The Luna's Deception: Alpha Ricardo's Fall

It was a beautiful morning; the sun was still hiding behind the clouds. All seemed to stand still as nature took the main stage. Birds were chirping, yet the forest was somewhat peaceful. The trees’ laughter echoed with the wind, and their radiant leaves came together like a church choir, harmonized to celebrate each hue and show how they belonged together. However, it was not as beautiful for the sack-coated coachman driving the carriage carrying the immediate members of the Moonweaver Pack Alpha family. He jumped down the footboard and agitatedly approached the lofty metal gates ahead of him. “Invitation,” the superior guard wolf behind the gates requested, his voice unpleasantly guttural. A visible crisscross battle scar adorned his face, gut-wrenching and terrifying. His eyes were empty and cold, evidencing that they had not seen better days. The coachman stuck his trembling hand in the pigeonhole, handing him the requested invitation. The superior guard wolf snapped it out of his grasp with disdain, as if irritated by the sight of the weak coachman. He flipped the card with a face that rapidly turned to a grimace, making the Omega coachman want to turn the horses and flee the scene. There have been tales of alpha families being brutally murdered on the spot for having fake invitations. In the coachman’s heart, he knew his alpha gave him an authentic invitation, but the crowd of dreadful-looking guard wolves behind the metal gates could make powerful werewolves run helter-skelter, and he was just a lowly Omega. His chances of survival were zero to nothing. Every pack in the world knew how vicious the wolves of the Thornheart Pack were. Their guard wolves were no different. They were said to have been trained under the harshest conditions by their supreme alpha. Those that survived the training lost their conscience and disowned their families, mated or not. They became insipid fellows with only one goal—to serve their alpha. The superior guard wolf passed the invitation to the next guard beside him and then said out loud, “Raise the gates!” The coachman, who had been holding his breath, finally heaved out in relief. He hurriedly returned to his boot and pulled on the reins of the horses, forcing them to move. As he rode under the acicular double-barred gates, he shuddered involuntarily. Parts of the content used for fording the gates were renesium silver and wolfsbane—the only things potent enough to cause harm to werewolves. It was hard to get, but not for the Thornheart Pack. Not surprisingly, the guard wolves seemed unaffected by it. True to his fears, the coachman caught a glimpse of masked shadow wolves retreating behind the trees by the gates. They had Amazonian bows and arrows ready to shoot them down. Letting him see them was intentional; they wanted him to join others in spreading unsettling rumors about their pack. From the gates, it looked like there was nothing beyond, only a clean boulevard, which was slightly strange for the seasoned coachman. This type of road system was extremely rare; it was mostly found in highly developed areas and cities. Not many were rich enough to use it in their houses. The black carriage with a silver thorn-decorated heart embedded on its doors had four passengers. Gina, the Luna of the Moonweaver Pack, had her blue eyes on the greenery along the road. She sneered. “They are watching us. How insecure can the most powerful pack on earth be?” Her husband and alpha, Emerson, squeezed her hand that was resting on her thighs warningly. His eyes were not wandering like hers; rather, they were fixated on their seven-year-old daughter. “Like you said, they are stalking us, so be quiet. The trees have ears,” he muttered between his teeth. Gina made no further remarks. She noticed that one of the white knee socks on her daughter’s legs was slightly tugged down. She glared at her son, who was leaning on his twin’s shoulder. He was a little too attached to his sister. Sadly, the male child did not notice his mother’s reprimanding glare; he intertwined his chubby fingers with his sister’s laced, slender ones. Because the carriage was moving, Gina could not adjust it herself, so she said to her son, “Ivan, fix your sister’s sock and stop leaning on her. She is already doing enough by carrying her body; do not stress her further.” Ivan’s fingers languidly brushed his sister’s fair leg as he drew up her white socks, but he did not obey his mother’s second order. To him, his sister smelled heavenly; he would rather be punished later for disobedience than abandon her warmth. No one on earth smelled as sweet as his sister did for him. Gina eyed Ivan meaningfully before softening her gaze to look at her perfect girl. “Are you nervous?” she asked softly. Ivanna shifted her bottle-green eyes from the trees outside of their carriage to her mother. A rim of light flashed through its cores. “No,” she casually answered, then took her gaze back to the shadow wolves stalking their carriage. Her mother’s heart skipped a beat. Although Ivanna wasn’t looking at her anymore, her unearthly eyes mentally paralyzed Gina; it was mesmerizing and captivating. Unlike the other members of this family, who all had sky blue, ocean blue, and cornflower blue eyes, Ivanna had green ones. Both Gina and her husband wondered for a long time who she inherited her special orbs from, making them check their ancestry. She was discovered to have gotten them from her great-grandfather, who was a well-known scholar. She also inherited his wisdom; she often acted and spoke like she was three times her age. But aside from all that, she had an outstanding ability that was not supposed to be in werewolf genetics. The family heard three almost soundless knocks. It was the coachman’s signal to them that they were almost at their destination. Gina looked at her husband, whose eyes were already waiting for hers. He blinked once, giving her the validation she was waiting for. Dipping her gloveless hand in her bosom, she brought out a small green bottle. Its content was sparkling like stars. She clenched the palm holding the bottle and exhaled nervously before handing it to Ivanna, who immediately gulped down its contents without waiting for her mother’s instructions. Her green eyes steadily changed to blue, and her rosy cheeks fattened up, making her resemble her family members. “I can do it, mother. You need not worry,” she assured Gina through their shared mind link. For a werepup, she was not supposed to be able to mind-link anyone until her shift, but she wasn’t like other werepups; she was special. Her mental abilities cannot be measured; she could break, mar, or manipulate any mind within her reach, whether werewolf or not. That was her mission: to enter the mind of the most powerful alpha alive and break it! But it was easier said than done because the alpha in question was the supreme alpha of Thornheart Pack, an alpha that was a hybrid of a werewolf and a vampire. She had been preparing for this day for over a year now, but one little mistake could send her family members to the guillotine. The supreme Alpha of Thornheart Pack was ruthless and unforgiving; if this fails, not even Silver Pack members will be spared. Everything must be perfect, but if it isn’t, there’s the contingency plan. The carriage came to a stop. The whole family stared motionlessly at each other; this was the moment they had been preparing for, yet they dreaded it. The right door of the carriage opened, with the coachman standing by it, his head low in respect. Emerson, as the head of the family, was the first to step out of the car. Then he lent his hand to Luna, helping her to come down, followed by his daughter and son. Gina’s dress was eye-catching; it showed off her ample, fair breasts. For a high-class beta female like herself, she wore the best. But today’s dress was extra special: a tightly laced rose-red corset over a chemisette, paired with a red skirt adorned with numerous embroidery and trims, over layers of petticoats. For Emerson, it was a morning coat over a double-breasted vest. His shirt had a stiff, detachable collar tucked into gray and black striped pants. He carried a custom-made cane and wore a black top hat. All the members of the Alpha family gaped at the huge Victorian mansion before them with awe, except Ivanna, who was staring at a group of people who just appeared after their carriage was driven away. The group looked gruesome and bloodied; their faces were designed with black battle tattoos and dried blood. The most muscular and outstanding of them all was not wearing a filthy fur coat like the rest of the group. His blazing red and green eyes met Ivanna’s fake blue eyes, and instantly a spark of light flashed past his emotionless orbs. His brows crossed slightly, but he immediately returned to their nonchalant state. Ivanna fearlessly walked to the group; at this point, her mother became aware of her drifting away. She immediately yelled out to Ivanna with a frightened voice, “Ivanna! Do not go near those barbarians!” As if her ears were not functioning, Ivanna ignored her mother and continued proceeding. She stopped before the leader of the barbarians and went on her little knees. Bowing her head humbly, she greeted the two-colored eye man, “Hail be thou, supreme Alpha of the great Thornheart Pack.”