Alphas Prisoner Bride

Whispered

Elara uses her illusions to slip past guards, desperate to escape. Thorne corners her, pleading for her to stay, while Kai accuses him of betrayal. Lucian reveals their mother’s curse, tying Elara’s fate to the pack’s survival. She flees, only to be shot by her father’s assassin and caught by a mysterious fourth brother. Who is this brother, and why does he call her “mate”?

The fortress at Wolfsbane Keep had a heartbeat of its own. At night, when the howls outside faded into distant echoes and the fires in the great hall dimmed to embers, the stone walls exhaled silence—a silence so heavy it felt alive. Elara lay awake in her cell, her wrists still chafed from the silver chains, her thoughts circling like vultures over everything she had learned since her capture. Thorne’s claim. Kai’s fury. Her own powers flickering like candlelight in a storm.

Sleep never came. Not when the moonlight filtered through the high, barred window like a blade. Not when the scent of wolves earth, pine, and smoke clung to the air. She sat up, pulling her thin blanket tighter, and noticed something strange: the iron door was ajar.

A sliver. Just enough.

Her pulse quickened. She hadn’t heard footsteps or keys. Someone had opened it without a sound.

Elara rose cautiously, bare feet padding against the cold stone floor. She pressed against the door. It moved soundlessly, swinging wide to reveal the dimly lit corridor. No guards. No Kai lurking in the shadows. Just a faint, warm glow at the far end, seeping from beneath a set of heavy wooden doors.

She should have turned back. It could be a trap. But the fortress had been designed to suffocate her, her father’s world had done the same. She refused to let both cages define her. So, with her heart hammering, Elara slipped out.

The corridor twisted through narrow passageways until she reached the doors. She pushed one open just enough to peer inside.

Rows upon rows of shelves rose like towering sentinels. Candle sconces bathed the room in golden light. Ancient tomes, scrolls, and relics filled the air with the scent of ink and dust. At the center sat Lucian Blackwood, a book spread before him, his dark hair falling over his forehead as he scribbled into a journal. A pair of thin spectacles perched on his nose an odd, almost human softness compared to his brothers’ feral intensity.

He looked up before she could retreat. “You’re not as stealthy as you think,” he murmured.

Elara froze, caught. But his tone wasn’t threatening. If anything, it was wry, amused.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said, her voice low. “The door was… open.”

“Of course it was.” Lucian closed the book slowly. “I left it that way.”

She frowned. “Why?”

He gestured to the shelves around them. “Because knowledge belongs to those brave enough to walk through the door.”

It wasn’t the answer she expected. Thorne barked orders. Kai snarled threats. Lucian offered riddles wrapped in silk. Against her better judgment, she stepped inside.

The door shut behind her with a soft click.

Lucian studied her not with the hunger she saw in Thorne’s eyes, nor the volatile pull of Kai but with a quiet intensity that made her skin prickle. “You’re awake late,” he said. “Most prisoners don’t wander at night.”

“Most prisoners don’t have their cell doors unlocked,” she countered.

“Touché.” A small smile ghosted across his lips. “Perhaps you’re not a prisoner, then.”

She crossed her arms. “You have a strange sense of hospitality.”

“And you have a sharp tongue.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands. “It’s… refreshing.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The library hummed with a low magic, as if the very walls remembered every word ever spoken within. Elara’s eyes roamed the shelves. The tomes weren’t just historical they pulsed faintly, runes etched on their spines. Werewolf lore. Bloodline records. Prophecies.

One book caught her eye. Its cover bore the sigil of a crescent moon bound in chains the same symbol she’d glimpsed on the fortress gates. She reached for it, but Lucian rose, moving with a fluid grace that belied his slender frame. He was beside her in a heartbeat, fingers brushing hers as he gently took the book down himself.

“Careful,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “Some knowledge doesn’t like to be touched.”

Her throat tightened at his nearness. Slow burn or not, there was something disarming about Lucian the way he hovered like a shadow, never quite invading, yet always close enough to unsettle her.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A prophecy,” he replied. “Older than the packs themselves. It speaks of the Prisoner Bride—a woman bound by blood and moonlight who will either unify the clans or plunge them into ruin.” He opened the book. The ink shimmered faintly, alive. “Sound familiar?”

Elara stiffened. “You think it’s me.”

Lucian’s gaze lifted to hers. “I don’t think, Elara. I know.”

Her name on his tongue was soft, almost reverent. “And what if I refuse to play along with your little prophecy?” she challenged.

He tilted his head, studying her like one might study a dangerous but fascinating specimen. “Prophecies don’t care whether you play. They simply unfold.”

She stepped back. “I’m not your bride. I’m not anyone’s.”

“Good,” Lucian said calmly, closing the book. “Then perhaps you’ll rewrite the ending.”

Elara blinked. She hadn’t expected that. No threats, no growls. Just a quiet invitation wrapped in enigma. He turned, moving toward a nearby table cluttered with scrolls. She followed, curiosity winning over caution.

“What are you working on?” she asked.

“Translations. Old moonweaver scripts.” He gestured to a parchment covered in looping, luminous text. “Your lineage is... unusual.”

Her pulse skipped. “You know about my powers?”

“I know them,” he corrected. “But I suspect you know less than I do.”

Her jaw tightened. “Because I grew up human.”

“Because someone made sure you did,” Lucian countered softly. “Someone hid what you are. And poorly, at that.”

She stared at the parchment. The symbols seemed to shift as she looked at them, like silver threads weaving patterns beneath her gaze. Without thinking, she reached out. The letters glowed brighter at her touch.

Lucian inhaled sharply. “Fascinating…”

She snatched her hand back. “What was that?”

“You responded to the script. Only a moonweaver could do that.”

The word hung in the air. Moonweaver. The name of a power she barely understood. A birthright she hadn’t asked for.

Lucian stepped closer, not menacing, but drawn. “You’re more important than you realize,” he said, his voice low. “Not because of who your father is. But because of who your mother was.”

Elara’s heart lurched. “My mother died when I was little.”

“Did she?” His gaze was sharp now, cutting through her like a blade. “Or was that what you were told?”

For the first time, Elara faltered. Memories she had buried long ago bubbled to the surface: a lullaby hummed under moonlight, a soft hand guiding hers, whispers of wolves in the dark. And then fire. Screams. A man’s voice dragging her away.

Lucian’s expression softened when he saw her face. “You don’t have to answer. Not yet.”

He turned away, giving her space a small but deliberate kindness. “The truth hides in these walls, Elara. I’ll help you find it. But you’ll have to decide whether you want to know everything.”

She swallowed hard. “Why are you helping me?”

He didn’t look at her when he answered. “Because knowledge is power. And power, shared wisely, can change everything.”

Before she could respond, the library doors burst open. Kai stormed in, eyes blazing, sword at his hip. “She’s gone Elara” He stopped short, his gaze snapping to her. Relief flared, followed swiftly by anger. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Elara straightened. “Learning. Something you should try.”

Kai’s nostrils flared. “Thorne’s going to skin me alive if he finds out.”

“He won’t,” Lucian interrupted smoothly, closing the prophetic tome. “Because you’ll say nothing.”

Kai glared. “You think you can order me?”

“No,” Lucian said, his voice soft but dangerous. “But you know, I’m the only one who understands the wards that keep this place safe. Do you really want to test how fragile those chains are?”

For a moment, tension crackled like lightning between the brothers. Then Kai growled and turned on his heel. “She’s your problem tonight, scholar. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

The doors slammed behind him.

Elara exhaled shakily. “He’s charming.”

Lucian’s lips quirked. “In his own… volatile way.”

She glanced at the locked door, then at Lucian. “Am I a prisoner again?”

His answer was quiet, almost intimate. “Only if you choose to be.”

Something in his gaze held her there, a question unspoken, a promise half-formed. In the stillness of the library, surrounded by secrets older than either of them, Elara realized she had found the first person in Wolfsbane Keep who wasn’t trying to chain her… but to understand her.