The Alpha's Blind Fate
Chapter 67: Beginning Of The Hunt

Chapter 67: Beginning Of The Hunt

DAEMON

"You were right, the Matriarchy bit the bait." Shadow announced, the words sounding like a well-written poem in Daemon’s ears.

Daemon leaned into his well-cushioned chair, the thought that it would be the last time he would sit on the tent chair causing him to massage his now stiff shoulders.

The full moon was alive that night, which meant that his wolf raged to be free. The urge was particularly fiercer and Daemon had a feeling it had something to do with its previous unrest. The unrest still lingered on, but he was almost certain that the presence of the full moon would cure him of that unrest.

"How were you so sure the reclusive Matriarchy would step out of the Mountains just for her?" Yaren asked, stripping out of his very expensive coat in preparation to shift, leaving his torso bare.

"I wasn’t sure." Daemon said, finally standing up from the chair. "I bet that it would either be them, or the white monks."

"How?" Yaren asked, cracking his knuckles until they popped so loud it reverberated through the night.

"It’s quite simple," Daemon answered, moving to the wolf chess table, "whoever dropped Zina WolfKnight at the forest didn’t want her dead. I mean, they were even willing to heavily compensate whoever adopts her. Fifty brams of gold per month is not exactly a small offer, nor is it one anyone would pass on. It only tells me that whoever it is was particularly determined to make sure Zina WolfKnight doesn’t loose her life...whatever may be the reason."

Indeed, Daemon had calculated it. Every variable, every number, and every difference.

And the conclusion he had reached was that someone wanted Zina WolfKnight very much alive. Whoever that person or persons were didn’t react when Zina was sent to the Arctic North because her life wasn’t exactly at stake. She lived the life of the glorious Theta, revered by all.

But the same couldn’t be said if Zina was abducted by the rogues, taking into consideration that Zoric was not exactly kind.

All Daemon had to do was make sure the news spread so high and wide that everyone in Vraga knew that the Divine Theta’s life was at stake. After that, all Daemon had to do was relax and watch the drama unfold.

Why was he so obsessed over this woman? He didn’t know anymore. Over time, the line of reason had blurred.

Why was someone so obsessed over Zina WolfKnight’s life? He didn’t know that either. And he couldn’t pretend to care. As long as he could manipulate everything to fit into his wishes, all else could go.

Already, with his army and the WolfKnights, they could have done considerable harm to the army if the Arising Rogues. But with the Matriarchy now an unwilling ally, the war was very much won.

"How many werewolves did the matriarchy send?" Daemon asked, gazing at the board. It was white’s turn to make a move and he wondered what move it would be.

"They sent over a hundred." Yaren answered with a grin.

Daemon knew what the man thought about the same as he did. They were both thinking that a hundred elite Matriarchy Warrior were enough to cause significant harm to the army of the Arising Rogues.

This was exactly why Daemon preferred critical thinking as against brute strength. There really was no need to submerge himself in the raging fire of a battlefield when all he could simply do was borrow a hand that would aid his job.

Finally, everything was coming to an end exactly at the time he wanted, and the way he planned for it. It had taken six years, and sure, along the way there were variables... but in all that time he spent, not one thing went out of plan... or out of his control.

Everything was set squarely at the place he wanted them to be.

"Brother, is it finally the time to go home?" Yaren asked him just as Daemon stripped his shirt off his.

The howling of werewolves permeated the air like a true battle cry all over the camp. The full moon hung in the sky for all to see, fueling the most primitive and darkest desires.

Daemon had no desire to fully shift. That night, he would let his ultimate hybrid form—the Lycan—free. With the moon by his side, he would end all of this with the full swing of a knife. And with it, he was sure that Eldric’s reign would end too.

"Yes brother, it is time to go home." Daemon answered much to Yaren’s glee.

Just at that moment, Falcon entered, his expression set with a grim determination that Daemon was beginning to realize had a foundation entwined in an emotional entanglement that slightly surprised him.

"We are ready, Daemon." Falcon said, referring to the retinue that traveled with Zina WolfKnight. "I hear the recluse Matriarchy has joined the war. The moon is surely on our side."

"A word of warning, Alpha Prince Falcon," Daemon addressed his brother, and yet again, the younger man looked slightly startled at the formality of how he was addressed.

"I can see just how eager you’re to rescue your Theta, but I advise that you look at the people around you. Not many share your sentiment."

Falcon frowned, making Daemon wonder if his disgruntlement came from the fact that the words he spoke sounded strange coming from him. After all, if they were counting it, no one was seemingly more interested in taking Zina WolfKnight’s life than Daemon.

But Daemon was content in playing the tough hunt. With the Matriarchy joining the fray, he wondered who would get to Zina WolfKnight first.

"I shall bear that in mind brother."

Daemon stepped out of the tent alongside Yaren, Marcus and Falcon, as Shadow disappeared in a manner just like him. He shut his eyes, reveling in the wind that carried on.

Before them were thousands of the Army Without An Alpha, each of them, in their wolf forms as their eyes gleamed, and spittle dripped from in between their slightly opened jaws.

The power within Daemon unfurled, tugging at the blare of the pregnant moon that hung above them. He let out a feral, inhumane growl that reverberated through the earth just as he felt his bones and joints dislodging and taking a new shape.

The hybrid shift was over before it began as Daemon’s senses sharpened to a point beyond sanity. His Lycan stood, half human half wolf as he stared down at all before him. They were now sharpened figures, shrouded in the red of his vision.

Their figures that cowered and trembled before him was a feeling his wolf got off on. Yaren, Marcus and Falcon’s full wolves prowled about him.

Here, while there was no clear rank or pack, there was no mistaking who was the leader. Daemon let out a primal raw roar that shook the trees, signifying the beginning of the war, and for Daemon, the beginning of a hunt that had stretched out for six years.