The Alpha’s Last Bride

No roads to Stormwatch

Damien

I heard the footsteps before I saw him—quick, sure, familiar. The kind of gait you only forget if you’re dead.

Then he appeared over the rise, wrapped in a long coat that was more city style than mountain-ready. He paused at the edge of the path like he couldn’t believe the place was real.

Oscar de Silva. Smirking like the smug bastard he’d always been.

“You’re late,” I called down the steps.

He raised both arms. “Twelve hours up a cliff with no coffee or vehicle. I’m a miracle, not late.”

I shook my head, descending the stairs as he climbed the last few. The moment we were close enough, I pulled him into a rough embrace. Neither of us were the hugging type, but some things didn’t need words. He patted my back like I was a bear he wasn’t sure wouldn’t bite, then stepped back and looked me over.

“You look older.”

“You look softer.”

“I was in prison.”

“So were half the men in my dungeons. You still have better posture.”

He laughed and shoved my shoulder. “You’re still a cold-hearted bastard.”

“And you still can’t dress for weather.”

He grinned as he looked up at the towering keep. “Well, s**t. You really live here.”

“Stormwatch,” I said, dryly. “We endure.”

Oscar whistled low. “Bet it’s just as cheerful inside.”

I turned toward the gates. “Come see for yourself. I had them light the fires.”

As we walked, the silence between us felt easy. No titles. No politics. Just two old wolves walking shoulder to shoulder again.

“Glad you made it,” I muttered.

“Didn’t think I’d miss this face,” he said, nudging me. “But here we are.”

I smirked. “You missed me.”

“I missed talking to someone who doesn’t want to poison me.”

“Give it a day.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

I opened the heavy oak door to the lounge and gestured him in. He took it in at a glance—aged tapestries, overstuffed chairs, the fire snapping in the hearth.

“Rustic,” he said. “I like it.”

I poured two fingers of whiskey into a pair of crystal tumblers and handed him one. He raised it slightly before sipping.

I leaned back in the worn leather armchair and studied Oscar through the firelight. He looked sharper now—still dangerous in that quiet, simmering way—but healthier than I’d expected. Like someone who’d crawled out of a pit and decided to take the world with him.

“So,” I said, “what have you been doing since the prison walls stopped echoing?”

He gave me a crooked smile. “Oh, you know. Trying not to end up back there. Reading. Eating food that doesn’t smell like feet. Getting interrogated by monarchs.”

That made me raise a brow.

Oscar grinned wider. “What, you thought I’d go back to smuggling good across the borders of Aruyios? Turns out I’m fascinating.”

“No,” I muttered. “You’re dangerous. That’s why they’re watching.”

He clinked his glass to mine. “And yet somehow, I got invited into the golden circle. Imagine that.”

“That’s what I’m asking,” I said, voice low. “Why are you suddenly so close to the royal family?”

Oscar’s smile faded—just a flicker, barely a shift in his posture. But I caught it. He glanced toward the fire, then back to me.

“Let’s just say I know things they find useful.”

“Is Henry alright?”

He gave a vague shrug. “He’s… surviving.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s the only answer I’m giving.”

I stared at him, but he didn’t flinch. Whatever they’d been through, it wasn’t my business—until it was.

“Why are you really here, Oscar?”

“Because I missed decent whiskey, good conversation… and watching you pretend to be made of stone.” He smirked, but his tone stayed flat. “And maybe because someone has to remind you what it means to be alive.”

I looked away.

Silence settled, tense but not hostile. Then he stretched out, glancing around the dim lounge.

“This place is falling apart,” he said. “Smells like mold and bad decisions.”

I didn’t rise to it.

He glanced at me sideways. “So. You finally married again.”

I didn’t answer.

He whistled low. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Another poor soul to throw to the wolves.”

I set my glass down with a thud.

Oscar’s tone shifted. “How exactly do you plan to keep her safe in a place like this?”

That got under my skin.

He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Because if you think locking her in a room and rutting her into obedience is enough, you’re dumber than the council gives you credit for.”

I stood. “You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know what grief looks like when it’s dressed up in control.”

“She’s fine,” I said. “She’s not like the others.”

“Neither were they,” he said quietly.

I stared at him, jaw tight.

Oscar sat back again. “You can’t bury a woman and call it fate every time the ground swallows her. If there’s rot in these walls, it’s going to reach her eventually.”

“She’ll be safe.”

“Then start acting like it.”

I didn’t respond. I walked to the window, watching the snow lash against the stone. The keep loomed behind me like a living thing—cold, breathless, waiting.

“She’s not just another name on the ledger,” I said after a long pause.

Oscar’s voice softened behind me. “Then don’t treat her like one.”

The fire had died down by the time I left Oscar in the lounge. He didn’t follow, just gave me a nod and stayed behind, swirling the last of his drink. I could feel his gaze on my back as I stepped into the corridor, but he didn’t call after me.

His words echoed anyway.

If there’s rot in these walls, it’s going to reach her eventually.

I clenched my jaw, walking faster. The halls of Stormwatch stretched ahead, colder than they should’ve been, darker than I remembered. The sconces cast long, skeletal shadows, and the stone beneath my boots felt unforgiving, like it resented every step.

I didn’t mean to go to her.

I didn’t.

But my feet took me there, straight to the Luna chambers, past the guards I’d personally ordered stationed at her door. They stiffened at my approach, eyes darting forward.

“She inside?” I asked.

“Yes, Alpha. She’s been there all evening.”

Good.

I opened the door without knocking.

The scent hit me first—her scent. Warmer than anything in this place. Rich, disorienting. Like earth after rain. Like hunger I couldn’t name. It wrapped around me, crawling under my skin and into my bloodstream. My body reacted before I could stop it, the heat curling low and fast.

She was sitting on the chaise, legs tucked under her, a book in her lap. The firelight caught the curve of her cheek, the stray curl that had fallen free of her braid. She didn’t look up immediately. When she did, she blinked once. Slowly. Calmly.

“Are you here to enforce another rule?” she asked, tone dry.

I shut the door behind me. “No.”

She arched a brow. “Then what?”

“I don’t know.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “You don’t seem like a man who does anything without purpose.”

I stepped further inside, letting the door click shut behind me. “Are you trying to play Luna now?”

She tilted her head. “I don’t have to play what I already am.”

The silence that followed was loud. I watched her for a long moment, my hands curling at my sides. She looked too comfortable, too soft, like she’d managed to sink into something resembling peace despite everything.

And for some reason, that made it worse.

She stared right back, no fear in her eyes. Just that steady, unreadable defiance.

“I heard you’ve been exploring again,” I said finally.

“I wasn’t aware I needed permission to walk halls that now belong to me.”

A muscle ticked in my jaw. “You’re still being watched.”

“Then maybe next time I’ll wave.”

I took another step toward her, but she didn’t flinch. I wasn’t sure if that pleased or enraged me.

“You think this is a game?” I growled.

“No,” she said. “But you do.”

I stared at her—this woman I’d marked in name only, taken in the dark, without ceremony or care—and for the first time since that night, I wondered if I’d made a mistake not seeing her face. Not undressing her completely. Not looking her in the eye when I—

No.

I turned from her before the thought could finish.

“You’ll be escorted from now on,” I said tightly. “Everywhere.”

Her voice was low behind me. “Of course, Alpha.”

I hated how that title sounded on her tongue. Not because it was disrespectful—because it wasn’t. It was mocking.

And it worked.

Without another word, I walked out. The scent of her followed.

It always did.

I barely made it halfway down the hall before I stopped. My hand slammed against the stone wall, fingers splayed, breath shallow. My pulse was thunder.

Gods. Her scent was still on me. Still in me.

No amount of distance dulled it. It clung like smoke, like her presence was burned into my skin. Into my bloodstream. I tried to shake it off. Breathe. Think.

She wasn’t beautiful, not in the traditional sense. She was sharp. Angular. All spine and fire. Her tongue sharper than any knife. And yet she was crawling through my mind like ivy, slow and suffocating. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at me like that and not backed down.

I should’ve hated it.

I did. But I also—

I also couldn’t stop thinking about her mouth. The shape of it when she said Alpha like it was an insult. The curve of her hips under that pathetic excuse for a nightdress. The sound she made when I pulled her to her knees, raw and breathless, as if she didn’t know whether to fight or yield.

I stepped into my quarters and slammed the door. My breathing was ragged now, teeth gritted. My c**k was already hard, painfully so, and there was no use pretending this was anything other than madness.

I dragged a hand down my face and cursed.

My thoughts raced with the image of her. Not as she’d looked tonight, but how I imagined her—how I should’ve made her strip. Should’ve made her beg. Her skin bared to me, that stubborn mouth parted in shock as I pressed her to the bed and took what I already owned.