THE ALPHA KING’S PRIDE

I had no memory of the day I was taken. No echo of my real name or the lullaby my mother must have once sung to me, only the cold floor of the Crimson Fang pack house, the sting of a switch on my back, and the sharp voice of Luna Mira saying, "Don’t look her in the eyes". "She’s not one of us." They told me I had been found near the edge of the woods, wrapped in a bloodied blanket, silent and wide-eyed. That I was lucky Alpha Gerrick spared me. Lucky. If you could call growing up as a maid in a hostile pack, luck. “Lina!” I jumped, nearly dropping the water jug in my hands. The kitchen door flew open, and Mia stormed in, flour dusting her apron and face. “Where have you been?” she hissed. "Alpha’s back, and his son Rafe is arriving tonight". From the northern front. My stomach tightened. “The battle with the rogue clans?” Mia nodded. “Half the warriors are wounded. And we’re serving a victory feast like it’s a holiday.” I didn’t say anything. It wasn’t my place to speak about wars or wolves I’d never met. “I heard Rafe took out six rogues alone,” Mia continued as we carried supplies into the main hall. "They say he doesn't even shift sometimes. He just fought with his bare hands." I didn’t care. Rafe Blackthorn was just another man molded by Alpha Gerrick. And his return had nothing to do with me. The feast was lavish: roasted deer, steaming potatoes, dripping honey cakes, none of which we were allowed to eat. The head table gleamed with silver goblets and polished daggers, while I poured wine from the shadows, invisible as always. The doors opened wide. And silence swept across the room. Heavy boots hit the floor. He entered in bloodstained leathers, bandages tight around his shoulder. Rafe Blackthorn. Alpha Gerrick’s only son. Towering, broad-shouldered, with dark eyes that flicked through the crowd like he was assessing everyone, measuring them. He passed by without a glance. Good. I didn’t want his attention. Or anyone’s. Later, I crept into the servant wing and collapsed onto the cot next to Mia’s. “He’s not what I expected.” “Who?” “Rafe.” I took a bite. “He looked like a soldier. That’s all.” Mia raised a brow. “You didn’t feel anything when he walked in?” I frowned. “What do you mean?” She shrugged. “Some of the girls swore they felt their wolves stir.” I shook my head. "Not mine". "She's quiet." Mia leaned closer. “So you still believe your mate will come one day?” I nodded slowly. “I have to. It’s the only thing I’ve held onto”. She sighed. “Most of us will be chosen, not bonded. You know that.” Chosen mates. Political matches. Wolves paired for power, not love. No connection. No heat in the blood. Just duty. “I won’t let them choose for me,” I said, almost to myself. Mia gave me a sad smile. “You won’t always get that choice, Lina.” I was mopping the training hall when I heard the door creak open behind me. I turned quickly, expecting the kitchen matron or a guard. It was him. Rafe stood in the doorway, his arms still wrapped, face unreadable. “You're the girl from the feast,” he said quietly. I dropped my gaze. “Yes, Alpha.” He stepped inside. “What’s your name?” “Lina.” “Lina,” he repeated, like he was testing the sound of it. “You work here?”. I nodded. “Since I was a child.” His eyes darkened slightly. “Why were you in the corner that night?” he asked. “Because I wasn’t meant to be seen.” For a moment, the silence stretched between us like something tangible. Then he nodded once. "You should go". "It’s late." I dipped my head. “Yes, Alpha.” As I passed him, I felt his gaze follow me. That night, I lay awake while Mia slept beside me. “You’re quiet,” she murmured, not opening her eyes. “I saw him again.” Mia rolled over to face me. “Rafe?” I nodded, "He asked me questions. About the feast. About work." “Did he look at you the way he did during dinner?” “I don’t know how he looked at me. But I think he’s curious.” Mia smirked. “Maybe you’re his type.” I shook my head. “There’s no bond. My wolf didn’t move.” “She could just be scared,” Mia whispered. “You’ve buried her for so long, maybe she’s sleeping.” “Or maybe he’s not the one,” I said softly. “And I won’t give myself to someone who isn’t.” The pack house was unusually tense the next morning. Warriors moved like shadows, their faces drawn. Servants kept their heads low and their voices lower. Even Luna Mira wore her highest heels and heaviest pearls, a rare display of submission. “The royal envoy is here,” Mia whispered, her eyes wide as we passed near the great hall. “The prince himself.” I paused. “Prince Lucas?” Mia nodded quickly. "He went to meet with Alpha Gerrick. About the rogue uprising up north." My chest tightened. Everyone had heard of Prince Lucas, the youngest royal, the warrior prince. The stories painted him in blood and silence. They said he never spoke more than necessary. That he didn’t hesitate to kill, even in meetings. That once, he tore out a traitor’s throat in the middle of a council gathering and continued the discussion like nothing had happened. “He’s here?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Mia nodded again. “Be careful, Lina. They say he sees everything. Like he’s always watching.” That thought haunted me all through my chores. I tried to stay far from the main corridors but, as fate would have it, I was sent to deliver fresh linens to the guest wing alone. I moved quickly, head down, balancing the stack of folded sheets in my arms. I turned the corner and slammed directly into someone. The linens spilled to the floor, and my breath hitched sharply as my body registered the weight of the man I’d walked into. Tall. Cold. Unmoving. I froze. A hand caught my arm before I could stumble back. “Careful,” came a voice low, deep and velvety. “You’ll fall.” My pulse stuttered violently. He let go of my arm, and even the absence of his touch felt like something dangerous. “I-I-I’m sorry, my lord,” I murmured, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. “I didn’t see you.” Silence. I waited, afraid of what might come next. But there was no reprimand. No scoff. Just a pause, and then: “It’s alright.” His voice was calm. There was no anger in it. Another pause. “Your name?” I didn’t want to answer. My wolf stirred beneath my skin, anxious and agitated. Like she was excited about something. Or a truth I couldn’t grasp. “Lina.” He didn’t repeat it. Didn’t move. “I have duties,” I said, reaching for the sheets. He didn’t stop me. But I could feel his gaze. Not warm. Not curious. Just assessing. As if watching a prey, or a puzzle. But even as I returned to the laundry room and shut the door behind me, I could still feel the weight of his presence lingering. And my wolf, who had been silent for years, wouldn’t stop pacing.