Shattered By The Alpha

Chapter 7

Alpha Lir POV (Five Years Later)

The rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Silvercrest executive suite, blurring the lights of the city below. From the eigth floor, I could see the sprawling borders of our territory—a kingdom of concrete, steel, and ancient forest.

On paper, Silvercrest was thriving. Our stocks were up, our borders were secure, and our influence in the Regional Council had never been higher.

But inside these walls, the air tasted like ash.

I swiveled my chair away from the window and stared at the man standing across my desk. My Beta, Marcus, he looked older than he had five years ago. Gray was beginning to pepper his temples, a sign of stress that no amount of beta-blood could mask.

"The birth rates are down another three percent this quarter, Alpha Lir," Marcus said, his voice flat.

I tightened my grip on the crystal glass in my hand and the amber liquid swirled, reflecting the dim office lights. “What about the mate bondings among the wolves?"

"It's static," Marcus replied. "The Moon Goddess hasn't granted a High-Alpha match in three years. The pack is restless. They’re starting to talk about the dry spell again."

I slammed the glass onto the mahogany desk. "It is not a spell. It is a statistical anomaly."

"Well none of that matters as far as lack of affairs are concerned," a voice cut in from the doorway.

Elara walked in, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. She looked every bit the Luna the pack had wanted, dressed in a tailored white suit, her hair perfectly arranged into a high ponytail, and her scent a carefully curated blend of jasmine and power.

But when she looked at me, there was no spark. No heat or fated pull.

We had tried to make it work after the ceremony five years ago, the Council had practically forced us together to stabilize the pack. We were the Golden Couple of Silvercrest. We appeared on the covers of lifestyle magazines and spoke at every gala.

But the bond wasn't there. She was a companion, a business partner, and a source of constant resentment.

"The elders are asking questions, Lir," Elara said, leaning against the edge of my desk. "They’re remembering the night of the Rejection. They’re wondering if the Goddess is punishing us for what happened to her."

"Do not use that name in here," I hissed before she could call her name.

"Zara," she said anyway, her eyes flashing with a bit of her old spite. "You banished her to the rogue lands to save our perfection. But look at us. We’re perfect, and we’re dying. The pack feels empty. I feel empty. You should have kept her as a maid." She muttered the last word, rolling her eyes.

"You have everything you ever asked for, Elara," I reminded her coldly. "The title. The status. My protection."

"And a bed that feels like a tomb," she shot back before turning to Marcus. "Any word from the scouts?"

Marcus hesitated, glancing at me.

"Speak," I commanded.

"There are rumors coming out of the North," Marcus said, pulling a tablet from his briefcase. "Dawnridge territory. They’ve seen a massive surge in their export quality, their textiles, specifically. They’re producing fabrics that can withstand silver-laced weapons and extreme temperatures. It’s giving their warriors a massive advantage."

I frowned. "Dawnridge was a pack of stone-dwellers and wood-cutters. How did they get that kind of technology?"

"It’s not technology," Marcus said, sliding the tablet across the desk.

On the screen was a grainy photo taken by a long-range drone. It showed a woman walking through a marketplace in the Dawnridge settlement. She was dressed simply in a dark cloak, her hair pulled back. She looked older, stronger, and carried herself with a quiet, terrifying grace.

My heart did a strange, violent stutter in my chest.

The bond, the one I had tried to sever, the one I had repudiated with the full weight of my Alpha authority suddenly gave a ghostly, agonizing throb in my chest. It was a phantom limb screaming in the dark.

"She’s alive," I whispered.

"She’s more than alive," Marcus said. "She’s their Lead Weaver. They call her the Silver-Spinner. And rumor has it, Alpha Silas doesn't let anyone near her without a full guard detail."

"She was supposed to die or become a rogue," Elara muttered, her face turning pale. "The boundary woods, no one survives that alone and gets accepted into a pack. How dare Alpha Silas take in a rejected wolf!"

I stood up, walking back to the window. My reflection stared back at me, a man who had everything and possessed nothing. For five years, I had told myself I had done the right thing for the pack. I had trimmed the weakness to keep the tree strong.

But the tree was rotting from the inside, and the weakness was thriving in the cold. She made a good use of herself. I smirked in bitterness.

"Lir?" Elara asked, her voice trembling slightly. "What are you thinking?"

I watched a flash of lightning illuminate the distant mountains toward the north.

"I'm thinking that a repudiation is only valid if the pack survives it," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "Prepare the motorcade. We’re heading to Downridge. I want a meeting with Alpha Silas."

"On what grounds? You know clearly she has marked herself useful to the pack now." Marcus said observing my shadow.

I turned, a dark, hungry look in my eyes. "Trade negotiations. I want to see this Silver-Spinner for myself. I want to see if the Goddess really did make a mistake... or if I did."