The Alpha's Secret

Chapter Three

Asha’s fingers tightened around the goblet, her instincts screaming even before the scent hit her nose. Bitterroot. Subtle, masked under the rich fragrance of spiced wine, but unmistakable to a witch’s senses.

Her eyes flicked up. Across the hall, one of the warriors smirked, his gaze darting toward Julian’s mother, seated elegantly beside her son.

Asha lowered the goblet. Poison. Deliberate.

Julian noticed the pause. “Drink,” he said, his voice carrying to the watching pack. It wasn’t a request; it was a command.

Asha met his gaze, steady. “Would you?” she asked softly, holding the goblet out toward him.

The room stilled. The warriors leaned forward, eyes bright with cruel anticipation. His mother’s painted smile faltered, the faintest tightening around her mouth.

Julian’s jaw flexed. He took the goblet, sniffed it, and froze just long enough for only Asha to catch it. Then, with calculated calm, he set it down on the long table.

“No wolf of mine will serve poison in my hall,” he said, his tone lethal.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

His mother’s hand fluttered to her throat. “Surely, my son, you don’t mean to suggest”

“I mean exactly what I said,” Julian cut in, his eyes sweeping the warriors. “Someone thinks they can shame me by making my mate fall dead at my own table.”

“She’s not your mate yet,” a voice called from the benches. A burly wolf with scars across his face rose to his feet. “We don’t want her. She’ll curse us all!”

The hall erupted in shouts; some jeering, some muttering agreement, others demanding silence.

Asha felt the old fear clawing at her chest, the weight of every village that had cast her out. But she forced herself to lift her chin. If she faltered now, they’d never see her as anything but prey.

Julian slammed his hand on the table, the sound cracking like thunder. The hall quieted.

“You will not question me in my own house,” he growled. His gaze swung to Asha. “Speak. Tell them what you sensed.”

Asha’s lips parted. He was giving her the floor no, testing her.

“It was bitterroot,” she said clearly, letting her voice carry. “A slow poison. Enough to sicken, enough to kill. Whoever brewed it knows herbs well… but not better than me.”

Gasps and snarls broke out.

Julian’s mother leaned forward, her smile brittle. “How convenient, that *you* are the only one who claims to recognize it. How do we know this isn’t a little trick of yours, witch? A way to frighten us into obedience?”

Asha met her eyes, unflinching. “Because if I wanted to kill your son, Lady Vale, I wouldn’t need bitterroot.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut flesh. Then, unexpectedly, a few chuckles rose from the younger wolves. Respect, or at least intrigue.

Julian’s mouth twitched, you could almost see a smile, which was quickly suppressed. “She speaks truth. If she wanted me dead, none of you would stop her.” His gaze swept the hall. “But she stands here, under my protection. That makes her your Luna-to-be. Remember it.”

The declaration hit like a hammer. Asha felt her knees weaken, not from fear but from the finality in his tone. He’d claimed her before them all. Whether he meant it or not, she was bound to him now.

The scarred warrior snarled. “She’ll never be my Luna.”

Before Julian could reply, the heavy doors at the end of the hall burst open. A messenger stumbled inside, his clothes torn, his face bloodied.

“Alpha!” he gasped, falling to one knee. “The Blackfang pack… they’ve crossed the river. Their scouts are already in the valley.”

The hall exploded into chaos. Growls, shouts, the scrape of benches as wolves surged to their feet.

Julian’s eyes blazed. “How many?”

“Dozens,” the messenger croaked. “And… they brought something else. Something unnatural.”

Asha’s skin prickled, the fine hairs on her arms rising. She could feel it a ripple of dark magic in the distance, like claws dragging across her mind.

Julian turned to his pack. “Prepare the defenses. No one leaves their post until I say.” His gaze found Asha. “You. With me.”

His mother rose gracefully, her voice cutting through the clamor. “Son, surely this is no time to rely on a witch’s counsel. The council will hear of it if you”

Julian’s glare silenced her. “The council can choke on their own politics. If Blackfang has turned to dark magic, then we’ll fight it with our own.”

Asha swallowed, pulse hammering. She’d wanted a chance to prove herself and now it was here, sharp and merciless.

Julian strode from the hall, his cloak snapping behind him. Asha followed, every eye burning into her back, half with hatred, half with expectation.

As the doors closed on the rising storm of voices, Julian slowed, speaking just loud enough for her to hear.

“Bitterroot and curses in the same night,” he muttered. “Tell me, witch did I just bind my pack to salvation, or to ruin?”

Asha met his gaze, her voice low but steady. “That depends, Alpha… on whether you trust me.”

He didn’t answer. But the flicker in his eyes told her the war ahead would test more than just their survival.