Mated by the fractured alpha

Prologue SILAS Beep, beep. There was a strong medical smell, silver and sterile, and it looked like I lived. I tried opening my eyes, but it was impossible as the anesthesia was thick, gray and foggy, though at least the burning in my marrow had subsided to a dull throb. Hushed voices drifted from my left where the Healer whispered, "It’s not healing," fear spiking her scent, "Silver-Rot, as it’s eating the bone." My Beta, Kaelen, loomed over me saying, "We have to cut it off, Silas, or it kills you. " I forced my eyes open to see black veins crawling up my shin like ivy. "No," I rasped, but he urged me to be reasonable. "If I lose the leg, I lose the pack," I said as I gripped the rails, "so patch it up, for I need the throne.” “Hey beautiful readers! I’m a new writer and I know I’m not perfect yet. If you spot any errors or have ideas, please feel free to drop a review or a comment! Let’s work together to make this story amazing. Happy reading! ❤️” SILAS Pain doesn't shut up. It just keeps screaming the same thing over and over: I'm here, and I'm eating you alive. I sat on the dragon glass throne with my fingers digging into the stone armrests. The cold rock pulled the heat from my skin, but it did nothing to help. Nothing ever did. My right leg, just below the knee, burned like a thousand invisible rats were chewing through it. Silver-Rot. That's what the healers called it. Slow death of the bone, caused by a poisoned silver blade three years back. No cure. Gets worse every day. Annoying as hell. I kept my face blank. The pack couldn't know. To the wolves of the Iron Citadel, I was Alpha Thorne, "The Butcher," the monster who ripped his own uncle's throat out to take this throne. Show weakness? That's a death sentence. “Alpha?” I blinked, forcing my vision to clear. Kaelen stood at the bottom of the steps, my Beta, looking bored as usual as he cleaned his fingernails with a dagger. "What?" My voice came out like gravel scraping together. "Scoundrel," Kaelen said, tilting his head toward the shaking heap of flesh on the floor. "He's done begging. Can we kill him now? I've got things to do." I looked down at some guy from the south who was sobbing with snot running down his face. "I didn't know!" he wailed. "I swear, Alpha, I didn't see the markers!" Liar. My markers were painted in blood and ash. You'd have to be blind to miss them. "Stand up," I said. The guy froze and looked up with hope in his watery eyes. "Alpha?" "I said stand." He scrambled to his feet, shaking hard. I leaned forward and white-hot pain shot up my thigh, but I didn't flinch. I let the pain feed the rage bubbling in my gut. "You crossed the Grey River," I said softly. The hall went dead silent. "Stole supplies from my outpost. Killed two of my sentries." "Self-defense!" he cried. "They were guarding my land. You were the invader." I was tired, so damn tired. The Rot drained everything and made my temper short. Patience? "Die with some dignity," I said, nodding to Kaelen. It was fast. Kaelen moved like smoke in a silver flash. There was a wet, tearing sound and the guy's eyes went wide. He gurgled with his hands flying to his throat, trying to hold the blood inside. Pointless. He dropped to his knees and face-planted on the black marble. Blood pooled around his head. The smell hit me instantly. Copper and iron, coating the back of my throat. I used to love this, the thrill of killing and the dominance. Now? It just smells like work and a mess I'll have to pay someone to clean up. "Get rid of it," I said, waving a hand. Kaelen signaled two guards who dragged the body away, leaving a long wet smear on the floor. I stood up and my leg almost gave out with a micro-tremor in the muscle. f**k. I caught myself and locked my knee, forcing my spine straight. I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached. I needed to sit down but I couldn't. "Is that it?" I asked. "Schedule clear?" "Almost," Kaelen said, checking his datapad. "Patrols brought in a trespasser. Found near the perimeter fence." "Kill them." "Wait." He frowned. "This one's related to last week. The embezzlement." I froze. Arthur Vance. The human accountant who'd been skimming off my casino profits for three years. I had him in the dungeons and was planning to bleed him slowly. "Related how?" "His daughter." I stopped. The pain in my leg faded, replaced by cold, sharp interest. "The daughter?" "Caught trying to sneak in. Says she's looking for her dad." I sat back down slowly and carefully. "Bring her in." **** KIRA My sneakers squeaked on the floor, the only sound in the hallway besides my own jagged breathing. "Stop dragging me!" I snapped, trying to yank my arm back. Pointless. The guard holding me was huge and felt like he was made of concrete blocks and bad attitude. He didn't even look at me, just kept walking and pulling me along like an unruly dog. "You're going to bruise me," I muttered. "I bruise like a peach. Seriously. It's going to look awful." "Quiet," the guard grunted. "I have rights, you know. Probably. Maybe not here." I looked around and God, this place was ugly. The Iron Citadel. Rumors said it was a palace of nightmares but honestly? It just looked like a depression factory. Everything was gray. Slate gray walls, charcoal gray floors, and a slightly lighter, sadder gray ceiling. No paintings, no tapestries, no color whatsoever. It offended me. I'm an artist and I live for color like Phthalo Blue, Alizarin Crimson, and Burnt Sienna. This place? Just void. "Does your Alpha hate joy?" I asked, my voice shaking. "Or is he just colorblind?" The guard stopped and turned to me with his yellow wolf eyes narrowed. "One more word," he growled, "and I gag you." I pressed my lips together. Shut up, Kira. Just shut up. I was terrified with my heart hammering against my ribs. My dad, Arthur, hadn't come home in three days. He never missed Sunday dinner. I knew something was wrong. He worked for the pack and did their books. He said it was safe and paid well. Then he vanished. I came to the gate just to ask if he was okay but the next thing I knew? I was face-down in the dirt with a boot on my back. "Move," the guard said, shoving me forward. We turned a corner and the air changed, getting colder and heavier. There was a smell and I wrinkled my nose. Old pennies. Wet metal. Blood. My stomach flipped. Oh god. "Where are we going?" I whispered. The sass was gone and panic clawed at my throat. "The Great Hall." "I don't want to." "Too bad." We reached massive black iron double doors carved with wolves snarling at a moon. Subtle. Real subtle. The guard didn't knock, just pushed them open. They groaned with a deep, heavy sound that echoed in the pit of my stomach. The room beyond was huge with shadows clinging to the corners, but I didn't look at the shadows. I looked at the floor. There was a fresh red wet smear on the black marble. Someone had just died here. I stopped with my feet glued to the floor. "No," I breathed. "No, no, no." I stumbled and tripped over my own feet, going sprawling. My hands hit cold stone and my palms slid. I looked up. At the end of the room on a raised platform was a throne, and on the throne was a nightmare. He was a man, not huge but broad-shouldered in a black shirt with dark hair falling over his eyes. He was sitting perfectly still like a statue, but his eyes were silver. Not gray or blue but like liquid mercury or the blade of a knife. He was looking right at me with an unreadable expression. I scrambled back and pushed myself across the floor to put distance between us. "Get up," the guard barked behind me. I stood with my knees shaking violently. The man on the throne moved and leaned forward. I saw something flicker in his face, a grimace or pain, but it was gone in a second. "So," he said. His voice was deep and vibrated in the floor and in my bones, a voice that commanded storms. "You're the thief's daughter." I swallowed hard with my mouth dry as sand. "Where is he?" My voice came out as a whisper, a pathetic squeak. The man, the Alpha, stood up. He was tall, too tall, towering over the throne as he took a step down the platform. One step at a time, favoring his right leg and limping. He stopped ten feet away from me. The smell of blood was stronger. He looked down at me with his silver eyes boring into my skull. "You want to see your father?" he asked. "Yes," I breathed. "Please." He stared at me for a long moment, looking bored, like he was deciding whether to eat me or throw me out. Then a smile curled his lip. Not a nice smile but the smile of a wolf who'd just cornered a rabbit. "Bring him out," he said. The doors to the side of the hall banged open and my heart stopped.