Broken by the Alpha: The Moon Singer's Rise

Anton POV The morning sun glared down on the charred remains of the bonfire, exposing the square as a graveyard of a ruined party. My head pounded in rhythm with my pulse. The Rogue attack last night had been brief but chaotic. We had driven them off, but the mood hanging over the pack was grim. "Where is she?" I turned. My father, Alpha Jacob, was pacing in the War Room. He looked disheveled, his usual composure fractured. "Where is who?" I asked, though a sinking feeling settled in my gut. I already knew. "Alexia," he growled. "I've been trying to link her all morning. The connection is... dead. It's like static." "Maybe she's sleeping," Elder Marcus suggested, sipping his coffee unbothered. "Omegas sleep late when they can." "She's not an Omega," I snapped, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "She's my mother." Technically, she was my step-mother by title, but she was the one who had raised me. My birth mother had died giving birth to me. It was Alexia who put bandaids on my knees. It was Alexia who sang me to sleep when the nightmares came. And last night, at the gala... I saw what they did to her. I had stayed silent because I was a coward. Because I wanted to be a good future Alpha. "Go find her, Anton," my father ordered, waving his hand dismissively. "Bring her here. Kassandra is upset about some missing coins. We need to settle this." I walked out of the Alpha house, my jaw clenched. I didn't go to the guest rooms. I knew she wasn't there. I walked to the edge of the territory, past the kitchens, to the old gardening shed rotting at the treeline. "Alexia?" I called out, pushing the warped door open. The smell hit me first. Black mold. Damp earth. And... smoke. The room was empty. It was less a home and more a hovel. A mattress lay directly on the floor. A desk cobbled together from crates. Water stains wept down the walls. My chest tightened until it hurt to breathe. *This* is where she lived? While we slept on silk sheets and ate off fine china? "Oh, Mom," I whispered. I walked to the metal trash can in the center of the room. It was full of ash. I poked it with a stick. Burnt paper. Melted glass. Then I saw it. On the desk, hidden under a stack of old, blank music sheets, was a leather-bound book. I opened it, my fingers trembling. *October 3rd. Jacob used the Command today. My fingers were bleeding, but he made me play for three hours. He called Kassandra 'my love' while I was sitting right there, invisible.* *November 12th. Kassandra told me if I looked at Anton again, she’d have me exiled. I had to hide his birthday present in the woods so she wouldn't burn it.* I dropped the book. My hands were shaking violently now. "Anton?" I spun around. My father stood in the doorway. He wrinkled his nose, recoiling from the smell. "Is she here?" Jacob asked, looking around with undisguised distaste. "Why would she choose to live in a dump like this?" "Choose?" I laughed. It was a dark, angry sound that scraped my throat. "You think she *chose* this?" "Where is she, Anton?" "She's gone, Dad," I said, picking up the diary and clutching it to my chest. "And I don't think she's coming back." Suddenly, heavy footsteps pounded on the dirt path. The Pack Healer, Doc Evans, came running up, looking pale as a ghost. "Alpha!" he shouted, breathless. "Alpha, come quick! It's Kassandra!" My father’s face went white. "Is she hurt? The baby?" "That's the thing, Alpha," Doc Evans stammered, looking terrified, his eyes darting between us. "I did a scan to check for stress on the fetus after the attack." "And?" Jacob barked. "Alpha... there is no baby. There never was. Her womb is empty. She hasn't been pregnant in years." The silence that fell over the damp shed was heavier, and far more suffocating, than the Alpha Command.