The Howlcrest Werewolves Legacy
Chapter 16: Her Name Is Olivia

Chapter 16: Her Name Is Olivia

The night air clung to my skin as I wriggled uselessly against the solid wall of muscle carrying me. Tristan’s grip didn’t loosen—not for a second.

His broad shoulder dug into my stomach, and every step he took sent a jolt through me, a humiliating reminder that I was entirely at his mercy.

The other men—his brothers, I realized—watched in stunned silence.

Their shock was almost comical, their heads tilting in unison as the Alpha Prince hauled me straight through the estate gates without a word of explanation.

No one dared to stop him.

Because who would?

He was Tristan Howlcrest—the next Lord Alpha, the ruthless firstborn son. If he wanted to drag a girl into his home, no one would question it.

Including me... apparently.

The estate was ridiculous—so much wealth it made me dizzy.

Chandeliers glimmered through tall windows, and the gardens were lined with perfectly trimmed hedges.

My gaze darted from the towering stone columns to the expensive-looking statues until we crossed into a private building, separate from the main manor.

His building. His home.

My stomach twisted.

Before I could process what was happening, Tristan kicked open a heavy wooden door, strode inside like he owned the universe, and climbed a sweeping staircase.

His grip on me never faltered—not once.

"This is kidnapping!" I hissed, still wriggling. "You can’t just—"

A sharp slap touched my butt as he spanked and I was shocked into silence.

I couldn’t say anything while his body shook slightly from possibly holding back laughter.

We reached a bedroom—his bedroom.

The walls were dark, a deep forest green, and the furniture was sleek and masculine.

A massive bed with black sheets sat in the center of the room, and the faint scent of pine and leather clung to the air—an extension of him.

And then—

He dropped me.

Not gently.

I hit the bed with a yelp, bouncing once before scrambling upright.

"What the hell, Tristan?!" I snapped, glaring at him.

He didn’t answer. Just stepped back, the door clicking shut behind him.

My heart was a wild drumbeat in my chest.

This was bad. This was so bad.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, pushing my hair out of my face. "You can’t just drag me into your house—this is insane!"

Tristan leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossing over his broad chest, making his muscles flex beneath his shirt.

His jaw was tight, his dark eyes locked onto me with a look I couldn’t quite place—part amusement, part something darker.

"I have a few questions for you," he said coolly. "So relax."

Relax?

Relax?!

"Are you out of your mind?" I laughed bitterly. "You kidnapped me! I was minding my own business—"

"You were stealing."

I blinked. "From the wicked rich. There’s a difference."

Tristan’s lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile.

God, why was he so... obnoxiously attractive?

His black hair fell perfectly into place, not a strand out of order, and those dark eyes—unrelenting and intense—burned into me like he was trying to pull me apart just by looking.

The way his jaw clenched when he was annoyed, the faint scar running along his chin...

It was unfair.

He had no business looking like that.

Not when he was holding me hostage. And he was a freaking werewolf and I hate werewolves.

"It’s a busy night," he said, his voice low and smooth, like he was discussing the weather and not the fact that I was currently his prisoner. "I don’t have time for your attitude, Ms Donald."

I blinked.

"How do you know my name?"

Tristan’s smirk returned, slow and dangerous. "I know everything about the people of Picmeria."

That can’t be true but my heart stumbled.

This man... this Alpha Prince... wasn’t just playing games.

He was a predator—and I had just become his prey.

"I know everything about the people of Picmeria." he repeated pinning me with his dark gaze, "But I’ll give you the honor," Tristan’s voice was dark silk, smooth and mocking, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "What is your name?"

I swallowed hard, hating the way his ruby eyes seemed to pierce right through me, as if he could peel back my layers and see every dark secret I kept hidden.

"Olivia," I answered, lifting my chin. "Why? Know my dad or something?"

He shook his head, his smirk deepening. "I don’t," Tristan said softly, "but I would love to now."

My eyes narrowed. What the hell does that mean?

"Why were you stealing?"

His voice dropped an octave, like he genuinely wanted an answer—like I was some puzzle he was trying to solve.

I flopped back against the ridiculously soft bed, hating how luxurious it felt beneath me. The sheets smelled like him—pine and leather—and I refused to let that mess with my head.

"My dying dog." I let out, it wouldn’t hurt to tell him, It might help with my release or escape.

His brows rose, just a flicker of surprise. "You’re stealing to stop her from dying?"

"It’s a he," I snapped. "Boyd. And the money was going to pay for his treatment. My parents wouldn’t help—they never liked him."

There. Let him chew on that.

Tristan didn’t move. His expression remained unreadable, but his eyes... those ruby-red eyes hadn’t left me since the moment he caught me. They were a predator’s eyes—calculating, cold—but now they held something else. Curiosity? Amusement?

Desire?

I shoved the thought away so fast it left me dizzy.

A sharp knock at the door shattered the silence.

"Tristan," a voice called from the other side—one of his brothers, I assumed. "It’s almost time. What do you plan to do with her? Let’s head out."

Time for what?

Before I could ask, Tristan’s grip on the doorknob tightened, his jaw flexing with irritation. "I might not be leaving here tonight, Fabian," he replied, his voice a low growl. "She smells... divine."

My stomach did a flip.

What. The. Fuck.

Wow. Divine? I feel a blush rushing up my cheeks.

"Tristan," Fabian said, exasperated, "it’s tonight. You need to pick a human mate."

Tristan exhaled sharply through his nose, his gaze never leaving me. "I know."

His voice was rough—like this entire thing was a burden.

And suddenly, I realized what this was.

The rumors. The traditions.

It’s tonight.

The first human alpha bond.

In Picmeria, the werewolves ruled—powerful, unyielding, untouchable. At the head of this kingdom stood the Lord Alpha and his five sons—the infamous Howlcrest brothers. Each year, during the last full moon, one of the alpha princes was expected to choose a mate.

It wasn’t just a ceremony. It was a ritual, a union steeped in strategy and dominance.

Every girl of age in Picmeria knew what tonight meant. They dressed in their finest gowns, hair styled to perfection, lips painted in soft, alluring shades—hoping to catch the attention of one of the princes.

Because being chosen by an alpha meant more than just marriage.

It meant power. Security. It elevated a human girl’s family from ordinary townsfolk to the highest ranks of Picmerian society.

And tonight was Tristan’s turn.

The brooding, cold-hearted firstborn.

The prince with ruby eyes and a reputation for cruelty.

He was the first in line to inherit his father’s title. The most desired. The most feared.

The girls whispered about him like he was a dark fantasy—untouchable, unbreakable. Parents pushed their daughters forward, hoping for a glance, a nod—anything that might bind their family to the werewolves’ world of power and wealth.

But it wasn’t always like this.

Years ago, the werewolves didn’t marry humans. They married their own kind—strong, fierce wolf women. But everything changed the night the hunters came.

A hundred wolf women—burned alive.

The massacre devastated the pack, leaving them with no choice but to seek alliances elsewhere.

Human women became their only option.

What was once forbidden now became necessary.

By marrying humans, the werewolves ensured their bloodline would continue. It was a way to rebuild their numbers—and strengthen their ties with the human world.

Not that it stopped the fear.

Even now, the humans of Picmeria whispered about the wolves when the moon rose, half in awe, half in terror.

And tonight, the town waited—holding its breath—for Tristan to pick his bride.

The girl who would stand at his side.

The girl who would bear his mark.

But now... Tristan didn’t seem interested in searching for a mate tonight.

He was standing here. With me.

His ruby gaze slid over my face, slowly, like he was memorizing every detail.

I felt my skin heat beneath the intensity of his stare.

"You should go," I muttered, breaking the silence.

"I wanna be here," he bellowed.

I blink. What?

"I pick you, Olivia as my mate,"

"Tristan, No. There are plenty of other girls waiting for you—ones who actually want this."

Tristan’s lips curled into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. "Is that so?"

"Yes," I shot back. "I don’t know what kind of messed-up fantasy you have, but I’m not going to swoon over you just because you’re a prince."

His eyes darkened.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

He took a step closer.

"You think I care about the girls waiting for me out there?" he asked softly, his voice a dangerous whisper.

I swallowed. "I think you should."

Tristan’s jaw flexed.

"I found what I want," he murmured, his gaze burning into me. "She just doesn’t know it yet."

My throat tightened.

No.

No, no, no.

I wasn’t some girl desperate to be chosen by an alpha prince. I wasn’t like them. I wasn’t part of this world.

But the way Tristan looked at me—as if he’d already made his choice—made my pulse race.

He didn’t want a bride.

He wanted me.

And I wasn’t sure if that was better... or so much worse.