The Alpha’s Regret: My Secret Siphon Heirs

Chapter 6: The Ghost of a King

POV: Alpha Cassian

The Silver Moon Pack House was louder than ever, yet it had never felt more silent.

Below me, in the training courtyards and the grand kitchen, the sounds of my people echoed, the clashing of wooden practice swords, the laughter of omegas, the distant howl of a scout returning from the perimeter.

To anyone else, it was the sound of a thriving kingdom. But to me, it was nothing but noise. It was a cacophony that failed to fill the hollow, echoing cavern where my heart used to be.

I stood on the balcony of the Alpha’s suite, my knuckles white as I gripped the cold stone railing. I stared out at the vast forest of the Northern Reach, a sea of emerald and pine that was supposed to be the pride of the triple-state area. From a distance, it looked lush, rolling over the hills like a thick, protective blanket. But I knew better.

I could feel the truth through my paws when I ran. I could taste it in the air. The soil was turning sour. The vibrant, golden hum of pack magic that had sustained the Blackwood line for centuries was thinning.

We called it "The Fading."

It had begun three years ago, a slow, agonizing leak of power that no one could explain.

Our warriors were slower to heal, their muscles prone to a deep, bone-weary fatigue that even the strongest potions couldn't touch. Our newborns were born small and quiet, lacking the robust, wild spark that heralded a future wolf. The land was dying, and as its Alpha, I was dying with it.

“It is the price,” Fenris whispered in the back of my mind.

My wolf hadn't been the same since the night of the rejection. Once a towering beast of fury and pride, he was now a ghost, haunting the corridors of my subconscious. He spent his days pacing the cage of my mind, his head low, always sniffing the air for a scent that had been scrubbed from this house five years ago.

*Wildflowers and rain.*

"Cassian? The elders are waiting in the war room. Again."

The voice was like a shard of glass dragged across silk. I didn't turn around. I didn't need to see Selene to know she was wearing a scowl behind her perfect, porcelain-smooth expression.

She was the "Blessed Luna," the daughter of the High Priestess, the woman who was supposed to bring a thousand years of prosperity to the Silver Moon.

Instead, our marriage was a hollow shell, a political contract signed in blood and regretted in silence. It had yielded no heirs, no joy, and certainly no blessing. If anything, her presence felt like a slow-acting poison, beautiful to look at but corrosive to the touch.

"I’ll be there, Selene," I rasped, my voice sounding like gravel.

"You've been standing here for an hour," she said, her heels clicking sharply against the stone as she stepped onto the balcony.

She didn't stand beside me; she stood behind me, always careful to maintain the image of the supportive Luna while her eyes searched for a weakness to exploit. Her scent hit me, heavy jasmine and musk, a cloying, artificial sweetness that always made my throat constrict. It was a scent that tried too hard to be royal.

"The border reports are late," I said, looking for any excuse to avoid her gaze. "The rogues are pushing closer to Oakhaven."

"The rogues aren't the problem, Cassian, and you know it." She stepped closer, and I could hear the rustle of her expensive silk gown.

"You're thinking of her again. I can feel it through the bond. That... pull. It’s pathetic."

I turned then, my silver eyes flashing with a cold, predatory fire that made her take a sharp step back. The air around us crackled with the weight of my Alpha command. I didn't use it often on her, but today, my patience was a frayed thread.

"She was a traitor, Cassian," Selene hissed, recoverning her composure with a sneer. "She sold our secrets. She sold your life. She’s been dead for five years—rotting at the bottom of the White River where she belongs. Stop mourning a shadow and start being a King. The pack needs an heir, not a widower for a girl who never mattered."

"She mattered to the bond," I growled, stepping toward her until she was backed against the suite's French doors. "And she mattered to Fenris. Don't speak her name again, Selene. You didn't earn that right."

"I earned the crown!" she snapped back, her eyes narrow. "I brought the alliances. I brought the High Priestess’s favor. What did Elena bring you? Nothing but shame and a weak bloodline."

The mention of Elena’s "weakness" hit me like a physical blow. I remembered the way she had looked on the dais…so small, so fragile, her brown eyes wide with a betrayal I had forced myself to ignore for the sake of the pack. I had told myself it was duty. I had told myself a Null couldn't lead.

But every day since, the "High Priestess’s favor" had felt more like a curse.

"I am being a King, Selene," I said, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in my chest. "That’s why I’m leaving for Oakhaven within the hour.

Silas is dying. That 'shadow-rot' curse from the southern border has hit his core, and your priests can do nothing but offer prayers that aren't being answered."

Selene flinched. Silas was my Beta, my best friend, and the only person in this house who still looked at me with something other than fear or calculation. Seeing him wither away was the final straw.

"The Shadow Healer is a rogue, Cassian," Selene warned, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. "She is a Siphon. They are abominations. You would bring a monster into our home? To the heart of the Silver Moon?"

"If the Shadow Healer is our only hope, I will bring her here by the throat if I have to," I said, walking past her without a second glance.

I grabbed my heavy leather traveling coat from the bed, the weight of it settling over my shoulders like a leaden cloak. I didn't tell Selene the whole truth. I couldn't. I didn't tell her that I wasn't just going for Silas.

I was going because lately, the "Fading" of the pack felt tied to the fading of my own sanity. Every time I closed my eyes, the mist of the Dead Marshes rose up to meet me. I saw a girl in a shredded silk dress, the dress I had bought her for our mating ceremony, disappearing into the fog. I saw the blood on the rocks by the river.

And last night, for the first time in five years, Fenris hadn't just whined. He had spoken.

“She is not gone,” the wolf had whispered. “The wind from the south... it smells of wildflowers and rain.”

It was impossible. I had seen the scouts' reports. I had seen the amount of blood lost on those jagged stones. No one survived the White River in the spring. Especially not a Null.

But as I descended the grand staircase, ignoring the whispers of the servants and the frantic calls of the elders in the war room, I felt a spark of something I hadn't felt in half a decade.

It wasn't hope. Hope was for men who hadn't committed the sins I had. It was a dark, desperate hunger. I was an Alpha who had lost his moon, and I was going to find out if the universe was cruel enough to give me a second chance or if it was simply leading me to my final execution.

"Ready the horses!" I shouted as I reached the foyer. "We ride for Oakhaven. Now!"

I didn't look back at the Pack House. I didn't look at Selene watching from the balcony. I only looked toward the south, where the air felt just a little bit colder, and the shadows felt just a little bit deeper.

I was going to find this Siphon. And if she had the face of a ghost, I didn't know if I would fall to my knees or burn the world down for what I'd done.