The Key to the Alpha's heart

Smiling, she raised her eyebrow cunningly as she looked down at her shoe, specifically at the head of the MAN lying BENEATH her. It was as if he were a discarded trash bag; anyone seeing her would find it impossible to believe that she had done everything for this man. She had ABANDONED everything just to live a warm and beautiful life with him. That's how simple it was; she once crowned him, and now she wiped his face forcefully with the sole of her shoe. She pressed harder, hearing his voice pleading from his throat, resembling the sound of knives tearing through pain, begging her to forgive his BETRAYAL. Reminding her that he was THE LOVE OF HER LIFE, the man for whom she had forsaken leadership of her tribe to live a simple life with him, a life based on love. Love that he threw behind his back, SELLING her to her father's enemies, weaving a tapestry of his atrocious betrayals adorned with his greed and avarice that blinded his eyes. She showed no mercy, and her cold expression, as she did so, was the best evidence. With all the world's indifference, she slowly drew her weapon from her waist, her eyes fixed on the broken heart beneath her, defeated. Weak, helpless, just as he had ONCE made her. This made her teeth collide until the pulsating sweat appeared on her forehead, and her eyes turned infernally angry as she returned to her true nature. The MONSTER she used to be, not the delicate woman running after false feelings like love. She pointed her weapon at his skull, and the sound of his scream escalated until it became a series of torn and fragmented cries, indicating the heat of his damned soul. Love is a sin unless built on honesty. Love is oppression and pain if not mutual. A fu.cking curse and a pearl shining in a dirty swamp. That's what love becomes when wrapped in betrayal and infidelity. A lesson she learned in this part of her story, one she wouldn't forget in the second part. Seconds and a few moments were a short commercial break in which all her memories with this man were displayed in slow motion. From the first meeting to the last second, she didn't cry because it wasn't the time. Not now. Kill the killer, then cry over his lifeless body. That's how we love the treacherous dog, but we must kill him so he doesn't kill us. In reality, betrayal is not always dirty; many don't like to be betrayed, so they betray first, just as a precaution. She was of that type, and without blinking an eye, SHE SHOT HIM. Merciless, for mercy is divine. The Moon Goddess would be the one to forgive him, and their meeting was imminent. Her eyes remained open as his blood splattered on her face, covering it with the filth of his actions. Only here, with his final breath, her eyelids quivered, indicating a gathering of her tears. A powerful burning sensation moved from her nose to her eyes, evidence of the chokehold of pain. Overwhelmed, conquered, love lost, two years of her life wasted. The vision became foggy in an instant; her heart leaped, trying to grasp her ascending soul. Her ribs trembled with suppressed rage, interwoven with every memory of her love for him. The powerful hybrid monster – f***k this name; there's no monstrosity when it comes to accursed love. She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks like rivers, empathizing with the rain that fell on her drenched body. Her lips, tinged with natural redness, quivered as she knelt before his lifeless body. Her limbs, capable of everything throughout the years of her life, couldn't bear the weight at that moment. She LOVED him, willing to DIE FOR HIM, yet she was the one who killed him. The painful act, KILLING him, was a certain death for her heart, which resided within her ribs. It had been an ornament for many long years, only working on the day his love sneaked into it, and now it became an abandoned house. A house haunted by the ghosts of the past, where her heart transformed into ruins harboring painful memories mourning his departure. That was her last ounce of emotion as she lifted her head, torn between her lips, and let out a scream that tore through her vocal cords. A scream of pain and torment, a scream that shook her soul and weighed down her being, making her breaths heavier. A scream of dirty love she chose for herself. Their end, a love passing like a brief commercial break, swiftly ending, slapping her afterward with several slaps from all directions. A female with a torn heart. The director stood, shouting at the top of his lungs, and the script papers scattered before him in the air: “cuuuuuuuut.” His feet couldn't carry him from the sheer joy. With exuberance, like a teenager, he ran toward her, holding a towel in his hand to wipe her hair, wet from the water they sprayed instead of rain. “MISTRAL, f***k me, MISTRAL. You're a dangerous cinematic gem. Look at us, for Moon's sake…” He passed his hands over the entire directing and filming team, tears streaming from their eyes due to the last scene of the series they had just aired. Then, he looked back at her, gripping her hand tightly. “I love you, screw that. I've fallen in love with you. Marry me, please…” She smirked arrogantly at the gray-haired man. “f***k you Alfredo. Even Botox couldn't cover your wrinkles. And you want to marry me to regain your stolen youth. You're dreaming.” Laughter erupted from everyone there, wiping tears from their eyes at her words. To those who saw her, it would be impossible to believe she was now playing a role that would tear the hearts of millions across different countries. Yet, that was her uniqueness—the young artist, the beautiful one with an angelic face, MISTRAL HAWK, number one in acting. The actress who hadn't completed the second decade of her life, and her name echoed around the world. Simplicity defined her distinctive appearance—wide BROWN eyes adorned with thick lashes, untouched by any cosmetic enhancement. A small, red-nosed nose and lips naturally tinted red. Smooth, pure skin and long brown hair cascading down her back, perfectly dense with a short fringe adding simple beauty. Satisfaction is a beautiful thing, and she embraced every inch of it. She cherished the simple details, signaling that her name was spread due to her TALENT, not just extraordinary beauty like most actresses. Perhaps she wasn't the most beautiful in her field when she was younger, but the name was built on skill and hard work. That's what she had done since entering the acting world and gaining fame at the age of 13 with a secondary role in a massive film. It was the first and last supporting role she took. From that day on, it was all about starring roles, lights on her, and her name mentioned in every conversation about actresses. This young artist taught them a powerful lesson, a slap to other actresses that fame and success aren't tied to explicit scenes. Yes, she taught them that so they wouldn't attribute her success to her looks. If all actresses chose to use their bodies having s*x to gain fame, she took a different path entirely. Isn't it different that one distinguishes oneself? Yes, she was remarkable in her uniqueness. She glanced with one eye at the assistant director with a rosy complexion, treated like a Goblin because he had tried to harass her in the dressing room a couple of weeks ago. He approached, smiling, trying to lighten the mood, slapping her shoulder mockingly. “Mistral, you really…“ She cut him off, grabbing his hand forcefully, threatening with a deadly tone as if she wasn't trying to harm a Goblin whose strength was several times hers, belonging to one of the most powerful supernatural races on the planet. “Keep your hand intact if you don't want me to break it for you.” He swallowed hard, unable to escape the captivity of her deadly eyes. The others were shocked by her terrifying act, not understanding the reason behind it. However, he knew it very well. It traced back to what he did two weeks ago when he tried to harass her in the dressing room. It's a problem with some men; they always think of themselves as the big fish that eat the small ones, arrogant and with high self-esteem, forgetting that women are different species, not all females open their legs for anyone. Perhaps most actresses in her field didn't succeed if their film didn't involve intimacy with the director, producer, or photographer, but she wasn't one of them. That's what he forgot, but her courage, kicking him in the leg and causing him to limp afterward, won't let him forget as long as he lives. The director looked at her with surprise, asking with curiosity, “What's wrong, Mistral? Did something happen?” For moments, her eyes didn't shift from his repulsive, rosy face. Afterward, she smiled mockingly, elegantly wiping her hair without a care. She pointed with her finger to her head, walking away, striking that director's assistant’s shoulder forcefully, whispering in front of his ear, “The next time, I'll make you regret for the rest of your life, as.shole” With confident and firm steps, her head held high, wet hair dancing behind her in the cold winter breeze, she passed by the entire directing team and the shooting location with all the arrogance, engraving her name and the strength of her character with every step. Her dominance, her freaking pride, arrogance, haughty. She was arrogant, with a sharp tongue, hurtful to those who hurt her. That was her public persona, in front of the world and the cameras. But inside, she was different. Here she was revealing her true self, entering her cabin to meet her white-blue-eyed dog, LOLA. Like a little girl, she sat on her knees, laughing wholeheartedly, embracing Lola tightly, trying to keep Lola’s clean tongue away from her face. All around them, beings of different supernatural species coexisted peacefully in a world where various extraordinary creatures lived together. Her fingers gently ran through Lola's soft white strands, while the dog, with its hind legs, raised its front legs on its owner's shoulders. The dog's big red tongue stuck out as it joyfully painted, emitting sounds resembling shouts of happiness at the sight of her. Mistral smiled, whispering to her with a soft and affectionate tone, “My beautiful baby, did you miss mommy? Damn, did mommy neglect her beautiful little one? Oh, my love.. it's over. The work is done now. I've finished the first part of the series, and the second part will be after several months. So, we'll take a break, you and I. To compensate, we'll travel to a beautiful tropical island to relax and enjoy the bloodsucking VAMPIRES serving us there. The weather there is still a bit hot, so you'll be able to swim as you like. Does that please you, my little one?" The dog leaped into the air, raising its voice as the other exploded in laughter, embracing it forcefully as if wanting to stuff it deep into the depths of her heart. Companionship with animals is far better than dealing with the supernatural species. Her years of work proved the truth of this theory. She stopped laughing spontaneously upon hearing the door knocking, standing up and sitting on a chair. Then, she gestured to her dog, which climbed onto her legs, sitting like a queen, raising its head as if its owner, responding with an authoritative tone, “Come in.” Her business manager, belonging to the Werewolf species, opened the door, entering the compartment with a proud smile. Her legs directed towards the reason for her wealth as she pulled a chair and sat on it. “Do you know, Mistral?” Mistral nodded with boredom, stylishly flicking her hair, while the other, named Rosaline, continued: “Not a single scene was reshot, not a single acting mistake. The director told me they found surplus money allocated for the series just because you didn't cost them any losses in reshooting scenes. I'm really proud of you. You're a great honor. I hope to always be your business manager because I'm happy working with you, my dear. I've spent 15 years in this field, and I haven't met a beloved and reputable artist like you. I'm truly, truly proud to work with you.” Mistral responded with a lethargic nod. How much she despises Werewolves for various reasons. But there's a question: did all the managers agree to say the same script? It has become really tedious; everyone repeats the same words. Unfortunately, what annoys her is that not once did she feel the words coming from the heart. All of them use the same style of compliments and exaggeration in expressing their opinions. They embellish their words in a malicious way that makes her throat ache from the intense desire to spit on their faces. Mistral curved her lips, nodding with a deadly chill, and a sardonic smile barely able to open them, avoiding the sight of her manager’s disgusting face. A new business manager is on the blacklist, unfortunately. If she just closed her shi.tting mouth, she would have kept her job. Hypocrisy, oh Goddess, hypocrisy makes her soul want to leave her body, even though she's like them; she flatters and smiles in the faces of those she dislikes, but the difference between her and others is that she smiles to avoid hurting them, while they smile to exploit her. She flinched as her hair stiffened due to the cold air, sighing and standing in place. Her business manager looked at her, asking with a curious and lethal tone, “Where to, Mistral?” She replied, pulling two dresses from the iron hanger in the compartment corner, “To the university. I haven't attended for a week.” Rosaline nodded understandingly, pointing to the white dress, “This one is the prettiest.” Mistral nodded in understanding, offering it to her, “Alright, I'll wear the black, take this since it's to your liking.” Rosaline looked at her holding the dress with confused fingers; she didn't understand her intention from this. Is it considered an insult or a gift? No matter; the dress cost is equivalent to renting a luxurious apartment for two months, so she took it to go out. Mistral clenched her teeth, looking at the black dress in her hand, smiling at it, “I love you because you resemble my luck, baby. Come on, let me embrace my luck with your distinctive color.” She finished speaking, taking off her shooting clothes to wear it afterward. She added a large hat and big sunglasses, covering most of her small face, holding her dog's leash, and walking, tapping the ground with her heel, heading straight to her car. IN ANOTHER PLACE: There was a tall, muscular man, resembling wrestlers, sitting in his designated chair in a wide space like a hall. He bit his lip forcefully from the inside, almost tearing it apart because of the laughter he was suppressing. Damn, there's nothing as painful as trying to suppress that freaking laughter. It's like a slow death, but without exaggeration, seeing the faces of these creatures who make demons bow down to their deeds with a yellow color devoid of a single drop of blood was funny. Even the symptoms of menstruation aren't usually like this. What's more, their painting of that smile against their will while looking at his BOSS. He managed to explode from his place, catching a glimpse of sweat dripping from their foreheads as if they were in front of a volcano threatening to erupt. All this, and his Boss intertwining his fingers, looking at them with coldness. If he opens his mouth and speaks, they won't have any sweat left to drip. And now the important question is, does he blame them? Of course, yes, because if they were truly men, they would speak their minds rather than cower like wet mice, forcing him to suppress his freaking laughter. Well, the time for patience has ended, so he erupted in laughter, slamming the table forcefully, pointing with his finger at one of them, saying, “f***k me, why are you trembling, wolfie? Did they tell you that you'll die today!” The other swallowed hard, swallowing the humiliation with it, curling his lips into a difficult smile. His complexion was completely pallid, and all he could do was.. shi.tting NOTHING at all. He couldn't even move his mouth. The one who spoke to him and insulted him just now is the literal definition of MADNESS. The creature before him is HERCOLANO ISIDORO, Hercó, the Alpha of the largest Pack of Wolves in Mexico, the Alpha who transferred all his operations to Cuba just to become the right hand of his sitting Boss, now like a predatory beast. And speaking of his Boss, Hercolano turned slowly to him, maintaining that smile, his eyes falling on the darkness of his eyes. Those eyes were like a dark prison inhabited by a dormant monster ready to erupt at any moment. So, Hercolano widened his smile even more, bursting into laughter when he heard that werewolf respond with a trembling tone: “I think it's fatigue, Beta Isidoro.” But before he could continue his laughter, the Boss interrupted him with a calm tone like death: “Do you find our sitting amusing enough to jest with your talk?” Hercolano's smile disappeared as he looked at some papers placed on a large table in front of him. His Boss turned to him, looking at him with a warning glance, emptying his words with a thunderous tone that rattled his bones: “And you, stop laughing, f***k you!” This only made Hercolano laugh more until he rested his forehead on the table, struggling to stop the hysterical laughter that suddenly seized him. He couldn't stop, no matter how hard he tried. It was like someone urinating on the sand, each attempt to calm himself only making him burst into more laughter. He wouldn't have stopped laughing if it weren't for a glimpse of his Boss’s hand and the claws of his fingers growing and turning into curved talons, giving him a growl from the corner of his lips. Yeah, that alone made him curse under his breath, reshaping his features to seriousness, looking at his Boss who returned his claws to their natural human form, turning his gaze to the others, signaling them with his hand in a calm and heavy manner: “You can continue your sh.it talk.” Everyone returned to their initial state while Hercolano kept staring at the place with a deadly boredom. He heard his Boss continue talking about work topics with absolute calmness. Anyone seeing him would think he's the most intelligent creature in the world. Coldness and composure were the hallmarks of his personality. A creature of weight and majesty, leaving behind a strong scent like his powerful scent. But only the Moon Goddess and the Demons of hell know the TRUE FACE of this creature. What he did and what's going on inside his skull and what he intends to do in the future... the nightmare of the underworld, OCTAVIANO AZORES, known as the BLO.ODY ALPHA. After an hour of the killer boredom that makes the intestines almost fall from the person's as.s, the respectable meeting ended. These creatures who were Werewolves and Wizards from their abilities offered their hands to AZORES, who stood in turn, closing his black suit jacket and extending his hand to shake each one of them calmly, putting a direct warning on each hand that death would choke any trace of betrayal from them... Isn't the hand the first member to betray in the body? Everything is sensed, from the looks in the eyes to the thoughts, but the first tangible move of betrayal is through the hand. So now officially, Azores can assert that these hands will never betray after they feel the true meaning of death... shaking hands with him. With a face free of any smile, Azores nodded his head to them to leave, and that's what they did. They just quickly moved out of the Bloo.dy Alpha's office, and Hercolano looked at him, staring at those cold glances that he gave him, while asking him: “When will ROGELIO return?” Hercolano answered him while playing with his gun, spinning it on the smooth table in a circular shape: “I don't know... He told me a while ago that he's bathing in holy water in India to cleanse his dirty bones.” And he burst into laughter after that, making Azores meet him with a dull coldness, making him exhale air before speaking seriously: “I don't know why he doesn't respond to my calls. I think he's in a relationship with an Indian cow. Don't they worship cows? So, I assume they wash them well.” Again, it didn't amuse Azores, but it seemed he reached a deadly point within, prompting Hercolano to draw calmness on his face, responding, “He'll be back next week.” Azores nodded, taking his answer, then headed directly to the door, opening it and leaving his office with his muscular, imposing body dressed in black, crow-like attire. Black suit, black shirt, black tie, and black shoes. Black hair and dark eyes, a two-meter-plus frame, broad and iron-like shoulders, a face carved like a Greek God with a proud nose. This was Octaviano Azores, the Black Joker, among other titles, the SON OF HIS MOTHER. He truly was the son of his mother. In this supernatural race, everyone inherits leadership from their fathers, but he was the heir of his mother. OCTAVIANO XOCHITL, the worst Werewolf of her time, the woman known for her cruelty and fierceness. The only female who divided her husband's body and the love of her life into two halves with a kitchen blade. It was as if madness took on a feminine form. She and everyone who saw her wouldn't be surprised by the madness of her heir and his tyranny. Hercolano glanced at his Boss's company, only Werewolf employees, especially the female ones, whispering about the Boss's extraordinary handsomeness. Yeah, today, he was terribly handsome, perhaps due to the black. But black was the only color he ever wore, so why did he look so handsome, like a Greek God? He gave a flirtatious wink to a female employee, made her blush, and it irritated him silently. How could she act shy when she was the same girl he was fu.cking on his office desk just hours ago? Shaking his head, Hercolano pulled a cigarette from his jacket, placing it between his brown lips, eyes monitoring his Boss's shadow in any direction. Alright, it was on the right, so he turned left, walking five steps away. That was the LAW here, step on Azores’ shadow, and your painful life is stepped on. The reason? Well, he didn't know the reason himself; all he knew was that anyone who stepped on his shadow didn't live long enough to understand the reason. As they exited the company, they approached a black jeep with huge wheels lifted far from the ground. Azores looked at him with a calm sidelong glance, ordering, “Go to the Palace, tell CALI I won't be back today, and warn her not to call me. Understood?” Hercolano nodded in understanding, dragging a drag from his cigar, curiously asking, “Will you be at your apartment, Alpha?” The other nodded, his hand opening his car door, and Hercolano sighed tightly. He wanted to kill himself every time he knew the reason for his Alpha's visit to that freaking apartment. How he despises himself every time he sees what his Alpha drains from his freaking life, remaining the pillar of this family and the Alpha of the strongest Werewolf Pack in this supernatural world. The back that is torn by daggers to ensure the safety of his family as they sleep. His body alone is the best evidence of the cruelty he endured and the corruption within him, which has rendered him irreparable. All these are signs of the Demons’ sin within him. They are the masters who birthed a pupil surpassing them in evil, cruelty, terror, and madness. Isn't every devil cursed? Well, his Alpha was the essence of those curses. His skull, a cage where a thousand demons and devils were imprisoned, fu.cking and breeding inside him. The word "pity" is never valid to describe his feelings towards his Alpha's state. What kind of madman would feel compassion for a man like Azores, despite the oppression that defines his glances every time he sees him? Yet, anyone must quickly erase those compassionate looks from Azores' face before he pulls your eyes out of your sockets. Indeed, Hercolano reverted his gaze to normal, his rough fingers gripping his thin cigar as if it were the air for him. Meanwhile, Azores moved into his car, speeding away as if he were racing a Vampire. “f***k potato chips!”, that's what Hercolano said, tossing the cigarette to the ground, crushing it with his high-heeled and pointed shoe. And now, dear Herculano, the task has fallen on your skull: convince Aunt Cali that her nephew will sleep outside the Palace today. That woman is terrifying, and damn it, the last thing he wants is to hear her annoying screams while she burns smoke for hours with trembling fingers. The sexy blonde Werewolf, if she weren't his Alpha's aunt, he would have f***k her until death. Unfortunately, as I said, the woman is a genuine horror, and he has a MATE to relish her taste. His little one.. CITLALI will wail. Oh, Moon! His little one will wail.