Bitten by My Enemy Alpha

Humans and supernatural creatures cannot co-exist. That was the Argenthal Order's belief, and Henrietta Vera Argenthal had been raised to obey it. To question it was treason. To defy it was death. And yet, as the moonlight graced the blood-stained forest, she wondered how many monsters she had already become to hunt one. She couldn't count anymore. The forest reeked of blood and fur. With the help of the moonlight, the silver edge of her rapier blade glinted as she crouched beside a half-devoured carcass. Beneath her boots, she could almost feel the damp of the ground. Thanks to the winter suit she wore, she felt warmth from the frosty breeze. Somewhere ahead, a wounded werewolf dragged itself through the mist, leaving trails of crimson behind. Henrietta followed without sound. Her pulse was steady. Her breath was measured. A method just as her father had trained her to be. Her stoic expression mirrored the cold weather, her heart having turned to stone long ago. As she continued traversing quietly and stealthily, she noticed the trail thickened ahead. Blood smeared the pile of snow, still warm enough to disappear from the winter air. Henrietta lifted her head, hearing the faint labored breaths somewhere beyond the fog. Her grip tightened around the hilt. She moved with precision like a shadow quietly following its owner. No sound was created. She was like a ghost who could see anyone, but no one could see her. When she finally saw her prey, Henrietta's deadpan expression gradually gave way to a menacing one. Her lips curled into an icy smile as she mouthed, 'Found you.' The battered beast flickered its eyes toward her. Horror was evident as Henrietta's sword pierced through the heart. As the black wolf stepped back, its gaze fell on the weapon impaled in its chest. A sharp gasp was earned from him upon recognizing the familiar insignia of twin-bladed crossing each other, and their hilts carved with the crescent mark of the Argenthal Order. Then its head drew to her, its golden eyes widened in fear when their eyes met. 'Red hair and purple eyes...!' "Argenthal... hunter..." It rasped, their lips quivering in terror as they realized their distinctive features. Among the Order, such features symbolized the mark of pride, proof of their humanity as hunters and legacy. To every creature of the night, it was a savage warning: death wore a human face, and it had crimson red hair and purple amethyst eyes. "We... We never came for you—" Henrietta's silver blade, coaxed with wolfsbane, met its neck before it could finish its word in one clean motion and no hesitation. The body slumped to the ground, twitching once before going still. Its blood pooled on the pristine white snow. Her crimson red hair glowed under the moonlight, appearing as if it were aflame. Her amethyst eyes stared its dying eyes, then swung her blade to erase the tainted blood against the snow. She twisted her rapier's blade, testing its suppleness. Every hunter of the Argenthal Order chose their weapon. Some carried crossbows or axes. Other favored blessed knives, spears, or scythes. But Henrietta's rapier had always been an extension of herself. Precise, elegant, and merciless, matching her apathetic expression. But when the prey was in front of her, a menacing smile always blessed her lips. Each weapon was crafted from silver, imbued with magical power through engraved runes, and infused with wolfsbane. It was a full counter for each of the supernatural beings they were about to face. A twig snapped. She turned, blade raised, only to find Hezekiah Veer Argenthal, her twin brother, stepping through the mist, crossbow in hand, his breath forming smoke in the air. "You didn't wait," he said, his brows furrowing. "Father said we go in together." "You were slow," she replied flatly, sheathing her sword. "The beast wasn't." Hezekiah's gaze dropped to the corpse. "It looks like it was trying to flee, not fight." "It doesn't matter what it wanted." Henrietta's cold glare pierced the corpse. "They do not even deserve mercy." Hezekiah frowned. He almost opened his mouth to protest, but couldn't utter. He even knelt on his one knee to the ground, clasping his hands. "Rest in peace," he murmured. Henrietta scoffed. 'He is doing it again. Who even prays for this creature?' Before she could even scold him, somewhere deep in the forest, a horn echoed. Henrietta looked toward the sound while Hezekiah remained on his ground. It was the Order's recall signal. The small smirk was traced on her lips. "Come on," she said. "Father will want his report." She stepped past her brother, her boots squeaking in the snow. Behind her, Hezekiah finally stood up and lingered beside the dead werewolf. His amethyst eyes softened in quiet pity. When he finally turned to follow, he glanced once at the moon, remembering that werewolves always worshipped it for their Moon Goddess. Upon returning to the Argenthal fortress, the estate was built against the cliffside. Torches flickered along its walls and chandeliers on the ceilings, illuminating the path. The gates that were made from iron, revealing the sigil. Hunters moved in disciplined silence along the grand hall, their boots echoing softly against the marble floor. The faint of incense and iron, and that distinctive rusty smell that some of them came from a battle they had won. Henrietta and Hezekiah entered side by side, having the same carved faces. Their weapons were colliding softly with their winter suit. The other hunters bowed briefly before them. Henrietta did not need to acknowledge because she knew very well that the other hunters respected them, and others were in pure envy of their achievements. At the end of the hall, there, Demitri Argenthal, their father, clad in dark ceremonial armor. His eyes swept over them, looking proud to see them before gesturing toward the upper dais, where the true master of the Order sat. Vladimir Argenthal. Their clan leader, and one of the original founders of the Argenthal bloodline, was wearing a regal suit. His hands rested on the armrests of his chair. His face and body looked youthful, strong, and untouched by time. It was hard to believe that someone like him had already lived through three generations of hunters. He did not seem age and was still the same in his youth. His eyes scrutinized and watched Henrietta with something between amusement and scrutiny. The hunters, even Henrietta and Hezekiah, in the hall knelt on one knee in unison. "Rise," Vladimir commanded. All of them rose in unison. "Good news, I presume?" Demitri inclined his head. "Yes, my lord. The rogue pack at the border was neutralized. My daughter led the strike." He turned to her, giving her a look. Henrietta knew well what to do. She stepped forward, slightly bowing her head. Behind her cold facade lay pride. Vladimir's lips slightly curved. "Impressive. The youngest huntress of your line, and already outpacing her elders." Henrietta felt something brush on her chest from the praise. She placed her hand on her chest before uttering, "I only do as I was raised to do, my lord." "Indeed." He nodded before flickering his gaze to Hezekiah for a moment. "And yet, your brother remains the Order's most efficient marksman. Hmm... Balance runs in our blood, it seems." Hezekiah bowed, his expression unreadable, while Henrietta's jaw slightly tightened. She could never accept being compared to her twin brother. By the age of 10, she was already considered one of the prodigies in her generation, yet the founder still focused on her brother. 'I don't even lack in anything...' she thought, fuming mad inside. Vladimir descended the steps, halting before Henrietta. He reached out, his gloved hand brushing against her cheek. His touch was cold, causing her to shiver slightly. "You have your father's precision," he murmured, his pale amethyst eyes gleaming. "But remember, child of Argenthal, a weapon serves its wielder, not itself. Do not disappoint your lineage. You are my blade." Henrietta bowed her head, trying her best to conceal the defiance in her eyes. "Yes, my lord. Your wish is my command." As Vladimir turned away, Demitri approached her, his expression earnest yet proud. "Your success honors our family, Henrietta," he said, his tone had a hint of approval and warning. "But Lord Vladimir does not praise without purpose. Be cautious of what he expects from you." "I understand, Father." Hezekiah, who was standing beside her, caught his sister's eye. "You do not have to prove yourself to him, Hetta," he spoke softly. She bestowed him a glance when he called her by her nickname. "Don't I?" She wanted to snort at him. Before Hezekiah could reply to her, the bells of the fortress rang, signaling the midnight hour. The sound reverberated, and fatigue started to wear on her. The hunters started to leave the grand hall, and the twins made their way through the narrow corridors toward the War Room. They were greeted with the smell of candle wax, parchment, and iron. There were maps spread across a long oak table and pinned to the corkboard, marked with silver pins and crimson strings. Demitri arrived and stood at the head of the table, joined by two senior hunters. His gaze lifted to his twins. "You've earned your rest, but there's no time for it," he began, handing out a document in front of them. "Scouts reported movement near the border of the Obsidian Range. A pack has been trespassing close to human villages. The Council suspects it belongs to the Moon Rose Pack." Hezekiah slightly frowned, his eyes fixating on the document. "That's impossible. The Obsidian territory lies beyond the river. They wouldn't risk—" "Apparently, they have," Demitri chimed in. "And the last patrol sent there didn't return." Henrietta's cold gaze rested on the map. "Then, we'll go after them." Her father turned to her. "You volunteer?" She nodded. "I led the last hunt. This should be no different." Hezekiah glanced at her, his forehead creasing. "You are too eager, Hetta. The Moon Rose Pack are organized, not rogues. If the scouts vanished, it means there's more to this." But Henrietta's expression didn't waver. "Then, are you suggesting I must fear them?" Her head was slightly tilted when she spoke to him, challenging him. Hezekiah heaved out a sigh. "I am suggesting you listen," he emphasized. "The signs point to magic. Something old. I can feel it." She met his gaze, remaining stagnant. "Wolves rely on claws and teeth, not spells, Zeke." She placed her elbow on the table, chin resting on the back of her hand. "I shall bring back their heads before dawn if you want." The senior hunters exchanged faint smirks, having approval of her confidence. On the other hand, Hezekiah sighed in defeat. He really couldn't win against his sister when it came to this, who always looked for bloodshed. Meanwhile, Demitri watched her for a moment, and a flicker of concern showed in his eyes. Their task wasn't simply as their foe was one of the strongest packs that had lived for decades, if not for centuries. And it was no other than Gideon Marco Lacetti, the current Alpha of that pack. Demitri nodded afterwards. "Very well. You'll lead the strike team. Hezekiah, you'll accompany her." She inclined her head, masking her satisfaction. Demitri continued, "Take care at the border. The Obsidian lands are... unsettled. If something moves beyond the wolves, you are to report back immediately." Henrietta simply nodded. "Understood, Father." The meeting adjourned soon after. The others left, leaving the twins alone. Hezekiah leaned on the table, tracing one of the red strings that cut across the map. "Every time you volunteer for danger, I can't decide if you are fearless or just desperate." Henrietta slid her rapier from its sheath, testing the edge against her thumb. Then, a hollow smile stretched on her lips that mirrored on the blade when she looked at it. "Does it matter? Either earns glory." He sighed, shaking his head. "You are too much like Father." She scoffed with a small smirk. "Then perhaps he'll finally be proud." Henrietta stared at her reflection on the blade one more time. She wanted to surpass him so completely that no one could compare her to him anymore.