Broken Wolves

2

Luther

She’s everywhere.

Even in the quiet—hell, especially in the quiet, when the world is too still and there’s nothing to drown out the emptiness she left behind.

How dare you leave me? I mutter to myself, teeth grinding.

Some nights, she’s in my dreams, calling out, asking me to save her. Other nights, it’s me doing the asking—begging, even. Because the truth is, I don’t know if I’ll survive this if something happens to her. It’s like a slow death, every day she’s gone, and I don’t think I can take much more.

I don’t think about hope. Hope is a lie. All I think about is blood, the blood I’ll spill to get her back, to keep her safe. I don’t give a damn how many I have to cut down to make it happen.

I take another long pull from the bottle, letting it burn all the way down, but it does nothing. Doesn’t touch the ache clawing through me.

Across from me, Blaze’s eyes are locked on me through the smoke. His face is bruised, hollow, like he’s already dead inside. He flicks the ash, stares me down, and finally spits it out.

“Luther.” His voice is rough, stripped bare. “ I did some digging, man, earlier. Across the ton, rumor has it that... '

He paused , eyes watching me.

"That?"

Blaze shifts, glancing down, the weight of whatever he's about to say pressing on him. He takes a slow drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke fill the silence between us. It’s like he’s dragging this out, like he knows the impact of his next words is going to hit hard, and he’s bracing himself for it.

Finally, he lifts his gaze, locking eyes with me, and I see a flicker of something—hesitation, maybe. Even fear.

“That…” he mutters, voice barely above a growl, “that Conan’s wearing the crown, Luther.”

I stare at him, the words sinking in slowly, thick, and suffocating. “What the hell are you talking about?” My voice is low, dangerous, like a wire pulled too tight.

“Conan’s the alpha now, Luther.”

I go still. “You’re shitting me.”

“No joke.” He meets my stare, jaw clenched. “Soon as you were gone, he took the title. Now he’s hunting us down.”

The words hit like a fist to the gut. Conan—my brother—holding my title? A title I bled for, killed for. Now he thinks he can just take it?

My hand tightens around the bottle. “That little bastard actually thinks he can be me?”

That little dimwit thinks he can be me? The alpha? I can feel the rage building in my chest, my vision blurring with heat. He’s nothing but a coward, a f*****g brat who doesn’t have the balls to understand what this means. He’s never bled for it, never sacrificed for it. He’s just a f*****g placeholder—nothing more.

I slam the bottle down, the glass cracking under my grip. I’ll skin him alive. Make him regret ever thinking he could wear this crown. This is my pack, my title, my f*****g world. And I’ll burn everything to the ground to take it back.

“You’re scaring me, man. What the hell are you thinking?”

I smirk, the anger twisting inside me like a blade that cuts deeper with every passing second. “Ever think about just burning a whole damn village of wolves to the ground? Ransacking it until there’s nothing left but ash?”

Blaze blinks, eyes wide for a moment, but he doesn’t back down. He’s seen this before. He knows how bad it gets when I lose control. But even still, he tries to make sense of it, tries to get through.

“You can’t just ransack the pack, Luther. There are kids there,” he says, his voice tight, trying to reason. “Even if Conan’s their alpha, it doesn’t make sense.”

I slam my fist into the table again, the bottles rattling under the force. "You know what doesn't make sense?" I snap, glaring at him. "You."

Blaze looks at me, agitated, his eyes darting between me and the mess of broken thoughts in my head. His jaw clenches, but I know something’s off. There’s something behind his eyes. He’s hiding something, I can feel it.

I lean in, voice low, sharp. "You’ve been keeping things from me, haven’t you, Blaze? What the hell are you hiding?"

Blaze tenses, his posture stiffening, like he’s trying to control the panic rising in him. I see it in his eyes, that flicker of fear, and I f*****g love it. I can taste it in the air between us, thick and heavy, the tension so thick I could cut it with a knife.

He opens his mouth to say something, but I don’t give him the chance.

“Don’t lie to me, Blaze.” My voice drops to a low growl, and I stand up slowly, letting my presence loom over him, my shadow falling across his face like a f*****g executioner’s guillotine. “I know you’re hiding something. I can smell it. So talk. Now.”

Blaze’s eyes shift, and for a second, I see the fear—real, raw, and f*****g desperate. But he’s too proud, too broken to admit it, to admit I’ve got him by the balls.

“You think I’m scared of you?” he spits, his voice shaking just slightly. But I hear it. I feel the tremor in his words, the crack in his bravado.

“You should be,” I say, my voice a deadly whisper. I take a step closer, leaning over him, letting him feel the weight of my presence. "You know what happens when you lie to me, Blaze. You know how I handle things when people try to play me."

Blaze tries to move back, but I grab him by the throat, my fingers tightening just enough to cut off his air, but not enough to kill him. Not yet.

“Tell me what you’re hiding. Or I’ll make you beg for mercy, and you’ll regret it,” I growl, my breath hot against his ear. “You’re nothing but a dog, Blaze. A dog who needs to know his place.”

His breath hitches, and I see the way his eyes go wide, the realization settling in that I’ve got him. Totally f*****g got him. I can feel his pulse racing under my fingers, his entire body trembling with the weight of his fear.

“You’re nothing but a puppet,” I whisper, tightening my grip, just enough to make him choke. “And I’m the f*****g master.”

Blaze’s chest heaves as he tries to breathe, his face turning a shade darker, but he doesn’t speak. Not a word.

“On your knees,” I order, low and commanding. “Now.”

His eyes widen, his body stiffens, and for a split second, I think he might resist. "f**k you.”

I smirk, my thumb dragging roughly across his lips, feeling the heat of his breath against my skin. “Oh, don’t give me ideas now,” I murmur, my voice low and dangerous.

Blaze’s eyes flash with defiance, but then, he f*****g does it. Slowly, trembling, like every ounce of pride he has left is being crushed under my command, Blaze drops to his knees in front of me.

He’s breathing hard now, and I can see it in his eyes. Fear. Respect. Maybe even a hint of f*****g desire. The power I’ve got over him, it’s intoxicating.

“Good boy,” I mutter, the words dripping with dark satisfaction. I tilt his chin up so he’s looking at me. “You remember who you f*****g belong to now?”

Blaze swallows, his throat working hard as he nods, too afraid to speak. I can see the way he’s trembling, the way his body betrays him.

“You know what to do,” I command, voice cold, absolute.

Blaze’s eyes flicker—fear, rage, that thread of desperate need. He reaches for my belt.

I slap his hands away. “I said, use your mouth.”

“Luther, please…” The words slip out, raw, almost broken.

I grab a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back. He yelps, a sharp, desperate sound, and damn, it’s heaven.

“Mouth, slut,” I growl, my grip tightening.

Blaze’s eyes glisten, a tear slipping free before he blinks hard, jaw clenched tight. He’s fighting to hold back—fighting to keep some shred of dignity. But I see it breaking, bit by bit. Just like that night.

The night he knelt in the mud, hands behind his back, dragging his tongue over my thigh, my boots, my belt.

And tonight? No different.

Slowly, he clasps his hands behind him, shoulders taut with strain. His mouth opens, tongue out, gaze locked on me, defiant yet broken.Damn, he looks so f*****g perfect like this.

One flick of his tongue, a brush against the fabric, and I feel a shudder ripple through me.

Damn, it feels so good. His tongue makes a filthy noise, lapping, desperate. Like a f*****g b***h in heat.

He drags his tongue up, then bites, hard—teeth sinking deep. I hiss, a growl rumbling low in my chest. Blaze knows that’s what I want. His mouth is a mess of need and submission, every flick and bite making me lose control.

You know what happens when Amanda was gone?

We’re f*****g ruined. Broken. A goddamn mess.

The Crescent Prince? Not the same. Never will be.

Amanda made us. She built us, shaped us, f*****g molded us into what we are now. And now she’s gone. Leaving a hole. A void.

Every move I make, every command, it’s just filling the space she left behind. But it won’t be the same. I won’t be the same.

We were made for her... and now we’re just... shattered.

And if—f**k me—if we’re not going to find her? I’ll burn everything to the ground.

The world can collapse, but I won’t stop. I can’t stop. Not until she's back, not until we’re whole again.

We’re broken wolves, ripped apart by the hunt we f****d up.

Hunted by loss. Betrayed by the ones we were supposed to protect.

Now we’re scattered, wild and mangled, circling the ruins. No alpha, no pack—just a gnawing hunger for something we can’t have anymore.

And we’ll burn it all down, tear the world to pieces, until we find it—or burn everything with us.