The Alpha's Cruel Obsession

Chapter 5

The grand throne room of the Obsidian Citadel was a massive, intimidating cavern of dark stone, flanked by towering pillars and lit by giant iron braziers that threw dancing shadows across the walls. Dozens of elite Lycan warriors stood in formation along the walls, their heavy armor clinking, their dark eyes fixed on the center of the hall.

Eva stood at the top of the marble dais, draped in a breathtaking gown of deep crimson velvet that Alistair’s servants had hurriedly prepared for her. The rich fabric hugged her new, radiant curves perfectly, the deep neckline showcasing the glowing Imperial Crest for anyone who dared to look. Beside her sat Alistair on his massive obsidian throne, his posture relaxed but his entire frame vibrating with a lethal, coiled tension.

At the far end of the hall, the massive iron gates swung open with a heavy groan.

Four Bloodmoon warriors marched into the throne room, led by Beta Jackson, Alpha Logan’s right-hand man and the very person who had laughed when Eva was dragged through the pack courtyard. They walked with an arrogant, entitled stride, holding heavy silver-lined cuffs and leading two large, snarling tracking hounds on chains. They honestly believed that because they were handling a runaway omega, the Lycan King would simply hand her over to maintain territorial peace.

But the moment Jackson’s eyes traveled past the lines of elite guards and landed on the dais, his footsteps faltered.

Eva was not chained. She was not weeping. She stood tall, her silver-white hair glowing under the firelight, her posture commanding and regal.

Jackson recovered his composure quickly, tightening his grip on the tracking hounds' chains as he stopped at the base of the dais. He didn't bow to Alistair; instead, he raised an arrogant, accusatory finger directly at Eva.

"King Alistair!" Jackson called out, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "We have come to reclaim property of the Bloodmoon Pack. That girl standing beside your throne is Evangeline Rosewood, a convicted thief and a banished omega who stole sacred relics from Alpha Logan’s vault. We demand you hand her over immediately so she can face her rightful execution under Bloodmoon law."

The moment the word execution left Jackson's mouth, the tracking hounds let out a vicious snarl, snapping their jaws toward the dais.

Alistair didn't rise from his throne. He didn't yell. He simply leaned his head against his hand, his crimson eyes narrowing into slits.

"Property?" Alistair repeated, the word coming out as a soft, dangerous purr.

Suddenly, without a single warning, Alistair unleashed a tiny fraction of his four-hundred-year-old Lycan aura.

The physical weight of his power hit the room like a localized gravitational collapse. The air became so thick and heavy that it felt like breathing liquid lead. The two large tracking hounds instantly cut off their snarls, letting out pathetic, terrified yelps as they collapsed onto their bellies, their bowls loosening in sheer terror as they tried to claw their way backward into the stone.

Jackson and his three warriors didn't fare any better. The immense, crushing pressure slammed into their shoulders like a falling mountain. Eva watched in grim satisfaction as Jackson's knees buckled, hitting the hard marble floor with a sickening crack that echoed through the silent hall. The other three warriors fell flat on their faces, gasping for oxygen, their bodies trembling violently under the absolute dominance of the Lycan King.

"You enter my home," Alistair spoke, his voice dangerously quiet as he slowly stood up from his throne. Every step he took down the marble dais felt like a death knell. "You bring weapons into my presence. You allow your beasts to snap at my air. And you dare to refer to my mate as property?"

Jackson, fighting against the crushing pressure that was trying to flatten his skull against the floor, forced his head up, his eyes wide with absolute panic. "M-Mate...? No, that's impossible! She’s an omega! Alpha Logan rejected her himself! She's a broken—"

Alistair closed the distance in a fraction of a second. Before Jackson could even blink, Alistair's large hand shot forward, wrapping around the Beta's throat. With a terrifying display of raw, effortless strength, the Lycan King lifted the fully grown, muscular werewolf warrior entirely off the ground with one hand.

Jackson’s legs thrashed in the air, his fingers clawing desperately at Alistair’s iron grip, but the King didn't budge. Alistair forcefully turned Jackson’s head, tilting it so the choking Beta was forced to look directly at Eva's collarbone.

"Look closely, you pathetic dog," Alistair growled, his voice vibrating with a primal fury that shook the dust from the ceiling. "Look at the mark on her skin. Tell me what you see."

Jackson’s eyes bulged as he stared at the glowing golden crest of the double-headed wolf and crown. The realization hit him like a physical blow, his face turning a pale shade of gray. "The... The Imperial Crest... The Imperial Bond..."

"She is no longer a wolf of the Bloodmoon Pack," Alistair sneered, his grip tightening until Jackson's vision began to blur. "She belongs to the Lycan Throne. She belongs to me. If Logan Thorne wants his 'property' back, you tell him to gather every single warrior he has. Tell him to march his pathetic army to my gates. I will personally tear his spine from his body and use his skull as a footstool."

With a grunt of absolute disgust, Alistair hurled Jackson across the throne room. The Beta’s body slammed into the heavy iron entrance gates, rolling into a broken, groaning heap alongside his terrified warriors.

"Get out of my sight," Alistair commanded, turning his back on them. "Before I change my mind and feed your hearts to my hounds."

Jackson and his men didn't need to be told twice. Scrambling to their feet, dragging their terrified dogs behind them, they sprinted out of the grand gates as if the devil himself were chasing them.

As the doors slammed shut, a sudden, sharp spike of phantom pain shot directly through Eva’s chest. It wasn't her own pain; it was a distant, hollow ache vibrating through the residual spiritual landscape of the realm.

Inside her mind, her silver wolf perked its ears up, letting out a dark, knowing growl. Logan feels it, her wolf whispered. The rejection of the sacred bloodline... the Bloodmoon pack link is beginning to rot.