The knock upon the mahogany door echoed like a hollow warning. None dared enter the Alpha's chambers unbidden, for they knew well that one misstep could summon a storm no mortal wished to taste. Yet Oliver, Leo, and Lucas exchanged brief glances, their knuckles rapping thrice in synchrony.
From within came that deep baritone, sharp as an unsheathed blade:
"Enter."
They pushed the door open, careful, reverent. The chamber smelled of old wood, iron, and the faint trace of moonlit roses drifting in through the open window. Theodore stood with his back turned, his golden gaze cast not at them, but at the sprawling garden below—where night seemed to curl like smoke.
For a moment, silence weighed heavy, until Oliver's voice dared to cut it.
"Alpha… we have word. Dante yet breathes. He is being nursed in a human village—by some decrepit healer who still clings to his herbs and prayers. If you command it, we shall finish what your blade could not. One more strike, and his vitals will be snuffed forever."
The room thickened with tension. Theodore did not move at first. His broad shoulders seemed carved of stone, but when he finally spoke, his voice was a low thunder, restrained yet laced with anguish.
"No."
The single word hung in the chamber like a curse. Slowly, he turned, the light catching his sharp features, every angle shadowed in torment.
"I will not end him again. He is my blood… my half-brother. His rage was not born without cause. I know what my father did—how he stole the woman who birthed us both. And from that theft, I was made. Tell me, then… how could Dante not hate me? How could his sword not thirst for me? I should not have thrust my own blade into his chest that night. His blood upon my hands has robbed me of sleep, of peace. Every dusk, his face rises before me—my reflection in his wrath, my mother in his eyes. We are two halves of one cursed legacy. And still… I cut him down."
The Alpha's voice cracked ever so slightly, a break only wolves with ears sharp as blades could hear. His golden eyes gleamed—not with dominance, but with regret deep enough to drown. For a heartbeat, even Oliver, Leo, and Lucas lowered their heads, the weight of his confession clawing at their own hearts.
And then—Leo, unable to hold back his sly grin, leaned casually against the wall, his tone sharp with sarcasm.
"Well, Alpha… what of Isabella? While you brood over half-blood brothers and cursed legacies, your little sibling seems busy writing his own tale. Lucian… ah, that boy has teeth. I swear, the way he stares at her—you'd think he was already preparing to claim her as his Luna."
Lucas chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with mockery.
"And there's a gathering in the town, two weeks hence. Perhaps you should bring young Lucian along. Who knows? Maybe he'll sink his claws into some tender meat at that tender age. Save him from playing house with your chosen bride."
For a second, silence fell again. Theodore's jaw clenched, the muscles ticking, his golden eyes narrowing with a feral flash. Rage brewed beneath his skin, but he did not let it detonate. Instead, a twisted, humorless smile curved at his lips.
"Careful," he murmured, voice quiet but steeped in menace, "lest the monkeys you jest about become the corpses you bury tomorrow."
Oliver, Leo, and Lucas exchanged looks—half-amused, half-uneasy—then laughed, though the sound faltered under the weight of his gaze.
And yet, when Theodore turned back to the window, their smirks returned, for they knew this Alpha, for all his wrath, had shadows gnawing at him far deeper than their taunts could ever reach.