He looked wild, untamed, dangerous… and his eyes were fixed solely on me.

“Father,” he said, his voice low and rough. “We need to talk. Pack business. Urgent.”

Marcus sighed, setting down his teacup, looking between us with clear worry. “Can it wait, Damon? We are busy right now.”

“No,” Damon said flatly. He didn’t look away from me. “It cannot wait. And besides… she doesn’t belong in pack meetings. She’s not pack. She wouldn’t understand anyway.”

He stepped further inside, closing the door behind him, cutting off my escape. He walked slowly toward the table, stopping right behind my chair, leaning down close to my ear, so close I could feel the heat of his body, so close his voice was only for me.

“You think you’re safe here, little stepsister?” he whispered, his tone cruel and satisfied. “You think old women and pretty gardens can protect you? You’re wrong. Everywhere you go… I am there. Every breath you take… I am watching. And remember what I said…”

He paused, his golden eyes burning into mine, cold and victorious.

“I will make you wish you never stepped foot on Blackwood land.”

Then he straightened up, turned to his father, and spoke loudly, coldly.

“Come. Now.”

Marcus stood up reluctantly, apologizing to Mara and my mother, casting me one last helpless look before following his son out the door.

As the door closed behind them, leaving me alone with my mother and Mara, I sat frozen, my heart hammering, my blood running cold.

He wasn’t just threatening me anymore. He was stalking me. He was everywhere I turned.

And I realized, with terrifying clarity, that this war we had started… was far from over. In fact… it had only just begun.