The Alpha's Ruthless Luna

Chapter 18

"Where is it?"

Aiden's mind had been plagued by whatever Jackson's spies had left behind. Even while he'd been in the cottage, that had been partly responsible for his inability to concentrate.

What had they left?

Whatever it was, he hoped it was a big mistake on their part... Something that would probably help him take his revenge.

Vincent brought in the box the Gammas had secured, just as they'd been instructed. It was more of a chest, one that only a few werewolves in the Silver Moon Pack had access to.

Aiden had decided that this rendezvous should take place in a more private part of the dungeon, specifically in what was practically his office there.

"What if it's a bomb?" Vincent asked out of the blue, already nervous that it could be something dangerous. "Or... or a virus?"

Aiden looked from the chest to Vincent, his forehead wrinkling.

"A bomb? A virus? Seriously, Vince?" he asked, one nostril flaring as a smirk tugged at his lips.

Vincent shrugged. He'd watched enough movies and read enough crime novels to let his imagination run wild.

"Well, there's only one way to find out. Did you even take a good look at it?"

No, he hadn't.

He'd left his trusted Gammas to take care of it.

"I did. Didn't look scary," he lied easily and with a comical shrug, taking a step back as Aiden began unlocking the chest.

When Aiden opened it, a small red velvet jar sat at the centre, looking almost regally innocent, as though someone had simply forgotten it there.

"It's a small container. I wonder what it holds. Probably some medicine or..." He paused dramatically. "A virus."

He joked as he picked up the jar without the slightest sense of fear or caution.

Vincent, on the other hand, held his breath as he watched Aiden inspect it. His eyes carefully examined the gold seal.

"Errr... maybe we should send it to the pack's physician?" Vincent suggested, his voice rising slightly.

Something about the jar—and the circumstances surrounding its discovery—didn't sit right with him.

As a matter of fact, he had a bad feeling about it.

Or perhaps he was simply a scaredy-cat.

He was one paranoid werewolf, after all. Even Aiden often teased him about it.

"Jeez, you sound like her," Aiden said with a grunt.

"Like who?" Vincent asked, confused.

"Diana. You sound like a human. Our physician is more of a witch-s***h-magician, and she hasn't practised in years. Actually, she has dementia. The Elders and I relieved her of her duties. So we've got just ourselves to figure this one out."

Vincent was dumbfounded by the revelation and frustrated by how headstrong Aiden was being.

So he gave up on his suggestions, folded his arms, and watched Aiden try to open the jar.

First twist...

Nothing.

Weird.

Second twist, this time with more grip strength.

Still nothing.

Aiden frowned deeply at the now-suspicious jar.

"Perhaps it needs werewolf strength," Aiden said.

Vincent's face tightened even more.

"Listen, Alpha, I really think—"

"Shhhhh..." Aiden hushed him, pressing his index finger to his lips. "Pants up. Why the hell are you scared of an ordinary red container? I know it looks like some voodoo s**t, but I have a strong feeling that it can't harm us. And trust me when I say it's better if we open it here than expose it to some innocent pack member."

Aiden had a point.

Vincent realised that painfully.

"Fine, but—"

"Vincent? You know what? Please let me be alone. I think I'd rather do this myself. You're making me nervous."

"What? No, I'm not leaving you. There's no way—"

"Vincent!" he warned. "If you don't leave, you'll be the one opening it."

Vincent immediately raised his palms in surrender.

"Fine. I'll leave you. But be careful. I'd still suggest we leave it, though. Aiden?"

Aiden wasn't listening.

He didn't want to.

The more Vincent spoke, the more nervous he actually became, and he didn't want to admit that something as small as a locked jar was getting to him.

"Vincent, one more word and—"

"Don't force it open, Aiden. And don't do something crazy like breaking it or—"

Aiden rolled his eyes.

He was about to hand the bottle to Vincent when Vincent scurried out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

"Better," Aiden muttered with a satisfied grin.

Deep down, he'd been trying to protect his cousin in case the jar actually contained something dangerous.

He'd rather die himself than let Vincent—or anyone in his pack—get hurt.

Without thinking twice, he twisted the lid with so much force that his wrist made an uncomfortable cracking sound.

Then came the actual crack of the jar's lid.

It was open.

Aiden took a deep breath and removed the lid completely, revealing what was inside.

Nothing.

His face crumpled with confusion and disappointment.

Who carried around a beautiful jar containing absolutely nothing?

No wonder they'd forgotten it.

How convenient.

They'd made him strain his hand and waste his time over nothing.

He'd expected too much from this. He'd imagined it was some kind of secret or weapon he could use against Jackson.

Now he was back to square one.

He looked at the jar again, and anger filled him.

They'd made him hope.

They'd made him look stupid.

Before he could stop himself, he threw the jar against the stone wall.

It shattered into pieces.

"A f*****g empty jar," he swore under his breath, dusting his palms together.

Then his forehead wrinkled.

A strange burning sensation had appeared on one of his fingers.

He immediately looked down at his hand.

For a second, he thought he'd cut himself when he'd thrown the jar, which should have been impossible.

But that was the only explanation that came to mind.

Except when he looked at his hand, his mind stopped.

His right hand was stained with black patches.

He stared.

One of them was disappearing right before his eyes, becoming smaller and smaller until it looked as though it had never been there.

Then his hand began to swell slightly, the shadow of the dark patches still visible beneath his skin, as though his flesh had absorbed them.

For the first time in a long while, Aiden was worried about himself.

What had he touched?

How had he touched it?

When had he touched it?

The jar had been empty.

So how had he contracted this strange... whatever it was?

He rushed back to where the pieces of glass had scattered, searching for the black substance.

Instead, he was met with even more shock.

There was no glass.

Everything had disappeared.

His mind went into a loop.

Was he losing touch with reality?

Was the jar some kind of trap?

A distraction?

Magic, perhaps?

Was this Jackson's doing?

If it was, then something dangerous must be attached to it.

He paced the room in growing panic, waiting for something strange to happen so he could deal with it.

Hopefully, before Vincent decided to check on him.

Seconds passed.

Nothing.

Minutes passed too.

Eventually, Aiden rolled his eyes and decided it had been nothing.

Perhaps it had been one of the toys the spies used for distraction.

Aiden shook his head and smiled.

Actually, it made sense.

The disappearing jar.

The disappearing dark smear.

He laughed at himself.

He'd wanted to discover a secret and had ended up discovering something that was, in itself, somewhat of a secret.

He shrugged and was about to leave the room.

He turned too quickly and headed toward the exit.

When he reached the door, he stopped.

Not because he wanted to.

His legs wouldn't move.

His entire body wouldn't move.

Shock and sheer panic swept through him as he realised the same burning sensation he'd felt in his hand had spread throughout his body.

He tried to call for help, overwhelmed by the strange sensation that was now mixed with a pain he couldn't ignore.

His throat locked.

No sound came out.

Then the worst thing happened.

His body began to fall.

He had no control over it.

He hit the ground with a hard thud, fully conscious.

His eyes remained open as he stared at the dark ceiling.

And then he realised.

He'd been an i***t.

Jackson had one up on him.

If only he'd listened to Vincent.

But was this really how he died?