The Alpha king's worthless mate

The forest burned. Crimson flames licked the sky as ash rained like snow. Wolves screamed in the distance—some in agony, others in fury. Blood soaked the earth. Dominic Dreadmour, Alpha King of all wolfkind, stood in the middle of it all like a god of war. His black armor gleamed in the firelight, silver eyes unreadable, lips curled in disgust as he surveyed the c*****e. Another rogue den. Another slaughter. And still, the hunger for retribution in his chest hadn’t been sated. “These are the last of them,” said Cazriel, his Beta, stepping over a corpse. “The rogues were breeding faster than packs could handle. This should slow them down.” Dominic’s jaw clenched. “It won’t. They’re like vermin. Cut off one nest, two more crawl out.” His boots crunched over bones. A snarl curled in his throat. Rogues had raided three packs in the last moon cycle. Ripped children from cribs. Left villages dripping red. The Council begged Dominic to intervene—so he did. With fire and steel. But this time, something felt… off. He lifted his nose to the wind. Blood. Ash. Fear. And something else. Fated scent. His body went still. Cazriel noticed immediately. “What is it?” Dominic didn’t answer. He was already moving. Through the smoke. Past the bodies. Into the trees. She was close. Hidden. Alone. Her scent was faint, like crushed wildflowers under blood and dirt. But the bond clawed at his chest—guttural and furious—pulling him forward. Then he saw her. A girl. No older than eighteen. Curled behind a fallen tree, skin streaked with mud and soot, lips trembling. Her eyes met his. And everything inside him broke. The bond hit like a blade to the spine. His vision swam. His wolf snarled. No. Not her. Not this trembling, broken thing. She looked half-dead. Her clothes were rags. Her wrists bruised. And yet… she stared at him like she recognized something she’d never known. Safety. She was wrong. He stepped closer, silver eyes burning. “You,” he growled. “Are you part of this den?” She blinked. “I—I don’t know them. I’ve been hiding here.” “Liar.” “I swear!” Her voice cracked. “I’ve never belonged to any pack. I just survive.” Dominic’s lip curled. “A lone rogue. Even worse.” “I’m not like them!” she cried, stumbling to her feet. “I don’t kill! I don’t steal! I’m just trying to live!” He stalked toward her, ignoring Cazriel’s warning glance. The girl was trembling now, backing up slowly. “Please don’t kill me…” Then it hit her too. The bond. She gasped, staggering, her hands flying to her chest. “You—” Her breath hitched. “You’re…” His hand wrapped around her throat before she could speak the word. “Don’t,” he snarled. Her lips trembled. “Mate…” His wolf howled inside him. Dominic’s vision blurred. The Moon Goddess had mocked him. After all these years of resisting, rejecting, killing off marriage offers—this was what she gave him? A rogue? A worthless mutt without a wolf? He slammed her into the tree. She screamed. “I should rip you apart,” he hissed into her face. “No name. No family. No pack. You’re filth. A disease.” “I didn’t choose this—!” “And yet you breathe,” he growled. She was nothing. A ghost of a girl, all bones and scars. And still, the bond screamed to protect her. To touch her. To mark her. His hand trembled. So he did the only thing he could. He silenced it. With violence. He struck her. Hard. She hit the ground, blood smearing her cheek. Cazriel stepped forward. “Dom—” “Chain her,” Dominic snapped. “And gag her.” “But she’s—” “I know what she is,” he hissed. “And I’ll see the Moon burn before I let that thing become Queen.” Thalia didn’t fight when the chains locked around her wrists. She couldn’t. Her limbs refused to move. Her wolf—faint and silent—didn’t speak. She hadn’t shifted in her entire life, not once. She didn’t even know what her wolf looked like. Maybe she wasn’t even a real shifter. Maybe she was broken from birth. She’d never known family. Woke up in a thicket at six years old with no memories. No name. No one. She’d learned to survive in the shadows, eating scraps, hiding from violent rogues who smelled her weakness. She made it to eighteen on instinct alone. But the moment she met her mate— She lost everything. Thrown into a cold SUV. Chained like a criminal. Stolen by the King of Death himself. Dominic didn’t speak a word the entire ride back. But Thalia could feel it. The hatred. The rejection. The war he was waging inside. The fortress was darker than any nightmare. Thick iron gates. Towering walls. Wolves who didn’t smile. And a throne carved from the bones of enemies. She was dragged down stone steps into the dungeon. Thrown into a cell. And left. She lay there. Bleeding. Alone. Chained to the floor like an animal. The bond pulsed faintly in her chest. Still alive. Still cruel. And she understood, then—fully, painfully—that the Moon Goddess didn’t give her a mate to love her. She gave her a monster to survive. But monsters don’t offer survival—they demand surrender. Thalia curled deeper into herself on the icy dungeon floor. Her wrists throbbed from the chains, skin scraped raw where the iron bit too tight. Her throat burned from where he’d grabbed her. But none of it hurt as much as the bond. It pulsed softly in her chest, like a brand. Silent. Unrelenting. Mocking. She had always dreamed—quietly, foolishly—that her mate would be her salvation. A protector. A light. Instead, she got Dominic Dreadmour. The Wolf King. The Butcher. And he hated her. A door creaked open. She flinched before she even heard footsteps. But it wasn’t him. A low-ranking guard stepped in, avoiding her eyes. He shoved a small bowl of water across the floor and said nothing. Then left. She stared at the bowl. Didn’t move. Didn’t drink. The bond tugged again—soft, slow. As if testing her resolve. As if daring her to hope. But Thalia didn’t have hope left. She had silence. And silence was safer. She must’ve dozed—time bent strangely in the dark. Until another sound. Boots. Heavier. Measured. Inevitable. She didn’t lift her head. She didn’t have to. The cold in the air shifted. Dominic. His presence always arrived like a thunderstorm. He stepped into the cell, shadows clinging to his cloak, silver eyes unreadable. He stared at her for a long time. Didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched. Then— His voice cut like a sword. “Still breathing.” No malice. No concern. Just an observation. She stayed silent. He stepped closer. Kneeling down beside her, he reached out. She flinched—but didn’t pull away. His fingers tilted her chin up. Her lips were cracked. Her skin bruised. But her eyes… still defiant. Even now. Dominic’s expression didn’t change. But something flickered in his gaze. “Say it again,” he said coldly. “Say that word.” She blinked. Her mouth trembled. “…mate,” she whispered. A flash. His hand struck like lightning—cracked across her cheek. Stars danced in her vision. Her body slumped sideways. But she didn’t cry. Didn’t beg. Didn’t speak again. Dominic stood. Fury darkened his features—but not the loud, explosive kind. This fury was quiet. Controlled. The kind that fed on itself like fire in a sealed room. “I’ll never accept this bond,” he said quietly. “You can rot in this dungeon for a hundred years and it wouldn’t make a difference.” He turned to leave. Stopped in the doorway. “Tomorrow,” he added without turning back, “we begin your training.” Then he vanished into the dark. The heavy door slammed shut behind him. And Thalia… Lay there. Bleeding. Breathing. Waiting. Because tomorrow—whatever that meant—might be worse than death. Thalia didn’t sleep. Not really. Her eyes closed, but her mind stayed trapped—looping through memories she didn’t even remember making. A flash of a tree. A scream in the dark. Blood on her fingers. Where had she come from? What had she been before this? The chain at her wrist scraped as she moved slightly, trying to ease the ache in her shoulder. Cold crept deeper into her bones. She curled tighter. There was no light in the dungeon. Only the quiet sound of water dripping, again and again, like a clock counting down. To what? She didn’t know. Her body shivered violently. Her lips were too numb to form words. Suddenly—footsteps again. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate. Her heart seized. Not again. The door didn’t creak this time—it opened without sound. She tried to sit up, but her arms wouldn’t support her. She remained slumped on the floor as the air shifted, pressing colder against her skin. He was back. Dominic Dreadmour’s shadow filled the cell before his voice did. He said nothing. Just walked in. Silent. Watching. She didn’t dare meet his eyes. She heard the soft rustle of fabric. The clink of metal. Then a key turned in the shackle. Her wrist dropped—free. She stared at it in disbelief. Another click. The second shackle. Her other arm fell limp beside her. Dominic stepped back. “Stand.” Her fingers twitched. She couldn’t. He didn’t care. He reached down, grabbing her by the arm, hauling her to her feet. Thalia cried out, her legs buckling beneath her. Her knees hit the floor with a sharp crack. “Get up,” he growled again. Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them away. He grabbed her again. Harder. Dragged her out of the cell. Stone walls blurred past her. Cold torches flickered as they walked. Her bare feet slipped against the ground, scraped on rough stone. She didn’t ask where they were going. She didn’t need to. Wherever it was—it wouldn’t be good. They reached a door. Different from the others. Carved with strange markings. Thick and ancient. It pulsed with something she didn’t understand. Dominic paused. Then looked down at her with a flat, unreadable gaze. “If you run,” he said, “I’ll rip your legs off and leave you crawling.” He opened the door. She blinked. Inside was… not what she expected. It was a chamber. Circular. Lit with dull violet fire. And in the center— A tall, black stone chair. A throne? No. Not that. An altar. Chains hung from the ceiling. Old stains marked the floor. The air smelled of metal… and magic. Thalia’s stomach turned. She tried to step back. Dominic shoved her forward. Her feet slid against the floor. Her heart pounded wildly. “What… what is this?” she whispered. His voice was calm. Deadly calm. “Lesson one.” She stumbled, trying to turn. “I—I didn’t do anything wrong!” He didn’t answer. He took off his cloak. Tossed it aside. Then rolled up his sleeves. Thalia backed up until her spine hit the wall. “You said you wouldn’t kill me…” He stepped closer. “I said I wouldn’t accept you.” Chains clinked above. Something old and cold brushed against her soul. She shook her head. “Please…” Dominic leaned in, silver eyes glowing faintly in the violet light. “I’m not going to kill you, Omega.” He caught her chin between his fingers, tilting her face up. “I’m going to break you.” Then the door slammed shut behind them— And the first chain fell.