Defying the Rogue Alpha
Chapter 130: Castle

Chapter 130: Castle

Standing before the imposing castle of the Alpha King, the structure was a testament to power and authority, its towering spires reaching for the heavens, he marvelled.

The allure of power and recognition tugged at him, whispering promises of grandeur that Lucas seemed to overlook.

Approaching the guards at the entrance,he introduced himself confidently, "I am Dorian. I need to see the Alpha King."

One of the guards, clearly unimpressed, retorted, "And I need a comfortable throne to sit on all day. Doesn’t mean it’s going to happen."

Undeterred, Dorian leaned in slightly, "Tell him I am Alpha Lucas Raventhorn’s Beta, and I have information about the Daughter of the Moon."

The mention of the Daughter of the Moon visibly startled the guard. He straightened up, his demeanor shifting from dismissive to alert. Turning to his fellow guards, he instructed, "Summon Alaric immediately."

As Dorian waited, he couldn’t help but reflect on his journey. He had wanted Lucas to become just like King Herod but he allowed a meaningless, inconsequential slut to derail his quest. The fool had turned himself to a pussy.

A few minutes later, Dorian found himself being escorted through a long, dark hallway. The guards flanked him on both sides. The air grew thicker as they neared the end of the hall. The moment the heavy doors creaked open, the rich scent of burning herbs, incense, and blood slammed into Dorian’s nostrils.

Inside, the atmosphere buzzed with energy. Dorian took one cautious step in, not missing the skulls and bones arranged too artistically to be anything less than intentional.

Alaric was bent over a bowl, grinding with a stone pestle. He didn’t even bother to look up.

"So... you’re Alpha Lucas’s Beta," Alaric said. "Here to stab him in the back?"

Dorian smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "He killed my son. I’d say stabbing him in the back isn’t nearly dramatic enough retribution."

Alaric let the silence stretch, then, with deliberate disinterest, asked, "And what makes you think your efforts are needed?"

Dorian stepped forward with the confidence of a man who had nothing left to lose and everything to gain. "Because the Daughter of the Moon is Alpha Lucas’s mate," he said slowly. "And I know exactly how to get to her."

That made Alaric pause. For a beat, the scraping of the pestle halted, and even the flickering candles seemed to lean in to hear better.

"So do we," Alaric finally responded but Alaric didn’t know she was mated. And he definitely didn’t know to whom. That complicated things a bit. But no matter, Zoe had it all handled.

"But..." Dorian started but was cut off.

"To think," Alaric cut in coldly, "you traveled all the way from the East to the North, demanding to see the Alpha King in the most disrespectful manner I’ve ever heard of, tells me everything I need to know about your Alpha. He acts before thinking. Emotional. Brash. Dangerous."

He turned to the guards with finality. "We have no use for you. Throw him in the dungeon. The King will order his execution soon."

The guards seized him roughly by the arms. Dorian didn’t resist. He allowed himself to be hauled away.

He wasn’t here for the bald spiritualist with flair for melodrama and human bone décor. He had come for the King. And one way or another, he would see him.

*****

Dennis was impressed. No—scrap that—Dennis was very impressed. He’d expected competence, sure. Zoe had once floored Lucas with a single kick. That wasn’t nothing. And she’d been an assassin, which kind of came with an automatic formidable vibe. But watching her now... training his people, commanding the field—he didn’t know whether to applaud or propose.

Zoe was a beast, in the most flattering, awe-inspiring, terrifying kind of way. The kind of woman you didn’t bring flowers to—you brought her fresh steel blades instead. He sat under the big tree in front of the main packhouse, sipping his water bottle and pretending not to stare, even though his insides were practically humming a love ballad in her honor.

The training field buzzed with focused energy. Every rogue had volunteered to fight—every single one. But Dennis had filtered through them. He pulled out the ones who had too much to lose. That left him with a solid three dozen warriors.

And Zoe was whipping them into shape. She stalked through them, correcting posture, yelling drills, tossing a few to the ground just to test their reflexes. She didn’t blink when they cursed. She grinned. It was hot.

Missy approached, arms folded, eyes narrowed in the way she always did when she was about to poke a hole in his good mood.

"You look like a satisfied man," she said, deadpan as ever.

Dennis chuckled, still watching Zoe toss a grown man into the dirt with the finesse of someone setting down a wine glass. "Wouldn’t you be?"

Missy arched an eyebrow. "I don’t trust her."

He turned to look at her, already rolling his eyes. "You don’t trust anybody."

"True," Missy said without an ounce of shame. "But do you know how assassins are made? They are broken from the inside out—not just by pain, but by magic. They take who you are and turn it into something that serves them. When the choice is presented to her, what do you think she’ll choose?"

Dennis’s smile faded slightly.

"She’s already chosen," Dennis said.

Missy shook her head slowly, lips pursed. "No. She hasn’t. Not yet. Not really. We’ll see."

He turned his gaze back to Zoe just as she was correcting someone’s form, guiding their arm with her own, murmuring a correction with a gentleness that felt out of place on a training ground. She moved like she belonged. She taught like she believed. She looked at him once—just once—with a flash of mischief in her eye and a small smile that sent a bolt of electricity through his chest.

She had already chosen.

And he prayed to every goddess and wolf god in the universe that she wouldn’t be forced to choose again.

*****

Alaric was yanked from the silky embrace of his bed in silk pajamas. One moment, he’d been deep asleep, the next, the King’s personal guards were storming into his chambers dragging him out by the arms. No explanation. No chance to throw on his damn robe. Just manhandling.

By the time they reached the castle’s grand throne room, Alaric had sobered up from his sleep, his hair was sticking in every direction, and his dignity had been left somewhere along the hallway.

He knew what this was. He knew. Something had gone wrong and of course, the King blamed him.

The guards didn’t so much drop him at the king’s feet as launch him. He landed on the cold marble floor with a grunt, just in time to be greeted by the back of Herod’s ringed hand.

It was like getting hit with a steel bear trap. His head snapped sideways from the blow, and stars burst behind his eyes. Blood began trickling down his lip.

"You sent Zoe?!" Herod roared. "Zoe! For a mission this important?! That traitorous brat?! Did you forget when she spared the Fang pack’s children instead of slaughtering them like she was told? And you sent her?!"

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