In Love With The Scared Alpha

No Protection

While Lyra spent most of the 72-hour ultimatum given to her in her basement bedroom, consumed by despair and anguish, her aunt Rosa busied herself finding a new way to dispose of her inconvenient niece. The damp, cramped room had become Lyra's prison since her return in disgrace from the Alpha's manor—a stark contrast to the luxurious quarters she'd briefly occupied as Bruno's intended mate.

Rosa descended the creaking wooden steps with deliberate slowness, savouring the moment. Her shadow fell across Lyra's huddled form on the thin mattress in the corner.

"Did you really think the Alpha's son would choose you after what your parents did?" she sneered, her voice dripping with venom and satisfaction. "A daughter of traitors, elevated to Luna? The entire pack was laughing at the very thought."

Lyra looked up, her once-bright eyes now bloodshot and hollow—devoid of the spark that had animated them just days ago. "I had no hand in their schemes. Why am I being punished for their sins?"

Rosa clicked her tongue against her teeth, arms folded across her chest as she regarded her niece with undisguised contempt. "Oh, you poor orphan. Don't you know that you are one unlucky fool? Good things can never come to someone with tainted blood. I'm just glad Bruno realized your true colours before it was too late."

"No." Lyra's voice strengthened momentarily, anger providing a brief respite from her sorrow as she glared at her uncle's wife. "You're just happy that Freya got what she wanted. You all hate me for no good reason."

"No good reason, you say?" Rosa's laughter was sharp enough to cut. She moved closer, looming over Lyra. "We hate you for simply existing. You're a waste of space, useless, worthless, and absolutely stupid. Every breath you take is a reminder of your parents' betrayal."

Each word struck Lyra like a physical blow, crumbling what little remained of her dignity and self-worth. She curled further into herself, fresh tears streaming down her already raw cheeks. "Why me?" she sobbed, the question directed more to the universe than to her aunt.

"Well, I'm not here to throw you a pity party," Rosa replied sharply. Her lips curved into a calculating smile that sent chills down Lyra's spine. "I've brought you a solution to your banishment problem."

Lyra eyed the older woman warily; experience having taught her that Rosa's "solutions" only ever benefited Rosa. "What might that be?"

"An invitation to Alpha King Rockan's mate selection ceremony." Rosa announced with a theatrical flourish, flinging an ornate envelope that struck Lyra's face before falling to the floor. The golden wax seal gleamed mockingly in the dim light.

Lyra's blood ran cold as she stared at the invitation. The name Rockan was whispered throughout all werewolf territories with fear and reverence. "You mean Alpha Rockan, the feared monster? The King of all Alphas?" Tales of his brutality, his ruthlessness, his collection of wives who mysteriously disappeared—all rushed through her mind.

"Yes, my dear." Rosa reached out to straighten Lyra's tangled hair with false tenderness, her nails deliberately scraping Lyra's scalp. "Every unmated female wolf between eighteen and twenty-five has been summoned. It's quite the honour, really."

"No." Lyra shook her head vehemently, shrinking away from her aunt's touch as another wave of helplessness crashed over her. "I will not go. I cannot."

Rosa's feigned affection vanished instantly. "Oh, you don't have a choice, darling. Your ultimatum is almost up. We can't have the Alpha's warriors disturb the peace of our home now, can we?" Her eyes narrowed. "Not when we've finally secured Freya's future as Bruno's mate."

The confirmation of what Lyra had suspected—that her cousin had somehow usurped her place at Bruno's side—twisted like a knife in her heart. But even that pain paled compared to the horror of being sent to Rockan's domain.

"Auntie, please," Lyra scrambled to her knees, clasping her hands in desperate supplication. "Please don't send me to that monster. I might die there. The stories they tell—"

"Then that would be better for us all, wouldn't it?" Rosa's smirk was chilling in its sincerity. "Just die, Lyra. You have nothing to offer to those of us living fulfilled lives." She paused to throw a bundle of fabric at her niece's feet—an ugly, worn-out dress in an unflattering shade of muddy brown. "There. That's your dress for the ceremony. Now get out of my house."

Lyra stared at the garment in disbelief. "But how do I even get there? I might get lost in the forest. There are rogues and—"

"Oh, please." Rosa rolled her eyes dramatically. "You're a big girl. You'd sort yourself out. Consider it your first test for the King's selection." Her lips curved into a cruel smile. "If you can't even make it to his territory, then you're certainly not worthy of being selected."

"Auntie, please, I beg you," Lyra's tears began afresh, her voice breaking. "Don't do this."

But Rosa had had enough. With a sharp whistle, she summoned her daughter Freya, who appeared at the top of the stairs, smirking down at her cousin. Together, they descended upon Lyra like predators, grabbing her by the hair and arms, dragging her unceremoniously up the stairs and through the house. Lyra's pleas and cries fell on deaf ears as they pulled her across the floor like refuse, her body colliding painfully with furniture corners and doorframes.

With a final heave, they threw her out onto the cold ground outside, the invitation and dress landing beside her in the dirt. The door slammed shut with finality, locks clicking into place.

Alone in the growing darkness, Lyra curled into herself on the hard earth, weeping until her body had no more tears to give. The wind cut through her thin clothes, and distant howls of hunting wolves reminded her of her vulnerable position.

After what felt like hours, she slowly gathered the tattered remnants of her dignity along with the crumpled invitation and soiled dress. Rising on unsteady legs, she looked back once at the house that had never been a home, then turned her face toward the distant mountains that marked the boundary of Rockan's vast territory.

With few possessions, no protection, and no hope, Lyra began the long journey through the forest, each step heavy with dread. The path ahead was fraught with dangers—rogue wolves, and the elements themselves—but the true horror awaited at its end: the palace of Alpha King Rockan, where unmated females entered, but rarely left.