The Alpha's Blood-Stained mate

Chapter 7: A Bitter Alliance

I was trapped. Through the tiny knot-hole in the wood, I could see the edge of Silas’s lip curled into a sickening smile. He was so close I could hear his shallow, rhythmic breathing. The black liquid in his vial seemed to pulse, matching the frantic beat of my heart. One shove, one command to his guards, and the door would splinter. I would be dragged out, and Silas would finish what he started five years ago.

But Kaelen wasn't going to let that happen.

"Silas!" Kaelen’s voice roared through the room, vibrating the very boards I leaned against. "Step away from my walls. You’re acting like a paranoid old man."

"I am acting like a man who knows when he is being lied to," Silas replied, his voice still a whisper against the door. He didn't move. He reached for the handle.

Suddenly, I heard the sharp shing of metal against flesh.

A heavy, thick scent exploded into the air. It was so powerful it made my head spin and my wolf howl in my mind. It was the scent of Alpha blood—pure, concentrated, and overwhelming. Kaelen had taken the letter opener from his desk and driven it across his already wounded palm. He wasn't just bleeding; he was pouring his essence into the room.

The smell of Kaelen’s blood was like a physical wall. It was cedar, rain, and raw power, and it was so strong it completely drowned out the faint scent of "Silver Moon lilies" I had been leaking.

I heard Silas gasp and stumble back. To a werewolf, the smell of an Alpha’s blood in such high concentration is like a flashbang to the nose. It’s blinding.

"Look at me when I speak to you, Silas!" Kaelen snarled. I heard him stride across the room, his footsteps heavy and aggressive. "You come into my home, you insult my security, and you sniff around my chambers like a dog looking for scraps. If you want to talk about the 'future of our packs,' then sit down. Otherwise, get out before I lose my patience entirely."

I watched through the hole. Silas was wiping his nose with a silk handkerchief, his eyes watering from the sheer intensity of Kaelen’s scent. He looked shaken. The "Butcher" had successfully reclaimed the room.

"Fine," Silas spat, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. He moved away from the hidden door and sat in a high-backed chair by the fire. "Let’s discuss the marriage treaty. My people are restless, Kaelen. They want to see the Iron Claw and the Silver Moon united. They want to see you take a bride from my bloodline."

I felt a cold shiver go down my spine. A bride? Silas wanted to cement his power by marrying into Kaelen's house.

"The treaty will be signed when I say it's ready," Kaelen said, his voice cold. I heard the sound of him pouring wine, his movements calm despite the blood dripping from his hand onto the floor. "Now, tell me about these 'rumors' of a rogue..."

I couldn't stay there any longer. If they kept talking, Silas might regain his senses and come back to the door. I had to move.

I turned away from the light of the knot-hole and began to creep deeper into the dark passage. I kept one hand on the stone wall to guide me. The floor was uneven, covered in a thick layer of dust that muffled my footsteps. It was pitch black, but my wolf-eyes began to adjust, turning the darkness into shades of grainy grey.

After a few minutes of walking, the passage widened into a small, forgotten room built into the thickness of the castle walls. It looked like an old records room. There was a single, heavy oak desk in the corner, covered in spiderwebs and layers of grey dust.

My heart thudded. This wasn't just a hallway; it was a hiding place.

I walked over to the desk. My fingers brushed against the wood, leaving streaks in the dust. There was a stack of yellowed papers sitting on top. I picked up the first one, my hands shaking.

I recognized the handwriting immediately. It was elegant and flowing—my father’s handwriting. These were letters he had written years ago. My eyes filled with tears as I saw his signature at the bottom of the page.

“To my brother, Silas,” the letter began. “The tensions with the Iron Claw are rising, but I believe we can find a middle ground. Kaelen is a reasonable man...”

I shoved the letter aside, searching for more. I found several others, all talking about peace, about trade, about making the world better. Kaelen hadn't been lying—my father had trusted him. My father had wanted peace.

But then, I found something tucked at the very bottom of the stack.

It wasn't a letter. It was a piece of high-quality parchment, much newer than the others. I unfolded it, and my breath caught in my throat.

It was a hand-drawn map of the Iron Claw castle. It was incredibly detailed, showing the guard rotations, the weak points in the walls, and the secret passages—including the one I was standing in right now.

But it was the ink that made my blood run cold.

The handwriting on the map wasn't my father’s elegant script. It was sharp, jagged, and aggressive. It was the handwriting of the man currently sitting in the room next door. Silas.

In the center of the map, Kaelen’s bedroom was circled in red ink. Right over the spot where his bed sat, there was a large, dark 'X'.

I looked at the date at the top of the parchment. It was dated five years ago—the same week my father was killed.

My head began to swim. Silas hadn't just been planning to destroy my father. He had been planning to kill Kaelen Vane, too. He had mapped out Kaelen’s death long before the "execution" ever happened. Silas wasn't here for a marriage treaty. He was here to finish a job he started five years ago.

I stared at the 'X' on the map, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. I had come here to kill the man who was actually the only person Silas hadn't managed to murder yet.

Suddenly, I heard a faint click behind me.

The stone wall at the back of the small room began to slide open. I whirled around, clutching the map to my chest, my heart in my throat.

A shadow stepped into the room, silhouetted by the dim light of the hallway beyond.

"I thought I might find you here," a voice said.

It wasn't Kaelen. And it wasn't Silas.

It was one of Silas’s personal guards, his eyes glowing a predatory red in the dark. He held a curved blade in his hand, and he was smiling.

"Uncle Silas sends his regards, Princess."