The Ruthless Alpha

Through guilded chains

The morning of the wedding was somber, despite the clear skies and golden sunlight streaming through the windows of the east wing. I sat silently on the edge of my bed, staring at the pale gown laid out before me. It was far more elaborate than anything I’d ever worn, with delicate lace sleeves and a flowing skirt that seemed to shimmer faintly in the light.

A soft knock broke the silence, and a young woman stepped inside. She looked to be in her twenties, with soft brown hair and kind hazel eyes.

“I’m Maren,” she said, bowing slightly. “The Alpha sent me to help you prepare.”

I nodded mutely, watching as she moved gracefully around the room, gathering items and setting them on the small vanity.

“You must be nervous,” she said gently, her voice warm as she turned to me. It was the first kindness I had experience from anyone in the Bloodmoon pack. It was as if she could sense how much I needed kindness.

I managed a faint smile. “You could say that.”

Maren guided me to the chair in front of the mirror and began working on my hair, her nimble fingers weaving it into an elegant braid that cascaded down my back. I watched her in the mirror, my reflection unfamiliar. My pale skin seemed to glow against the soft hues of the wedding dress, and the style of my hair gave me a sense of refinement I’d never felt before.

When she moved on to light makeup, I hesitated. “Is this really necessary?”

She chuckled softly. “Of course. It’s your wedding day. You should feel beautiful.”

I didn’t respond, but as she finished, I stared at the girl in the mirror. This wasn't a happy marriage, she must have known that, but my reflection showed a girl, the picture of a happy bride. For the first time in my life, I didn’t look like the weak, beaten-down omega everyone despised. I didn’t look ugly.

I looked… pretty.

The thought was startling, and I found myself studying my reflection with a mix of disbelief and cautious pride. Maren must have noticed because she smiled at me. “There,” she said, stepping back. “You’re ready.”

I wasn’t ready, not in the slightest, but I thanked her anyway.

The ceremony was brief, conducted in the grand hall of the Bloodmoon packhouse. The room was filled with pack members, all dressed in fine clothing and wearing expressions of joy and pride.

Except for Kane.

He stood at the altar like a statue, his expression impassive as he waited for me. His black suit fit him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and lean frame. His hair was neatly combed, but a few rebellious strands fell across his forehead, adding a rugged charm.

I tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to notice how devastatingly handsome he was. Even as he scowled slightly, his sharp features and piercing silver eyes commanded attention.

When it was time, I walked down the aisle, my heart pounding with every step. The whispers of the crowd were a constant hum in my ears, but I kept my focus on Kane.

He didn’t smile when I reached him. In fact, his frown deepened as his eyes swept over me, as if I were an inconvenience he couldn’t wait to discard.

The officiant spoke the traditional vows, but the words felt hollow. This wasn’t a union born of love or even mutual respect. It was a transaction, a political move designed to solidify Kane’s power and ensure the submission of Silverclaw.

When Kane slid the ring onto my finger, his touch was cold and impersonal. I did the same for him, my hands trembling as I completed the act.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant declared.

Kane hesitated for the briefest moment before leaning in. His lips brushed mine in the most perfunctory kiss imaginable, devoid of warmth or emotion. It was over in an instant, and he turned away before I could even process it.

The party that followed was in stark contrast to the joyless ceremony. The grand hall was filled with laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses. The pack members seemed genuinely happy, their smiles and laughter filling the space with a vibrancy that felt foreign to me.

I kept to the edges of the room, trying not to draw attention to myself. I sipped bitter wine from a glass, my gaze drifting across the crowd.

Even Kane seemed… different. Though he didn’t smile, his frown eased when he spoke with his pack members. There was a warmth in the way he interacted with them, a stark contrast to the coldness he’d shown me.

But every time his eyes landed on me, his expression darkened. It was as if my presence alone soured his mood.

I didn’t blame him. He thought I was Cassandra, and I could only imagine what he thought of me—or her, rather. Although he had never met her, I knew how rumors could travle through the different packs. And for once, the rumors about Cassandra were true. She was used to luxury and refinement, and when she didn't get I, people got hurt. Oftentimes that person was me.

As the night wore on, I slipped away from the crowd, my head pounding from the noise and the tension. The corridors of the packhouse were quiet and dimly lit, a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the party.

I wandered aimlessly, the sound of my heels echoing softly against the stone floors. The packhouse was a labyrinth of hallways and doors, each turn unfamiliar and imposing.

I didn’t hear him approach.

“Cassandra."

His voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet like a knife. I spun around to see Kane standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable.

“Why are you out here?” he demanded.

“I—” I stammered, clutching my hands together. “I needed some air.”

He stepped closer, his towering presence making the corridor feel smaller. “Come with me.”

Before I could respond, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me along the hallway. His grip was firm but not painful, and I stumbled slightly as I struggled to keep up with his long strides.

He didn’t speak as he led me up a flight of stairs and down another hallway, finally stopping in front of a large, ornate door. He pushed it open and pulled me inside, releasing my wrist as the door clicked shut behind us.

The room was massive, with high ceilings and a large bed draped in dark, luxurious linens. A fireplace crackled softly in the corner, casting a warm glow over the space.

“This is my room,” Kane said, his tone clipped.

I nodded, my throat dry.

He turned to face me, his silver eyes piercing. Slowly, he began to undo his jacket, his movements deliberate.

My heart raced as I realized what was coming. This was the wedding night, after all. He would want to consummate the marriage.

Panic clawed at my chest, but I forced myself to stand still. I couldn’t let him see my fear.

“Get comfortable,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto a nearby chair.

And then, silence.

The fire crackled softly in the background, the tension in the room thick and suffocating.