Alpha's Luna

Chapter Twelve - The Poisoning. Kaine

Dinner should have been uneventful. A rigid tradition, a nightly display of strength and order that my pack has come to expect of me.

The Great Hall hums with the scrape of cutlery and the low murmur of warriors trading stories between mouthfuls. Firelight flickers against the stone walls, throwing shadows that make the Ironfang banners ripple like restless wolves.

At the long oak table, I sit at the head as always. To my right, my Beta Theo, quiet but watchful. To my left, Selene—my bride, my bond, my constant disruption.

She sits straighter than most Omegas dare, pale hair spilling over one shoulder, violet eyes carefully downcast. She tries to appear small, obedient, unremarkable. But her very existence refuses to be hidden. Every flick of her lashes, every tilt of her chin, draws attention whether she wants it or not.

The warriors pretend not to notice. Pretend not to smell the tension that coils between us like a wire strung too tight.

I force myself to eat, chewing each bite with mechanical precision. The roast is salted, the stew rich, the bread coarse but filling. Tradition dictates that meals in Ironfang are shared equally—Alpha eats the same food as warrior, warrior the same as Omega. It is meant to show unity.

Tonight, the food tastes like ash.

I glance at her without meaning to. She’s eating, small measured scoops of the stew, slow and cautious like she’s reminding herself not to bolt. I catch the way her lips part to cool the spoonful before it touches her tongue. Five scoops, maybe six.

And then—

A pause. Her hand trembles as she lowers the spoon. Her lashes flutter. The faintest line creases her brow.

My chair scrapes against the stone before I realize I’ve moved.

“Selene.”

Her name rips from my throat too sharp, too loud. Conversation stills. Dozens of heads snap toward us.

She opens her mouth as if to speak—then sways. The spoon clatters against the bowl. Color drains from her face, lips bluing fast. Her pupils dilate, swallowing violet into black.

I don’t remember standing. Don’t remember vaulting the space between us. One moment she’s upright, the next she’s limp in my arms, her pulse faint as a dying ember.

Chaos erupts. Warriors surge to their feet. Theo shouts for silence. Omegas scatter like frightened birds.

“Physician,” I bark, already lifting her. “Now.”

Her head lolls against my shoulder. She’s too light, too fragile, as if carrying her risks breaking her further. Rage seethes under my skin, hot and electric, but I shove it down. Later. First, keep her breathing.

I carry her out of the hall. The great doors slam shut behind me, muffling the panicked noise. My boots hammer against the corridor stones as I take her to her chambers—hers, not mine, though the scent of her lingers in both now.

Inside, I lay her gently on the bed. Sheets bunch beneath her as her body arches, then stills. Her chest rises shallow, too shallow.

“Breathe, Selene,” I growl, as if the command alone can hold her here. My thumb brushes her jaw, cold now, the kind of cold that speaks of endings. My wolf howls inside me, battering at the walls I’ve built.

The physician arrives in a rush, bowing only once before dropping his satchel beside the bed. His hands fly—checking her pulse, peeling back her lips to inspect the discoloration, sniffing her breath like a hound.

“She’s been poisoned,” he announces grimly. “A venom worked into her food. Strong. Designed to slow the heart, suffocate the blood. It spreads quickly.”

“Fix it.” My voice is stone. No room for refusal.

He fumbles for herbs, powders, glass vials. “I’ll try, Alpha, but… her chances are slim.”

The words splinter something in me. Slim. As though she’s a coin toss, a gamble to be won or lost.

“Do what you can,” I snarl.

He does. He mixes a draught, tilts her chin, pours the bitter liquid between her lips. Some dribbles down her throat, but enough goes in. He rubs her throat to coax the swallow. Her body spasms once, then slumps again.

Minutes bleed like hours. I count each shallow rise of her chest. When her pulse flutters too faint to track, I almost tear the healer’s throat out for being useless.

Finally, he sets his tools aside, sweat streaking his brow. “I need more supplies. The venom resists. I’ll fetch stronger herbs.”

He bows again and flees.

The chamber falls silent. Only the faint crackle of the hearth and the harsher crackle of my breath remain.

And Selene—still, pale, fading.

I sink to the bedside, bracing my elbows on my knees, fists pressed to my mouth. I have seen men gutted on battlefields, children weeping over ash, brothers torn apart by rival packs. None of it clawed me open like this.

She cannot die.

Not because of politics. Not because of unity. Not because of the Council’s contract.

Because I cannot imagine this fortress without the sound of her sharp tongue, the fire in her defiant eyes, the way her presence makes my chest burn like it’s both wound and balm.

If she dies, I will tear the world apart stone by stone until nothing remains.

My jaw locks. Fury burns through grief. Someone dared this. Someone in my pack tried to take her from me.

I rise like a storm breaking. The door slams against the wall as I leave her chamber, a snarl ripping from my chest. My stride eats the corridors, my rage flooding ahead of me until the air itself quivers.

By the time I crash into the kitchens, the Omegas within are already cowering. Pots clatter to the floor. Spoons drop from shaking hands. The scent of fear rises thick and acrid.

“Which one of you touched her tray?” My voice is thunder.

No answer. Just wide eyes, bowed heads.

I slam my fist into the stone wall. Rock splinters, cracks spiderwebbing outward. “Answer me!”

A trembling hand points—hesitant, guilty, terrified.

The servant boy. Young, narrow-shouldered, still soft with youth. His eyes roll white as I seize him by the collar and lift him off his feet.

“You fed her.” My teeth bare. “What did you put in it?”

“N–nothing, Alpha!” he squeaks. His legs kick uselessly. “It wasn’t me, I swear—”

I slam him against the wall. The stones shake with the impact. He sobs.

“You lie.” My claws pierce the fabric at his throat. “I can smell it on you. Poison. Treachery.”

“I d–didn’t m–make it,” he stutters. “They told me only to serve it—”

“They?” My voice is a razor.

He clams up, lips quivering but sealed. A mistake.

My hand tightens until he chokes. “Tell me or I will peel the truth from your flesh.”

“I—I don’t know who!” he wails finally. “A voice—left a vial in the stores—said it was spice—said to use it on the stew for the Omega—” He declared struggling from my grip.

The Omega. Not Selene by name. Her role. Her bloodline. My teeth grit so hard they ache.

I drop him in a heap. He scrambles away, coughing, tears streaking his face. I don’t kill him—not yet. I need answers. And corpses give none.

“Chain him,” I snap to the guards outside. “He will talk. Eventually.”

Then I turn, fury propelling me back to her.

When I enter her chamber, I freeze.

She is not still. Not fading. Her body trembles, twitching as though some great storm rages beneath her skin. Her veins shimmer faintly—silver, luminous, as if moonlight itself runs in her blood.

It’s wrong. It’s beautiful. It’s terrifying.

I step closer, breath caught in my chest. Her lips part on a gasp, color blooming back into them. Her chest rises deeper, fuller. Her pulse thrums stronger beneath her skin.

I stare, helpless to look away, as the shimmer fades. As though it was never there at all.

When her lashes flutter open, violet meets grey.

“Kaine,” she whispers, raw and hoarse.

And the sound of my name on her lips shatters me.

I don’t think. I don’t command. I don’t resist.

I bend and crush my mouth to hers.

The kiss is savage, desperate, a storm of hunger and relief. Her lips are soft but fierce, parting for me, answering me. I taste her breath, the bitterness of herbs, the heat of survival. My hand fists in her hair, pulling her closer, as if I can keep her tethered to this world by sheer force.

This isn’t dominance. It isn’t politics. It’s a claim my soul makes without my permission.

When I pull back, her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed despite her weakness. My chest heaves.

“You will not die,” I vow against her mouth. “Not while I breathe.”

Her eyes search mine, too dazed to answer, but the shimmer lingers in her gaze like she knows something I don’t.

I don’t see the shadow slip away from the cracked door. But I hear footsteps retreating down the corridor.

Perhaps someone did see it. Someone saw the silver veins, the impossible shimmer. And by dawn, if my suspicion is right, the Council will know.