Marked by the Enemy Alpha

Chapter 2: The Alpha King Arrives

Thea

I learned long ago that power has a scent.

It's in the air before he even appears—a shift in the atmosphere that makes every wolf on the ceremony grounds go rigid. Conversations die mid-sentence. Even the wind seems to hold its breath.

Then the crowd parts.

Not slowly. Not gradually. Like water splitting before a blade, wolves stumble over themselves to clear a path. Alphas drop their gazes. Betas bare their throats. Even Alpha Garrett, who rules Crescent Moon with an iron fist, straightens his spine like a soldier awaiting inspection.

And then I see him.

Alpha King Draeven Stormborn.

The monster from my nightmares made flesh.

I'm tucked behind a cluster of supply tents, half-hidden in shadow—omega privilege means I can watch without being seen. My fingers dig into the rough canvas, anchoring myself, because every instinct screams at me to run.

He's taller than I remember. Broader. Five years ago, glimpsed through smoke and terror, he seemed like a dark god descending. Now? He's somehow worse. More real. More devastating.

Midnight-black hair falls just past his collar, perfectly styled despite the evening wind. His suit is immaculate—black on black, tailored to emphasize shoulders that could carry kingdoms. But it's his eyes that steal the breath from my lungs. Silver. Not gray, not pale blue. Silver. Like moonlight on a blade, cold and cutting and impossibly bright against his tanned skin.

He moves through the crowd with the kind of confidence that doesn't need to announce itself. Every step is measured. Purposeful. Alphas twice his age bow as he passes, and he acknowledges them with the barest tilt of his head.

Behind him, his elite guard fans out—six wolves, each radiating enough power to lead their own pack. They're scanning the crowd, assessing threats, but Draeven? He seems almost bored.

Until he's not.

His gaze sweeps across the ceremony grounds, and I swear to every god listening that it pauses on my hiding spot.

My heart stops.

He can't see me. I'm nobody. Just another omega in the shadows.

But those silver eyes linger for a heartbeat too long before moving on, and my skin erupts in goosebumps. Not from fear—though terror is definitely part of the cocktail racing through my veins. From something else. Something I don't want to name.

"Your Majesty." Alpha Garrett steps forward, arms spread in exaggerated welcome. "Crescent Moon Pack is honored by your presence."

"Garrett." Draeven's voice is deep, smooth, with an edge that suggests violence kept on a very short leash. "I trust preparations for tomorrow's ceremony are complete?"

"Of course. All unmated wolves will attend, as per tradition."

As per command, I think bitterly. This morning, Beta Marcus made his rounds through the omega quarters, dragging out anyone who tried to hide. "The Alpha King honors us with his presence," he'd sneered. "Every unmated wolf presents themselves. No exceptions."

Like we're livestock at auction.

"Good." Draeven's attention shifts to the massive bonfire being prepared for tomorrow night. "The Blood Moon is... significant this year."

There's something in the way he says it—a weight, a meaning I can't decipher. Alpha Garrett clearly doesn't understand either, but he's too afraid to ask.

"We've spared no expense for the ceremony," Garrett continues, gesturing toward the elaborate preparations. "And naturally, the alliance between Crescent Moon and the Crown—"

"We'll discuss politics tomorrow." Draeven cuts him off without raising his voice, but Garrett flinches like he's been slapped. "Tonight, I'd like to rest."

It's a dismissal. A king doesn't need to be rude; he just needs to be done with you.

As Garrett scrambles to arrange accommodations, I watch Draeven's face. He's scanning the crowd again, silver eyes moving with predatory precision. Searching. But for what?

"Thalia, what are you doing?"

I nearly jump out of my skin. Yara appears beside me, breathless, her eyes wild.

"Watching," I whisper back. "What does it look like?"

"Like you have a death wish." She grabs my arm, pulling me deeper into the shadows. "Do you know what would happen if Beta Marcus caught you lurking around during the King's arrival? You're supposed to be in the kitchens—"

"I know where I'm supposed to be."

"Then why—" She stops, studying my face. "Thalia. What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I have. The ghost of my family's murderer, alive and powerful and standing fifty feet away.

But I can't say that. Can't explain the hatred burning through my chest like acid, or the way my hands shake with the urge to shift, to attack, to make him hurt the way he hurt me.

I also can't explain the other feeling. The one that makes my wolf—dormant for five years—suddenly claw beneath my skin like she's trying to break free.

"I'm fine," I lie. "Just nervous about tomorrow."

Yara's expression softens. "The ceremony?"

I nod, not trusting my voice.

"Hey." She squeezes my hand. "Whatever happens, whoever fate chooses... we'll figure it out. Together."

I want to believe her. Want to hold onto that optimism like a lifeline.

But then the wind shifts, carrying a scent across the ceremony grounds that hits me like a physical blow.

Pine. Smoke. And something wild, untamed, ancient—like thunderstorms and dark forests and danger wrapped in silk.

His scent.

My wolf surges forward so violently I gasp, doubling over. Yara catches me, alarmed, but I can barely hear her questions over the roaring in my ears. My wolf—my broken, buried, dead wolf—is awake for the first time since the m******e.

And she's howling for him.

No.

No.

Not him. Anyone but him.

I straighten, forcing my wolf down with every ounce of control I possess. When I look up, Draeven is being escorted toward the pack house.

He pauses at the entrance, turns, and his silver gaze cuts across the crowd one final time.

This time, I'm certain.

He's looking directly at me.