Chapter 16: The Alpha Who Refused the Moon
1354 Words
The night refused to let Eliakim rest.
Sleep came in fragments—broken images, half-formed dreams, and a constant, maddening pull in his chest that refused to loosen its grip. Every time he closed his eyes, the same presence pressed against his senses.
Her.
Hadassah.
The bond stirred like a living thing, restless and demanding, scraping against the walls he had built inside himself for years. Eliakim sat up abruptly, breath sharp, his hand already clenched over his heart.
Damn the moon.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet touching the cold stone floor. Alpha quarters were meant to be a place of control, of discipline. Tonight, it felt like a cage.
He had ruled this pack for more than a decade without weakness. He had enforced laws, crushed rebellions, and survived the abandonment of a mate without letting it break him in public.
Yet one rejected she-wolf had walked into his territory, and the ground beneath him was already shifting.
Eliakim stood and pulled on his trousers, movements precise, mechanical. If he stayed inside any longer, he might do something reckless—like seek her out.
Or worse, admit what the moon was screaming at him.
Outside, the pack slept uneasily.
Even the night guards sensed the tension, their postures straighter, their eyes sharper as Eliakim passed. They bowed instinctively, but curiosity flickered behind their respect.
Rumors moved faster than wolves.
The rejected Luna. The Alpha’s interest. The sister’s accusation.
Eliakim ignored it all and headed for the training grounds. The open space was empty now, silvered by moonlight, the air cool against his skin. He inhaled deeply, letting the familiar scents ground him.
Steel. Earth. Pine.
And beneath it all—
Her.
His jaw tightened.
She shouldn’t be this present. Not without claiming. Not without acceptance.
Yet the bond pulsed anyway, stubborn and alive, as if mocking his resistance.
“You don’t get to choose,” he muttered to the moon. “Not after what you took from me.”
The memory struck hard.
His former mate’s back as she walked away. Her silence. The years of restraint that followed.
Eliakim had sworn never to be at the mercy of fate again.
And yet—
His head snapped up.
Someone was there.
At the edge of the grounds, half-hidden by shadow, stood Hadassah.
She hadn’t announced herself. She hadn’t challenged him.
She simply watched.
Her cloak hung loosely around her shoulders, dark hair spilling free, her posture calm—but not submissive. Moonlight traced her features softly, catching in her eyes.
She met his gaze without flinching.
The bond surged violently.
Eliakim’s breath hitched before he could stop it.
“Alpha,” she said quietly, inclining her head just enough to acknowledge his authority—but not enough to bow.
It was a subtle thing.
A deliberate thing.
And it unsettled him more than defiance ever could.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he replied, keeping his voice even.
“I know.” She paused. “But neither should lies.”
Silence stretched between them.
The moon hung overhead, full and merciless.
Eliakim crossed his arms. “You heard.”
“I felt it,” Hadassah corrected. “The shift in the pack. Miriam didn’t waste time.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “She came to me.”
“And?” Hadassah asked. No accusation. Just quiet curiosity.
Eliakim studied her carefully. He searched for cracks—for desperation, manipulation, fear.
He found none.
“What do you want, Hadassah?” he asked at last.
Her gaze softened—but only slightly. “I want to know where I stand.”
The honesty of it struck him off guard.
“With you,” she added. “With this pack. With the moon that seems determined to bind us whether we agree or not.”
His wolf stirred, restless, approving.
Eliakim forced it down.
“Miriam says you came here for revenge,” he said bluntly. “That you intend to use me to hurt Abner.”
Hadassah didn’t react immediately.
Then she laughed—low, humorless.
“If I wanted to destroy Abner,” she said, “I wouldn’t need you.”
The confidence in her voice sent a sharp jolt through him.
She stepped closer, just enough that her scent wrapped around him fully now—wild, wounded, unbroken.
“I came here because I had nowhere else to go,” she continued. “And because the moon wouldn’t stop pulling me in this direction, no matter how much I fought it.”
Her eyes lifted to his. “I won’t pretend I don’t want justice. But I won’t lie and say I planned this bond.”
The air thickened.
Eliakim could feel it—the truth vibrating beneath her words, resonating painfully with his own instincts.
“And if I told you,” he said slowly, “that I don’t trust fate?”
A flicker of understanding crossed her face.
“Then we are more alike than I thought,” Hadassah replied.
The moonlight flared suddenly, brighter, sharper.
Both of them tensed.
The bond surged—harder than before.
Eliakim staggered back a step, teeth gritting as something ancient and powerful slammed into his chest.
His wolf roared.
Accept her.
“No,” he growled under his breath. “Not like this.”
Hadassah gasped, her hand flying to her heart as she felt it too—the push and pull, the painful insistence.
“You feel it,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he snapped. “And I refuse it.”
The words hung between them, heavy and final.
Hadassah’s expression tightened—not in anger, but something sharper.
Disappointment.
“I see,” she said quietly.
She straightened, pulling her cloak closer around herself. “Then I won’t force what you don’t want, Alpha.”
She turned to leave.
The bond screamed.
Eliakim moved without thinking.
“Wait.”
She stopped—but didn’t face him.
“I won’t claim you,” he said, voice rough. “Not yet.”
Her shoulders tensed.
“But I won’t let you be harmed here either,” he continued. “And I won’t allow lies to decide your fate.”
Slowly, she turned back.
“For how long?” she asked.
Eliakim held her gaze. “Until the truth surfaces.”
A pause.
Then Hadassah nodded once.
“Fair,” she said.
She walked past him, close enough that their arms nearly brushed. The contact never came—but the promise of it lingered, electric.
As she disappeared into the trees, Eliakim exhaled shakily.
His wolf snarled in frustration.
You are a fool.
“Perhaps,” Eliakim muttered.
But as the moon burned overhead, one truth settled deep in his bones—unavoidable and terrifying.
Rejecting the bond did not weaken it.
It only made it angrier.
And fate, he knew too well, always collected its debt.
The first howl shattered the silence.
It rose from the eastern ridge—long, mournful, and wrong.
Eliakim stiffened instantly, every muscle locking into alertness. His wolf surged forward, hackles raised, recognizing the sound for what it was.
A warning.
Then another howl answered it. And another.
Within seconds, the night filled with echoes rippling across the territory like cracks in glass.
Eliakim spun toward the watchtower, eyes blazing. Torches flared to life as guards scrambled, voices shouting in confusion.
“What now?” he muttered.
The moon pulsed overhead, unnaturally bright, as if reacting to his defiance.
Pain speared through his chest—sharp, punishing. Eliakim hissed, dropping to one knee as the bond flared violently, no longer patient, no longer restrained.
This was not longing.
This was retaliation.
Somewhere deeper in the forest, Hadassah cried out.
The sound sliced through him like a blade.
His head snapped up, breath ragged, heart hammering with a fear he refused to name.
The moon was no longer waiting.
It was demanding.
And if he continued to refuse what it had decreed, Eliakim knew—with brutal certainty—that the price would not be paid by him alone.
- Writer
