Shattered By The Alpha

Chapter 8

Alpha Lir POV

We arrived at Downbridge gate, and their guards were stiff enough not to bow and that was the first thing that grated on my nerves. At Silvercrest, the gates parted like the Red Sea when my motorcade approached. Here, two guards in a dark heavy combat suit made from a strange, dull-looking fabric stepped into the road and forced my driver to roll down the window.

"Identification," the guard said in a flat voice. He didn't care about the Silvercrest symbol on the hood.

"You’re speaking to Alpha Lir," Marcus snapped from the passenger seat.

The guard checked a tablet. "Alpha Silas is expecting a trade delegation from Silvercrest. Park in the secondary lot afterwards you will be escorted to the Great Hall on foot."

I felt the growl vibrating in my chest at the thought of walking on foot.

"Do it," I commanded Marcus, my voice tight.

As we walked through the settlement, I realized the drone photos hadn't done this place justice. There was a vitality here that Silvercrest lacked. Children were running around, their laughter echoing against the stone buildings. The wolves were thriving.

And the scent. The air was thick with the smell of the loom—cedar, dye, and a strange, metallic tang that made my wolf pace behind my ribs.

We were led into a hall that smelled of pine and ancient power. Alpha Silas was sitting at the edge of the long table, reviewing digital blueprints with a woman.

When he saw us, he didn't stand. He just leaned back, his hand resting casually on the table.

"Lir," Silas said, his voice a low rumble. "You’ve come a long way for a fabric contract."

"I’ve come to discuss the regional economy, Silas," I replied, taking the seat opposite him. Elara sat beside me, her eyes darting around the room with visible disdain.

"Is that so?" Silas smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Because your Beta’s emails seemed very specific about wanting to meet our Master Weaver."

"Yes, the silver-spinner,'" Elara said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "We were so curious. It’s rare to find such... talent in the boundary lands."

Silas looked at the door behind him. "Zara? Our guests are here."

The air in the room didn't just change at the mention of her name, it shattered.

The door opened, and she stepped in, instantly my heart stopped. The glass in my hand—a habit I’d brought from the office—nearly slipped.

She wasn't the trembling, unfit girl I had banished five years ago. She was taller, her shoulders squared and her dark hair flowing down her back in a braid held by a silver clip. She wore a dress of deep, midnight-blue wool that seemed to absorb the light around her.

But there was something different about her and it was her eyes. They weren't looking for my approval. They weren't filled with the pain of my rejection.

They were cold.

"Alpha Lir," she said. Her voice was steady—a weapon forged in a fire I had lit. "Luna Elara."

The bond in my chest that had been quiet all along didn't just throb, it roared. My wolf recognized his mate, and screamed at me that I had thrown away a diamond because I was too blind to see it in the rough.

"Zara," I breathed, the name tasting like metal.

"It’s Master Weaver Fen," Silas corrected me, his voice sharpening. He stood up then, stepping beside her. He didn't touch her, but the way he stood protective and possessive beside her made my wolf snarl. "She is a high-ranking member of this pack’s Council. You will address her with the respect her station demands."

Elara’s face turned a brilliant, ugly shade of red. "Master Weaver? She was a curse on our pack. She has no reflection! And she was rejected by the Alpha of Silvercrest. ALPHA Silas…"

"I have enough of a reflection to see the fear on your face, Elara," Zara said quietly.

She stepped toward the table, and for the first time, I noticed the way the light hit her dress.

"You didn't come for a contract, Lir," Zara said, looking me directly in the eye. "You came because Silvercrest is dying, and you think I’m the cure."

She leaned over the table, her scent—pine, rain, and something ancient—filling my lungs, making me want to drop to my knees and beg her,

"But here's the truth," she whispered, loud enough for the whole room to hear. "I don't weave for people who threw me out in the middle of the night to benefit them. And as far as I'm concerned, everyone in Silvercrest died to me the night you closed those gates."