Alpha’s Rejected Mate

Chapter 15: News from Afar

The northern fortress of the Wolf Council loomed like a shadow carved into stone, its towers scraping the sky, banners whipping in the cold wind. Inside, the council chamber still buzzed with voices, yet Damien had withdrawn to the highest balcony, seeking silence.

Moonlight carved sharp lines across his face, hard as marble, though his golden eyes betrayed the storm beneath. Since taking the Alpha throne, he had never hesitated. Yet tonight, unease gnawed at him.

The report had arrived only hours ago: the Black Pack had resurfaced in the southern forests. And with them… a white wolf.

Elena.

Her name alone was enough to tighten his chest. He had sworn to bury his feelings, to see her only as the threat foretold in the prophecy: “The White Wolf will rise, bringing either salvation or destruction.”

But memory was a cruel thing. He could still see her the day he let her go—her trembling body, her eyes burning with defiance. He should have killed her. Instead, he had faltered.

A knock broke his thoughts. Aiden, his most trusted warrior, entered with a sealed letter. His expression was grim.

“Alpha,” Aiden bowed, voice heavy. “Urgent news. Hunters from the South witnessed the Black Pack clashing with… a white wolf. She defeated them, but suffered grave wounds.”

Damien’s hand clenched the stone railing, veins bulging. “She lives?”

“So they claim. The witch Lysandra aided her escape. But…” Aiden hesitated, “…they also say her power spiraled out of control. The White Wolf nearly consumed her human soul.”

Silence. Then Damien spoke, his tone low, dangerous. “Prepare the horses. I ride tonight.”

“Alpha!” Aiden’s eyes widened. “The Council demands your presence. They await your judgment on the Black Pack’s advance. If you leave now—”

“Strategies can wait. Her life cannot.” Damien’s voice was final. The conversation ended there.

Far to the South, Elena lay on a straw bed inside a mountain hut. Pain seared through her wounds, every breath heavy. Beside her, Lysandra stirred a steaming bowl of herbs, face stern.

“Elena,” the witch rasped, “you nearly lost yourself tonight. The White Wolf is a blade with two edges. Had I not intervened, your soul would already belong to the beast.”

Elena turned her head, voice faint. “I had no choice. If I didn’t fight, I’d be dead.”

“Better dead than a monster,” Lysandra snapped. “You still don’t see it, do you? The Black Pack is only a pawn. A greater hand moves behind them. And that hand… is reaching for you.”

Elena’s heart twisted. She had known this path would be dangerous, but hearing it aloud made her blood run cold. And yet, in her dreams, she kept seeing Damien—his eyes, filled with sorrow and steel.

Where are you now? Do you think of me, too?

Meanwhile, the Council chamber in the northern fortress rang with fury. Alphas from rival packs argued, their voices echoing against the stone walls.

“The White Wolf has appeared—it is a sign of ruin!” snarled an elder with a beard like snow.

“No, it could be salvation!” another barked.

“Light always breeds shadow. Kill her now before it’s too late!”

The quarrel ended when Damien entered. His presence was like a blade unsheathed. Conversations died as he crossed the chamber, golden eyes sweeping the room.

“You squabble like crows,” he said coldly. “The White Wolf is no one’s puppet to condemn at whim. If she proves a threat, I will end her myself. Until then—touch her, and you answer to me.”

Gasps rippled through the chamber. Some exchanged wary glances. Others bowed their heads. None dared to oppose him.

But from the dark recesses of the hall, a pair of crimson eyes glimmered briefly—watching, waiting.

That night, Damien mounted his steed and departed with a handful of loyal warriors. The wind tore through his cloak, the moon guiding their path. His heart burned with a single resolve: he would reach Elena before fate claimed her.

And in the South, Elena sat by the fire, her wounds aching, her spirit restless. Lysandra’s warning haunted her: “You are not merely the White Wolf. You are the key.”

But the key to what—salvation, or destruction? She did not know. Only that the answer would not be found alone.

Somewhere beyond the horizon, two paths drew closer—one of shadow, one of light. Bound not by prophecy alone, but by a fragile, dangerous thread of love.