Alpha’s Gifted Luna

THE AIR inside the grand bedchamber of Velirius was thick with the scent of medicinal herbs and impending war. Alpha King Darius, once the most formidable wolf in the entire kingdom, lay against his pillows. His breathing was labored, a far cry from the terrifying roar that once united the different Alphas and their packs into a harmonious alliance. Beside his bed stood his son, Crown Prince Kael, his jaw clenched in frustration. Pacing near the heavy oak doors was Alpha General Izaique of the Fire Blade Pack, his combat boots clicking heavily against the marble floor. "Your Majesty, the situation at the borders is getting worse," Izaique broke the silence, his voice tight with urgency. "The reports are true. We are no longer dealing with mere rogue attacks." Kael turned to the General, his golden eyes flashing. "What exactly are we dealing with, Izaique? I saw the casualty reports this morning. The numbers are impossible. Are you telling me they've evolved?" Izaique stopped pacing and met the Prince's gaze. "Exactly, Your Highness. They are no longer just outcasts. The rogues are transforming into mindless, powerful beasts. They have become monsters. They no longer attack for territory; they slaughter purely for the pleasure of killing. Last night, they slaughtered the innocent pups and frail elders of both the Riverfall and Iron-Claw packs. The peace your father built... they are tearing it down, piece by piece." A violent coughing fit erupted from the King. Kael rushed to his father's side, holding a glass of water. "Father, you need to rest. Do not burden yourself with this today. I will handle the council. The royal healers said—" "Forget the healers, Kael," King Darius rasped, pushing the glass away. Despite his fading strength, the commanding aura of an Alpha King still radiated from him. "My time is running out. I can feel my wolf growing weaker by the day. This illness is consuming me, and we cannot afford to let our enemies see Velirius bleed." "Father..." Kael whispered, the weight of the crown suddenly feeling very real and very heavy. King Darius grabbed Kael's forearm, his grip surprisingly tight. "Listen to me. Velirius needs a strong leader, and that is no longer me. Kael, it is time for you to step up. I am placing the fate of the kingdom in your hands. Find out who or what is turning these rogues into monsters. Solve this crime before there is no kingdom left to rule." Kael swallowed hard, standing taller as he accepted the burden. "I will not let you down, Alpha King. I will track down whoever brought this curse upon us. We will stop them." King Darius nodded slowly, then shifted his tired gaze toward the imposing figure of the General. "Alpha General Izaique of the Fire Blade Pack... come here please." Izaique approached the foot of the bed and immediately dropped to one knee, bowing his head in deep respect. "I am here, my King. At your command." "I am officially designating you to lead the entire Velirius army," the King declared, his voice echoing in the quiet room. "You will be the sword and shield of this kingdom. Mobilize every available warrior from every pack. I want you to investigate this mutation on the frontlines. Fight these beasts. Keep the remaining normal rogues under control, and above all, protect our people. Do not let another innocent wolf bleed for this war." Izaique looked up, his expression hardened with absolute resolve. "By my honor as the Alpha of the Fire Blade Pack, I accept this duty, Your Majesty. I will tear those beasts apart with my own bare hands if I have to. We will protect Velirius to our very last breath." "Good," Darius breathed out, sinking deeper into his pillows, looking visibly exhausted from just speaking. "Work together. Kael, use your mind and authority. Izaique, use your strength and strategy. You are the future of Velirius now. Go. Save our kingdom" Kael gave his father one last lingering look before turning to Izaique. The Prince and the General locked eyes, a silent agreement passing between them. "General," Kael said, his tone shifting from a worried son to a commanding Crown Prince. "Gather the elite trackers and your top lieutenants in the war room. We leave for the border in one hour. I want to look these beasts in the eye and see exactly what we're dealing with." Izaique stood, placing a fist over his heart. "Right away, Your Highness. We will hunt them down." THE MORNING sun streamed through the towering glass windows of the Santilban manor, the grand and imposing estate of the Silver Claw Pack's Alpha. But for Therese, the beautiful morning meant absolutely nothing. She was kneeling on the icy marble floors of the grand dining hall, her back aching terribly as she aggressively scrubbed a stubborn stain on the floor. A few feet away from her, sitting comfortably at the long, elegant mahogany table, were her father, her stepmother Sylvia, and her stepsister Clara. They were happily feasting on the lavish breakfast Therese had woken up at 4:00 AM to prepare. They were laughing and chatting, completely ignoring her existence. Clara picked up her porcelain coffee cup, took a delicate sip, and immediately scrunched her face in exaggerated disgust. "Ugh! What is this?" she complained loudly, slamming the cup down with a harsh clatter. Sylvia paused from slicing her pancakes, delicately wiping her mouth with a silk napkin. "Is there a problem, sweetie?" "This coffee is absolutely disgusting, Mom," Clara whined, turning her glaring eyes to Therese's back. "Therese! What kind of garbage did you make me? It's freezing cold and disgustingly bitter. Do you even know how to make proper coffee, or are you just utterly useless?" Therese stopped scrubbing, her shoulders immediately tensing. She wiped her sweaty forehead with the back of her arm. "S-Sorry, Clara. I had to prepare it very early this morning to make sure the rest of your breakfast was ready on time." "Well, I don't drink cold garbage," Clara sneered. Looking directly at Therese with a wicked glint in her eyes, Clara nudged the saucer. With a deliberate flick of her wrist, she pushed the cup right off the edge of the table. CRASH. The expensive porcelain shattered into jagged pieces, spilling dark, muddy coffee all over the freshly polished floor Therese had just spent the last hour cleaning. "Oh my god! I-I'll clean it up, I'm so sorry!" Therese scrambled forward on her hands and knees in utter panic. In her desperate rush to pick up the mess before they could get angry, she wasn't careful. Her hands were already covered in unhealed blisters and fresh wounds from endless manual labor, and as she grabbed a sharp piece of porcelain, it sliced right through her palm. Fresh blood immediately seeped out, mixing with the spilled coffee on the floor. "Ah..." Therese hissed under her breath, flinching from the stinging pain. But she didn't dare stop. She hastily gathered the broken shards with her bleeding hands, keeping her head bowed low. "I'll make you another one, Clara. A fresh, hot cup. Exactly how you like it. I promise, I'll get it right this time." Sylvia let out a mocking, high-pitched laugh, her tone dripping with venom. "Oh, please. Look at her, Clara. She resembles a gutter rat more than an Alpha's daughter. If it wasn't for your father's endless charity, I would have kicked you out of this pack house years ago. You are utterly useless. You can't even brew a simple cup of coffee right." Therese bit her inner lip so hard she tasted copper, trying her best to hold back the tears stinging her eyes. She clutched the broken shards, the sharp bite of the broken porcelain was a mere whisper compared to the suffocating humiliation of being treated like a slave in her own home. Instinctively, her eyes flicked toward the head of the table. She waited — hoped — for a voice to defend her. Just one word from her father. Alpha Roman lowered his daily newspaper. His sharp, imposing gaze swept across the room, and the heavy, oppressive aura of an Alpha instantly filled the dining hall, making everyone freeze. "Will all of you just shut up?" he barked, his deep voice vibrating with heavy irritation. Therese's heart sank to her stomach. He wasn't looking at her bleeding hands. He wasn't looking at the mess Clara had maliciously created. "I am trying to read the morning reports," her father continued coldly, glaring annoyed at Sylvia and Clara. "You are all too loud. It is so early in the morning, and you're disturbing my peace. Do either of you possess any skill other than yapping?" He then slowly shifted his dismissive gaze down to Therese. There was no warmth, no pity. "And you. Hurry up and clean that mess! Then make her a new damn coffee so everyone can finally stay quiet. My God! You're all giving me a headache." With that, he flipped his newspaper back up, completely unfazed by the sight of his own daughter kneeling on the floor, bleeding like a common servant in her own home. Therese swallowed the heavy lump in her throat, her chest tight with rejection. "Y-Yes, Alpha," she whispered, a single tear slipping down her cheek as she turned back to wipe the bloody coffee off the floor.