UNBROKEN: Her Royal Alpha

The First Spark

The iron door didn’t feel cold anymore. Touched the center bar, and the rust just flaked off into gray ash all over my bare feet.

“Hey! Shut up down there!”

Boots clanged on the stone stairs. Thomas. One of Lucian’s lapdogs. Liked putting his boots into omegas when the elders weren’t around. The smell of sour ale and stale sweat hit me before he even got close.

“I swear, Lunara, you kick those walls again, and I’ll give you something real to cry about.”

I didn’t move. Didn’t curl up like I used to. That girl died the second Lucian broke the bond on stage.

The heat in my wrists got thicker. Knuckles aching. Wrapped both hands around the two middle bars.

“What the hell are you doing standing there?” He stopped outside, keys jingling, and raised the torch. Expected tears. Expected me begging for a blanket.

Then he looked down at my hands.

The iron under my palms was glowing. White-hot ring where my skin met the metal. Old iron started softening like wet wax. His jaw dropped so hard I heard his teeth click.

“What the—”

Didn’t let him finish. Twisted my wrists.

Bars snapped. Sharp pop like a rifle in that tight corridor. Shoved the broken ends out. Metal tore free from the stone with a shower of red sparks.

He lunged back, hand going for the silver dagger. Fast, but the beer had his wolf slow.

I was through the gap before he cleared the sheath. Grabbed the collar of his wool vest and just… moved. Slammed him sideways into the wall.

Head hit stone. Dull wet sound. Torch hit the muck and died. Left us in that dark heat-vision glow. He groaned once and slid down, out cold.

Lungs working the sour air but I wasn’t tired. Felt lighter. Legs like coiled springs.

Reached down, found the key ring on his hip. I didn't need them for my cell. I needed them for the southern gate. Yanked them free, shoved them in the pocket of the torn dress, and ran.

Didn’t take the stairs to the Great Hall. Could still hear the drums and the pack singing Lucian’s name. Let them.

Turned left into the low tunnels where the kitchen runoff went. Smell of rotting grease and old water, but my nose was picking up everything now—rust in the pipes, wet rats three hundred yards ahead, ozone from outside.

Storm hitting the valley.

End of the sluice. Big iron grate, brass padlock rusted shut for ten years. Didn’t bother with the keys. I leaned my shoulder into the frame, closed my eyes, let that volcanic thing roll through my ribs.

The lock didn’t open. Pins sheared. The whole thing exploded out into the ravine.

Tumbled into the freezing night.

Rain hit like a slap. Clara’s thin silk dress soaked through in seconds, red fabric plastered to me. Wind howling through the pines, branches cracking. Behind me, the black walls of Bloodstone against the lightning.

Turned my back and ran down the mud slope.

Bare feet sinking three inches every step. Sharp rocks and slate didn’t cut me. Every time something nipped the skin, a little gold spark flashed, and it closed before the next footfall. Moving faster than any beta I’d ever seen.

South, the voice in my head said. The river.

Less than a mile. Across the white water was neutral territory. Rogues and outcasts. Exile into those woods was a death sentence. Staying here meant Lucian’s trackers the second Thomas woke up.

Long howls cut through the thunder.

Pack alarm. They knew the cell was empty.

“She took the drainage ravine!” Voice from the ridge. Beta enforcer. “Find her! She’s barefoot—she won’t make the water!”

Heavy paws crashing through underbrush. Three of them, breath hot, cutting to flank me. That pack smell—wet pine and old blood—closing fast.

Threw myself through briars. Thorns tore my shoulders. Didn’t slow. Burst out onto the rocky bank.

River was a black churning monster. Logs tumbling, smashing boulders like cannon fire. The far side is just a wall of dark trees.

“Stop right there, Lunara!”

Spun. Heels in the wet gravel.

Three big slate-gray wolves came out of the thicket. Teeth bare, saliva flying, ears flat. Connor, scarred beta, stepped up. Chest heaving. Red eyes locked on mine.

Low vibrating growl. Submission command. Eighteen years of that sound put my knees in the dirt. Made the wolf inside curl up and hide.

Nothing left in me to submit.

Hatred rolled up hot and clean. Gold veins in my palms flared. Rain sizzled on my arms. Looked him straight in those red eyes and didn’t drop my gaze.

“Tell Lucian,” I said, voice carrying that strange heavy echo through the rapids, “he should’ve killed me when he had the chance.”

I turned and threw myself into the black current before they could spring.

The river grabbed me hard. Spun me under, slammed me into rocks I never saw. Dress gone in pieces. Fought for air but it just kept dragging. Miles of white water, black water, freezing the whole way. Ribs cracked. My shoulder popped. Skin split and sealed with those little gold sparks getting weaker every time.

Finally spit me out onto gravel that felt wrong. Flat stones in a long straight line through the trees. The Lycan King’s private road. Nobody was supposed to know it existed.

Lay there coughing up river water. Rain is still coming down. Gold light flickering out. Upstream, the pack is still howling. Downstream is just dark.