The Alpha’s Last Bride

The cold light of morning

Ayla

The fire had long since gone out, but I didn’t move to relight it. I lay awake in the cold, tangled in sheets that still smelled of him—woodsmoke, steel, and something darker. I hated it. Hated the way my body still pulsed, long after he’d left.

He hadn’t said a word.

Not when he entered. Not when he pressed me forward, pulled up my shift, and took what he claimed as his.

Not when he walked out.

And yet… the silence hadn’t felt cruel. Not exactly. It had felt like surrender. Like punishment. Not for me, but for him.

I pulled the blankets tighter around my bare legs and stared at the ceiling, searching for guilt. It was there, of course. Shame too. But tangled in it, knotted and hot, was something else entirely.

Frustration.

Not just because of what he’d done—but because of how my body had responded. I should’ve felt nothing. Or worse—revulsion. Instead, I’d bit my lip to keep from crying out, felt my skin flush with need.

Gods, what was wrong with me?

The keep was quiet. Too quiet. Outside the frost still curled over the windows, thick and pale as smoke. I imagined Stormwatch perched above the world like a tomb, stone and silence pressed into its bones. I didn’t belong here. And yet, somehow, I was its Luna.

A title I never asked for. A bed I didn’t choose.

But I had chosen to live.

I threw the covers off and rose, dragging my fingers through my hair. The bruises on my hips were faint, already fading, but I could still feel the ghost of his hands. I scrubbed myself clean at the basin, then dressed quickly in the warmest gown I could find—a deep green velvet that clung too tightly to my chest.

The corridor outside my suite was deserted. Not even a flicker of movement from the guards posted at the end. They didn’t look at me. Didn’t acknowledge me. But I could feel their judgment like a second skin.

So be it. Let them stare.

The deeper I wandered into Stormwatch Keep, the more I realized how little of it I’d truly seen. The halls were endless—stone veins twisting through the mountain, lined with old tapestries and the occasional suit of armor, as if the past refused to be forgotten.

The windows were narrow slits, barely wide enough to let in the morning light, but what trickled through only emphasized the gloom. Grey on grey. As if the sun couldn’t quite find the courage to pierce this place.

I kept walking. Past locked doors and empty rooms. Past servants who turned away as I passed.

One woman—young, dark-haired, with sharp eyes and a mouth that pinched—was folding linens near a side chamber. Her hands froze when she saw me, her expression blank. But not neutral. There was something simmering behind her gaze.

"Morning," I offered, voice stiff.

She didn’t respond.

Instead, she gathered her things and turned her back to me without a word.

Heat flared beneath my skin. Not just from the snub, but from the weight of it. As if she was saying what everyone else already thought.

Stormwatch had a new Luna—but she hadn’t earned it.

And she wasn’t welcome.

I kept moving.

The air grew colder near the eastern wing, where the stone turned damp and the wind found a way to slip through the seams. I thought about returning to my rooms. To safety. But the idea of curling back up under those sheets—his scent still clinging to the pillows—was worse than facing the cold.

I reached a long corridor that ended in a leaded-glass window and a narrow bench beneath it. I didn’t know where I was, but the silence felt almost sacred. I sat, folding my arms tightly across my chest, willing myself to stop shivering.

That was when I heard him.

Heavy boots. Quick stride.

I didn’t have to look up.

"What are you doing?" Damien’s voice was sharp, a low command rather than a question.

I exhaled, slow and steady. “Looking for a distraction.”

“This part of the keep is restricted.”

“Then put up a sign,” I muttered.

He stepped closer. I could feel him glaring. "You married me, Ayla. Not the keep."

I finally looked up. "No, you married me. And you may have caged me in stone and silk, but I’m not a prisoner. I didn’t choose to rot in a tower like some forgotten relic.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Just stared at me like he was trying to figure out if I was a danger—or just a nuisance.

"Then stop acting like one."

That stung more than I expected. But I swallowed the reply clawing its way up my throat. I wouldn’t let him see the wound. I turned away, gripping the window ledge, letting the cold stone press into my palms.

That was a mistake.

Because the next second, his hand closed around my upper arm.

I jerked back instinctively. “Let go of me!”

He didn’t. His grip was iron. Not bruising—but firm enough to remind me that I was prey, and he was the predator everyone feared.

“You don’t get to wander this keep alone,” Damien said through clenched teeth, already dragging me back the way I came. “Not without a guard. Not without me.”

“I’m not some pet you can leash!”

“You’re my Luna,” he growled, “and you’ll follow my rules if you want to survive here.”

“Survive?” I snapped, stumbling to keep pace as his long strides ate up the corridor. “What exactly am I in danger of, Alpha? You?”

He didn’t answer. Just shoved open the door to my rooms and hauled me inside.

“When do I get to live like a person again?” I asked, breathless and furious. “How long do I have to put up with this prison?”

Damien stepped back, eyes burning. “When you provide me an heir.”

Then he slammed the door behind him. The echo shook the stone. I stood frozen for a heartbeat, rage thick in my throat—then grabbed the nearest thing I could find: a gilded dish from the side table.

I hurled it at the door.

The metal clanged loud as thunder against the wood before clattering to the floor and still, I was alone.

I didn’t pick up the dish. Let it stay there, a crooked accusation on the stone floor.

I paced instead.

Three steps to the window. Three back to the bed. My skin was hot, flushed, and not from the fireless hearth. I yanked the sleeves of the ridiculous gown down my arms and flung it into the corner, changing into the plainer shift I’d worn beneath.

What did he want from me?

One moment he treated me like livestock, a vessel to fill. The next, he was storming into my corridors like I’d broken some sacred law by walking ten paces unescorted. He’d touched me without care, married me without love, locked me away like something fragile—or dangerous. I didn’t know which one he saw me as.

I hated him for it. For the way he made my skin crawl and my pulse race in the same breath. For the way I remembered his hands on me even when I didn’t want to.

When you provide me an heir.

The words echoed, cruel and sharp. I pressed a pillow over my face and screamed into it, muffling the sound.

I missed dirt beneath my fingernails. I missed laughter, missed hunger that came from tending a dozen wounds and not from being denied food until the staff remembered. I missed my brother, damn him. Even if I couldn’t forgive what he’d done.

A knock rattled the door.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to see another guard’s sneer or another maid’s cool, pitied eyes.

But the door creaked open anyway. A young footman entered, silent, his eyes low. Behind him rolled a wheeled cart. No trays. No wine. Just… books. Dozens of them. Leather-bound, worn at the edges. Some looked ancient. Others, new.

Stacked beneath the books were puzzles—wooden ones, heavy with carved symbols. Maps. A pair of soft gloves for handling delicate pages. Blank parchment. Ink.

No note. Not a word.

The footman bowed, turned, and left without a sound. I stood frozen, heart thumping against my ribs.

Was this… an apology? A distraction? A peace offering from a man who couldn’t speak the word?

I walked over slowly, brushing a finger over the top book. Stormwatch History: Volume I. I stared at the title, then down at the gloves, the ink, the maps. My name wasn’t written anywhere, but I knew who had sent them.

Damien Voss.

The Alpha.

The husband.

I didn’t know if I wanted to slap him or thank him. But I sat down anyway, picked up the first book, and opened to the first page.