KING ALCHIE MONISTER

​“We were lovers in the moonlight… burning quiet where the daylight can’t find us…” ​The first note left Alchie’s throat like a confession. He stood motionless under the single spotlight, the crowd screaming his name like a prayer. Smoke curled around his boots in slow, deliberate circles. To the fans, Alchie Monister was a myth, a god in a gold-trimmed mask trapped inside a human body. ​But inside, his wolf was pacing. It had been restless for three years, ever since the night of the ritual. Ever since he felt his mate’s soul-bond go silent not broken like something buried alive. Until now. Backstage, Sophie knelt beside the south rig, her fingers moving fast over cables and panels. Her headset crackled with voices stacked on top of each other. “Sophie,” someone barked, tense. “We’re getting feedback near the south rig.” “I’m on it,” she replied without looking up. She shifted closer to the monitor, twisted a cable, and listened. The screech softened but didn’t stop. She frowned. “Seriously?” she muttered. She tugged the wire again. It sparked. Then the lights died. ​The lights didn't just fade, they died. The stadium was immediately swallowed by a darkness so thick it felt heavy. On stage, Alchie sang the next line, his voice rougher than before, dragged from somewhere deeper than his chest. The wolf inside him suddenly went quiet not alarmed, but straining like it was pressing against a wall it could not see through. ​ Then, the world went black. ​“Power’s out! Where’s the backup?” “Keep the star safe! Get him off the stage!” ​Voices exploded in Alchie’s earpiece as guards grabbed him and rushed him toward backstage, but he barely heard them. In the pitch black, his wolf senses took over. He could hear heartbeats fast, uneven and closest to the stage.. He could hear the rustle of clothes backstage. ​Backstage, Sophie fumbled through the dark. Her heart was hammering. She didn't care about the stage lights, she just needed her phone. She had left it in her staff locker, and in this total blackout, she felt blind and vulnerable. ​"Just a few more feet," she whispered to herself, her hand trailing along the cold metal of the lockers. ​She turned a corner, reaching out for the handle of her locker, when she slammed into something hard. It wasn't metal. It was a chest solid, warm, and unmoving. ​“Oh! Sorry,” she gasped, her hands instinctively landing on his arms to balance herself. ​The man didn't move. He didn’t even sway. To her, he felt like a mountain of stone and heat. ​Alchie froze. The moment she spoke, his entire world tilted. That voice. It was soft, breathless, and sounded exactly like a memory he had tried to bury. ​But the scent… He drew in a slow, careful breath.. She smelled like vanilla and rain. Purely human. There was no trace of the wolf scent his mate had carried. ​She’s human, he told himself, his heart racing. She can't be Ophelia. ​“Watch it,” Sophie said, her voice shaking slightly. She tried to push past him to get to her locker. “I just need my phone. This darkness is… it’s too much.” ​“Who are you?” Alchie asked. ​His voice was a low, rough growl that vibrated through the air. Sophie felt a spark of heat flare under her skin. Her body reacted to him before her mind could even process who he was. ​“I work here,” she snapped, trying to hide her fear with a professional tone. “And you’re standing in the way of my locker.” ​She reached out again, her fingers brushing against the bare skin of his wrist where his glove ended. ​Something slammed through Sophie’s head. Not light. Not sound. Pressure. Like her skull was being crushed from the inside. The moment their skin touched, a flood of jagged, blurry images slammed into both of them. ​Sophie saw flames licking at stone walls. She heard voices chanting in a language that made her skin crawl. She felt the metallic taste of blood in her mouth and the sensation of being held down while she screamed for mercy. ​Alchie saw the same thing the night of the ritual. The night he lost everything. But this time, the images weren't a memory. They were a shared lightning strike. Sophie gasped, tearing her hand away as if she’d been burned. Her knees buckled. She barely caught herself before crashing into the lockers. Her breath wouldn’t slow and her chest hurt.. “What… what was that?” she whispered. Her hands went to her head. Her vision swam. “I saw things. I saw fire. I saw..” Her voice broke. She looked toward the dark shape of the man. “What did you just do to me?” ​Alchie couldn't answer. His wolf was howling inside him, a sound of pure, agonizing recognition. The bond he thought was dead flared violently not through scent, not through instinct but through her skin against his. Like something sealed had just been forced open. ​“No,” he breathed. “It’s impossible.” ​“Stay away from me,” Sophie said, her voice trembling. She reached for the locker handle again, her hand shaking so hard she could barely grip it. Then, without warning, power surged through the corridor. ​The emergency lights overhead groaned and flickered to life, casting a harsh, buzzing glow over the narrow corridor. ​Sophie blinked, squinting against the sudden light. She looked up at the giant in front of her. He was dressed in black and gold, his famous mask glinting. But he wasn't looking at her like a stranger. He was staring at her like he’d seen a ghost. ​Alchie looked down at her. ​The hair was the same. The curve of her jaw was the same. Older. The terrified, old-soul eyes were exactly as he remembered. Even if her scent was human, her face was something he had memorized when it still hurt to breathe. ​The mask felt like it was suffocating him. His heart stopped as the name he hadn't spoken in three years fell from his lips, cracked and broken. ​“Ophelia…” The name broke in his mouth. “No.” Then, barely, “Ophelia.”