The King Alpha’s Dead Luna Returned

Chapter 2: Scorched Loyalty

Even now, Lyra could still vividly remember the pure, unadulterated joy she felt on her wedding day.

It was supposed to be the beginning of a beautiful fairy tale. Dorian had every single quality required to be the absolute perfect husband. He was an Alpha—tall, devastatingly handsome, and radiating a raw aura of absolute power and dominance. He was a king among monsters, and she was the queen chosen by the humans.

As the strongest warrior and leader elected by humanity, her marriage to him was supposed to be the ultimate power move. A union of equals. It wasn't just about love; it was a strategic alliance that promised prosperity for the people of both realms. It was supposed to be the historic integration of two completely different species—humans and werewolves.

The wedding itself had been breathtakingly romantic. The air was filled with the scent of fresh roses and expensive champagne. Surrounded by thousands of cheering guests, Lyra had been completely intoxicated by the magic of the moment. She had been utterly drowned in the blissful happiness of becoming the new Luna of the Blackthorne Pack.

But fairy tales are easily shattered.

She would never, ever forget the chilling gasp she overheard when she happened to walk past the dark, secluded wine cellar later that very night.

It was a sound that made her blood run cold. Driven by a sudden, uneasy instinct, she crept toward the heavy oak door and peeked through the narrow c***k.

Inside, two shadows were intimately intertwined in the dim light. They were locked in a passionate, desperate embrace. One of them was unmistakably her brand-new husband, Dorian.

And the other...

Vivian?

Lyra’s pupils contracted into tiny pinpricks. Her heart stopped beating for a full second, a suffocating weight pressing down on her chest.

She couldn't believe her eyes. Dorian had been introduced to her by Vivian in the first place! Vivian was her absolute best friend, her confidante, the sister she never had. Their bond had always been so deep and unshakable. Or so she had thought.

Inside the cellar, Vivian's breathless, mocking voice echoed against the stone walls. "Humans trust her. That makes conquering them easier."

Dorian chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that used to make Lyra’s heart flutter, but now only made her stomach churn with disgust. "Tonight, your punishment is that you are not allowed back to our bedroom," he growled playfully, pulling Vivian closer. "Just the thought of lying next to that worthless human makes me sick to my stomach."

"I'll do whatever you say, my sweet Alpha," Vivian purred, rubbing her body against his. "You know I’m the only true queen in your heart. Forever."

Hidden behind the massive wine rack in the shadows of the corridor, Lyra felt her world collapse. Tears streamed silently down her face, burning her skin like acid. The betrayal cut deeper than any blade ever could.

Instinctively, her trembling hand trembled as she lowered it to touch her stomach.

Her belly was already showing a slight, gentle curve. There was a vibrant, precious little life growing inside her. A secret she had been waiting for the perfect, romantic moment to tell her new husband. Now, that secret felt like a death sentence.

The beautiful dream ended completely when Vivian found her. The betrayal turned violent, and Lyra was brutally shoved down the steep stairs into the damp, freezing depths of the cellar.

"You really didn't see this coming, did you?" Vivian sneered, looking down at Lyra with pure, unbridled malice dancing in her eyes. "Did you honestly think anyone would marry a pathetic human for love? The only reason Dorian stood at that altar with you was to get his hands on your territory, you naive little bitch."

Lyra groaned, coughing up a bit of dust from the floor.

"You absolute fool," Vivian laughed, a sharp, grating sound. "Did you really think a magnificent Alpha like Dorian could ever actually fall for a piece of trash like you?"

Vivian stepped closer, her eyes flashing with wolfish cruelty. "You are a broken waste of space who doesn't even possess a wolf spirit! A human mutt. And yet, you actually dared to dream of winning the King's love? Who gave you the right to be so arrogant? Huh? What gave you the confidence?"

Before Lyra could move, Vivian lunged forward. Her long, manicured nails dug viciously into Lyra’s cheeks, pinching her flesh so hard that Lyra gasped, her airway completely blocked. She couldn't breathe.

But the worst was yet to come.

With a sickening smirk, Vivian raised her foot. Her sharp, stiletto high heel came down with brutal, crushing force, stomping directly onto Lyra’s slightly swollen belly.

"No!" Lyra screamed inside her mind, but the pain exploded through her body, turning the world completely black.

Present day.

The heavy doors of the grand pack hall were thrown open with a resounding crash.

The crowd inside gasped, their conversations dying instantly as they stared in absolute horror at the doorway. A woman stood there, drenched in shadows and radiating a terrifying, murderous aura.

With a casual, almost bored flick of her wrist, she tossed something forward. A round object rolled heavily across the polished marble floor, making a wet, gruesome sound—thud, thud, thud—until it finally came to a stop right next to the main banquet table.

The guests leaned in to get a closer look. When they realized what it was, a wave of pure panic rippled through the room.

It was a head. Specifically, the severed head of the Chief Minister, the pack's most powerful political figure.

"Ahhh!"

"Murderer!"

Shrieks of terror echoed through the hall as noble werewolves scrambled backward, knocking over chairs and expensive crystal glasses in a desperate bid to flee from the monster at the door.

Lyra slowly lifted her face. Her eyes were heavily bloodshot, burning with a lethal, demonic fire. Through the chaotic haze of the room, her gaze locked instantly onto the one man standing dead center in the hall.

Dorian.

He stood there casually, his hands sliding deep into his pockets. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes narrowed into dangerous, predatory slits as he evaluated the woman he used to call his wife.

Although he had known long before their wedding that this woman possessed extraordinary physical skills—that she was rumored to be the absolute top assassin among the human race—he now realized with a sinking feeling that he had gravely, severely underestimated her. She wasn't just a killer. She was a ghost returned from hell.

Attempting to regain control of the situation, Dorian forced a warm, soothing smile onto his handsome face. "Baby," he cooed, his voice dripping with false tenderness.

He moved with blinding werewolf speed, closing the distance between them in a fraction of a second. He reached out and gently but firmly gripped her shoulders, looking down at her with intense, puppy-dog eyes. "Are you mad at me because I haven't visited you lately? Is that what this is about?"

His dark eyes seemed to hold a hypnotic, manipulative magic, a charm that usually brought any woman to her knees.

However, Lyra remained completely unmoved. Her expression was as cold as carved ice.

"My sweet girl, I know I was wrong," Dorian whispered smoothly, tightening his grip slightly to project authority. "I'll admit my mistake, okay? I shouldn't have locked you away in the dungeon. I know you're furious with me. But let's just calm down, alright? Let's go somewhere private and have a real talk, just the two of us. Hmm?"

As his fingers dug deeper into her shoulders, trying to subtly assert his Alpha dominance and force her to submit, a low sound escaped Lyra's lips.

She laughed.

It was a soft, chilling chuckle that sent shivers down the spines of everyone left in the room. A flicker of pure, unadulterated mockery danced within her bloodthirsty, hate-filled eyes.

The Blackthorne Pack. The most powerful, ruthless werewolf territory in the entire Southern region. And yet, they had resorted to such pathetic, disgusting methods to break a human Luna they had just married. They thought she was a weak, fragile flower they could crush and discard.

She was going to make every single one of them pay in blood.

Unlike ordinary humans, Lyra was born with a terrifying genetic gift. She wasn't just the deadliest assassin the human resistance had ever produced; she was a master ninja, trained in the ancient, lethal arts of stealth and execution. Her body was a weapon.

If it hadn't been for the sake of peace and the future development of both their races, she would never have agreed to this cursed marriage. She would never have opened her heart to a snake like Vivian. She would have never met a monster like Dorian.

And most importantly... she would have never lost her baby.

My baby...

Lyra closed her eyes for a brief second. The agonizing memory of her empty, bleeding belly hit her like a physical blow, causing a sharp, suffocating wave of grief to rip through her chest. The pain almost brought her to her knees, but she channeled that agony into pure, unfiltered rage.

Suddenly, Lyra snapped her eyes open. She looked directly into the eyes of the hypocritical, lying Alpha standing right in front of her. A cold, ruthless, and absolute smile spread across her lips.

"Have a talk with me?" she whispered, her voice slicing through the tense silence of the room like a razor blade. "Look at yourself, Dorian. Do you honestly think you are even worthy of speaking to me?"

Her tone was deadly silent, freezing the air in the room. Under the terrified, wide-eyed stares of the remaining pack members, Lyra slowly raised her right hand and tightened her grip around the small object she was holding.

It was a military-grade detonator.

Before Dorian could even register the device, Lyra slammed her thumb down on the red button.

BOOM!

A deafening, catastrophic explosion ripped through the foundations of the grand hall. In an instant, a massive, roaring inferno erupted, scaling the walls and swallowing the entire mountaintop in a sea of apocalyptic flames. The ancient, glorious stone castle was completely engulfed by the raging fire, instantly consuming the horrific, desperate screams of the werewolves inside.