He Killed Our Pup: The Alpha's Ultimate Regret

Ezra POV:

The reinforced doors of the ballroom didn't just open; they disintegrated under the force of my entry.

I stepped through the dust and debris, my boots crunching on broken wood. Behind me, my Elite Warriors fanned out, their assault rifles raised, but they wouldn't need them.

I didn't need weapons. I was the weapon.

I released my Aura.

It wasn't a wave; it was a hammer. The sheer weight of my dominance, honed over sixty years of ruling the Royal Pack, crashed down on the room. It was the Alpha's Command-an absolute, crushing biological imperative that forces submission.

Every wolf in the room dropped.

Waiters, guests, traitors-they all fell to their knees, foreheads pressing against the floor, exposing their necks in a desperate bid to survive my rage. The air grew heavy, charged with static electricity, smelling of ozone and impending slaughter.

My eyes locked onto the glass cage in the center of the room.

My heart, usually a steady drum of war, skipped a beat.

Inside that frozen coffin lay my daughter, Isolde. She was curled in a fetal position, her skin blue, surrounded by red ice.

"Izzy," I growled, the sound tearing from my throat like a wounded animal.

I marched toward the cage. Austen Nolan, the man I had entrusted with my most precious treasure, was slumped against the glass, sobbing. He looked up at me, his eyes wide with terror, snot running down his face.

"D-Dad?" he stammered. "You... you're supposed to be..."

I didn't break stride. I grabbed him by the throat.

I didn't squeeze. Not yet. I just lifted him off the ground as if he weighed no more than a rag doll. His feet kicked helplessly in the air.

"I gave you a kingdom," I whispered, my voice low and lethal. "And you turned it into a slaughterhouse."

I threw him.

He flew across the room, smashing into a table of champagne flutes with a sickening crash of glass and bone.

I turned to the cage. The warriors were fumbling with blowtorches.

"Move," I commanded.

They scattered.

I dug my fingers into the seam of the reinforced steel door. The metal was cold, frozen shut, but my rage was hotter. I roared, my muscles swelling, the fabric of my suit tearing at the shoulders. With a screech of torturing metal that made the humans in the room cover their ears, I ripped the door off its hinges.

I tossed the heavy steel door aside like a piece of cardboard.

The smell hit me instantly.

Wolfsbane. Silver. And the sweet, copper scent of my grandchild's blood.

I fell to my knees beside her. The cold was biting, but I didn't feel it. I scooped her up. She was so light. Too light. Her skin felt like marble.

"Izzy," I whispered, brushing a strand of frozen hair from her face. "Daddy is here. Come back to me."

Her heart was a faint, fluttering bird in her chest.

Pack Doctors! Now! I roared through the Mind-Link, the mental shout powerful enough to give my warriors a headache.

A team of medics rushed in, swarming around us. They injected adrenaline and warming fluids directly into her veins.

"She's critical, Alpha," the head doctor said, his hands shaking. "The pup... the pup is..."

He didn't have to finish. I could smell the death.

I looked over my shoulder. Austen was trying to crawl away, dragging a broken leg.

"Secure him," I ordered my Elites. "And the woman. If they die before I give permission, I will kill you myself."

I looked back at my daughter. Her eyelids fluttered. Silver-flecked eyes met mine, unfocused and dim.

"Daddy?" she rasped, a sound so weak it broke me. "The baby... is he..."

I couldn't lie to her. Not now.

I pulled her into my chest, trying to share my body heat, trying to shield her from the hell she had just endured.

"I've got you, little wolf," I choked out, tears burning my eyes. "I've got you."

She screamed then. A weak, broken sound of realization that faded as she slipped back into the darkness.