The Alpha’s Wrong Bride

Episode5

The walk from the sub-level cells to the upper council chambers felt like a slow march to an execution block.

Damion didn't let go of my wrist. His fingers remained locked around my arm like a band of cold steel, his long, unhurried strides forcing me to half-jog just to keep up with his pace. Every servant, guard, and low-ranking warrior we passed along the stone corridors froze instantly, pressing their backs against the walls and bowing their heads until we had vanished around the corner. None of them looked at me with pity. They looked at me as a dead woman walking—an imposter who had dared to step onto the throne of the North Pack and would soon pay the price.

By the time we reached the heavy, iron-banded double doors of the council hall, my breath was coming in ragged gasps, and the raw skin of my wrists throbbed from his grip.

Damion didn't knock. He shoved the doors open with a deafening crash that echoed off the vaulted stone ceiling.

Twelve pack elders and high-ranking military commanders sat around a massive, scarred oak table at the center of the room. The air inside was thick with the scent of old parchment, damp wool, and the heavy, agitated musk of restless wolves. Conversations died instantly. Twenty eyes snapped toward us in unison, heavy with suspicion, anger, and cold judgment.

At the head of the table sat Elder Vance, an old-guard wolf with a face like cracked leather and eyes as sharp as broken glass. He looked down his crooked nose at my soot-stained tunic and bare feet, a sneer twisting his thin lips.

"So this is the bride," Elder Vance’s voice scraped across the room like sandpaper. "The great prize of House Ashworth. She smells more like a stable boy than a Luna, Alpha. And the rumors from the outer gates are already multiplying. Where is Wren Ashworth?"

The entire room held its breath. Every eye shifted from Damion to me, waiting for the explosion, waiting to see the Alpha rip the truth out of his fraudulent mate.

Damion released my wrist, but he didn't step away. He stood directly beside me, his massive shoulder brushing mine, a towering wall of dark authority. He slowly pulled out the heavy carved chair at the head of the table, not the seat for a prisoner, but the seat right beside the Alpha, and gestured for me to sit.

I didn't hesitate. I lifted my chin, ignoring the burning humiliation in my chest, and sat down with as much dignity as a girl in a tunic could muster.

Damion rested his knuckles on the back of my chair, leaning over me just enough that his pine-and-bourbon scent wrapped around me like a shield. When he finally spoke, his voice was dangerously quiet, carrying a cold, lethal promise that made even the oldest elders stiffen in their seats.

"Wren Ashworth is irrelevant," Damion said smoothly, his silver-flecked eyes sweeping slowly around the table. "The woman sitting at my right hand is Mara of House Ashworth. The bond has accepted her. The blood has sealed her. And anyone in this room who questions my choice of mate, or dares to disrespect my Luna again..." He paused, letting the heavy silence stretch until the air felt suffocating. "...will answer directly to me."

A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck. I looked up at him in shock, my heart skipping a beat. He wasn't protecting me out of kindness—he was protecting his own pride, defending his pack's stability against internal dissent.

Yet, as Elder Vance reluctantly lowered his gaze and muttered a bitter compliance, I realized the dangerous truth: Damion had just chained his fate to mine. And the war for the North Pack wasn't just about rogues at the border anymore. It was happening right here at the table.

….

The heavy doors of the meeting room had barely closed behind us when the fake peace fell apart completely.

Damion didn't let go of my arm as we walked down the hall. His long steps forced me to walk fast to keep up, but his grip wasn't punishing anymore, it felt more like a anchor holding me close in a castle full of people who wanted me gone.

"You played a dangerous game in there," I said, pulling my arm away the second we were alone on the big stone stairs. I rubbed my wrist and glared up at him. "You didn't defend me because you care about me, Damion. You did it because Vance questioned your power in front of your own men."

Damion stopped and turned to look at me. The torchlight flickered on his face, catching the silver in his eyes. He didn't even try to lie. Instead, a slow, dangerous smile touched his lips.

"Vance is an old man who thinks he still runs this pack," Damion said, his deep voice echoing in the stairwell. "If he thinks he can challenge my choice of wife on day one, he is testing me. You standing there and holding your head high just made it harder for him."

"I didn't do it for you," I snapped back, my anger pushing away the cold. "I did it because I refuse to look weak in front of a bunch of wolves who think a kitchen girl is an easy target."

A low, deep sound of amusement came from his chest. He took a step closer, towering over me, filling the air with the smell of pine and woodsmoke. "I am starting to notice that is your favorite word: refuse. You refused to break on our wedding night. You refused to bow to Vance today. Tell me, how long do you think that stubborn back of yours will stay straight when things get really hard?"

"Try me," I whispered, standing my ground, even though my heart was beating way too fast.

His eyes dropped from mine down to my lips, lingering there for a second before snapping back up with a dark, hungry look. For a moment, the tension between us was thick, bringing back the memory of what almost happened in our room. But before he could touch me, someone cleared their throat loudly.

Commander Rylan stood at the bottom of the stairs holding a rolled-up letter, looking very serious.

Damion’s jaw tightened. The personal moment vanished as his duty as Alpha took over. He turned slowly to face his commander.

"Report," Damion said, his voice dropping into strict leader mode.

"The scouts are back from the north woods, Alpha," Rylan said, walking up a few steps. "The rogue tracks we found aren't just stray wolves. They are organized. And they left a message on the border stones, your family's crest, carved right into the dead wood."

All the color drained from my face. House Ashworth.

Damion's head snapped back to look at me, his eyes narrowing with sudden, sharp suspicion. The quiet hallway suddenly felt very cold, and the small trust we had just built began to c***k under the weight of a much bigger secret.