Ruined By The Alpha

Chapter 13

The psychological horror of Caine’s words broke the final thread of my sanity. “He is going to learn exactly what happens to a boy who tries to claim his father’s mate.”

He wanted the explosion. He wanted Carl to walk in, breathe in the heavy, unmistakable aroma of our raw, chaotic union, and realize that his best friend—the girl he loved, the girl he wanted to make his Luna—had been thoroughly and utterly claimed by his own father. Caine was going to use me to crush his son’s spirit, to break Carl’s rebellion in the most cruel way imaginable.

"No," I choked out, the word a frantic, breathless sob. "No, I won't let you do this."

Caine didn't answer. He simply threw one last, possessive glance over his shoulder, a dark, wicked smirk playing on his sharp lips, before he turned the brass handle and stepped out into the hallway, leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar. He was setting the trap. He was waiting for his son to walk straight into the wreckage.

The moment the door clicked, a blind, primal panic seized my entire body. My wolf wasn't singing anymore; she was howling in terror, her instincts screaming at her to flee from the crossfire of two apex predators.

I scrambled off the tangled, ruined sheets, my legs shaking so violently I nearly collapsed onto the hardwood floor. The localized soreness between my thighs flared painfully with every movement, a brutal physical reminder of what Caine had just done to me in Carl's bed. I couldn't be here when Carl walked in. I couldn't look into his innocent, trusting eyes and watch the exact second his heart shattered into a million pieces.

My eyes darted across the floor, locking onto the emerald silk gown. It was crumpled near the wardrobe, the back completely exposed, the fabric still smelling heavily of Caine's dark cedar from the gala. I snatched it up, my hands trembling so hard I could barely pull the silk over my bare, bruised skin. The fabric clung to me, damp with my sweat and the residual heat of the Alpha’s touch. I didn't care that it was a ballgown. I didn't care that I didn't have shoes.

I needed to run.

I sprinted toward the floor-to-ceiling glass balcony doors—the very doors Caine’s wolf had pushed open hours ago. I threw them open, and the freezing, damp air of the morning hit my face like a slap, clearing the suffocating fog of Caine’s pheromones from my lungs. The rain had slowed to a heavy, misting drizzle, turning the vast mountain estate into a gray, foggy labyrinth.

I climbed over the stone balustrade of the terrace, my bare feet finding purchase on the thick ivy vines creeping up the side of the mansion's stone foundation. Adrenaline flooded my veins, burning away the physical pain as I climbed down, my hands scraping against the rough brick until my feet finally hit the wet, muddy grass of the eastern lawn.

Without looking back, I bolted toward the tree line.

The Pacific Northwest forest was a dense, towering wall of dark pine and ancient ferns. The moment my bare feet broke past the perimeter of the manicured lawn and stepped into the deep mud of the woods, the shadows swallowed me whole. Sharp twigs cut into my soles, and briars tore at the emerald silk of my dress, but I didn't stop. I ran deeper and deeper into the wilderness, pushing past the heavy brush, desperate to put as much distance between myself and the Black Estate as possible.

But in a pack of werewolves, running on foot was an illusion.

Less than five minutes into my flight, a sound echoed from the direction of the mansion that made my blood turn to absolute ice.

It was a howl.

It wasn't a normal pack call. It was Carl’s voice—a raw, agonized, world-shattering roar that tore through the quiet morning air, carrying the weight of a betrayal so profound it made the very trees vibrate. He had come home. He had walked into his bedroom, breathed in the air, and found the torn fabric of his t-shirt and the unmistakable mark of his father’s complete possession on his bed.

A second later, a second howl ripped through the sky, completely eclipsing Carl’s.

It was Alpha Caine. His howl was a booming, terrifying roar of absolute dominance, a command to the entire territory. The hunt was officially on. The Alpha was declaring his mate missing, unleashing the entire pack’s security forces, while his own beast lunged into the woods to hunt down the prey that had dared to run from his cage.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The distant, heavy rhythm of paws hitting the wet earth began to echo through the valley behind me. They were tracking my scent. It didn't matter how far I ran; Caine’s cedar and rain aroma was practically bleeding off my skin, leaving a glowing, sensory map through the brush that any wolf could follow from miles away.

I scrambled up a steep, muddy incline, my breath coming in ragged, burning gasps. The emerald dress was entirely ruined now, covered in mud and torn to shreds around my knees. I looked around wildly, the gray fog rolling thick between the pine trees, disorienting me. I was running blind, caught in a pincers movement between a heartbroken son who wanted answers and a tyrannical father who wanted to drag me back to his desk.

The sound of snapping branches grew dangerously close. To my left, a flash of gray fur cut through the fog—one of the perimeter scouts. To my right, the deep, terrifyingly familiar growl of a massive black wolf echoed from the shadows, the gold eyes of Alpha Caine cutting through the mist like twin lanterns.

I backed up against the massive, moss-covered trunk of an ancient cedar tree, my chest heaving, my bare feet bleeding into the mud. The shadows were closing in, and the trap was snapping shut for the final time.