The Alpha I Built Betrayed Me

"Wake up, mutt."

A bucket of freezing saltwater slammed against my chest, washing down my torn right leg.

Agony ripped through my calf. The bear trap had shredded the muscle, and the raw edges of the wound festered. Every time I twitched, the scabs tore open again.

I choked on a gasp, straining against the heavy iron chains binding my wrists to the damp stone wall. Wolfsbane coated the metal. The poison seeped into my skin, turning my veins to ice and locking away my wolf. I pushed my healing energy toward my leg. Nothing happened.

"Look at me," the rogue leader demanded.

He grabbed my chin, his thick fingers digging into my jaw. A jagged scar cut across his nose.

"Is that the best you can do?" I spat a mouthful of blood and spit onto his boots.

He backhanded me across the face. My head snapped to the side.

"You've got a smart mouth for a dead woman," he sneered.

"Then kill me," I challenged, meeting his gaze. "Get it over with."

"Too easy." He kicked my injured leg.

I bit the inside of my cheek to trap the scream. I needed to stay awake. I needed to memorize this place.

Four guards total. They swapped shifts every four hours. Their boots scraped the stone in a predictable rhythm. The heavy oak door groaned for exactly five seconds before shutting. There was only one exit, plus a rusted grate near the ceiling.

"You're awfully quiet," the leader noted, pulling a silver hunting knife from his belt. "I expected begging. Crying. Where's the fierce First Warrior now?"

"She's calculating how long it will take to snap your neck once she gets out of these chains," I replied.

He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You aren't getting out. This is for what you did three years ago."

Three years ago. The border wars.

"You were the ones raiding the western ridge," I stated, the pieces falling into place.

"My brother led that camp," he snarled, pressing the flat of the silver blade against my cheek. It burned on contact. "You slaughtered half our pack to put that Declan on the Alpha seat."

"They attacked our pups," I shot back. "I did what I had to do."

"And now I do what I have to do." He stepped back, wiping the blade on his pants. "Funny thing, though. We spent months tracking your patrols, trying to find a blind spot."

He leaned in, a malicious grin stretching his scarred face.

"We didn't even have to hunt you tonight. Your little sister screamed at exactly the right time."

The words punched the air from my lungs.

"Don't talk about her," I warned, my voice dropping an octave.

"She gave us the signal," he mocked. "Right by the old riverbed. Perfect positioning. She sold you out, Elara."

"You're lying."

"Am I? Who walked away with your Alpha?" He chuckled, turning toward the heavy oak door. "Enjoy the salt. I'll be back in an hour to peel off another strip of skin."

The door slammed shut. The lock engaged with a heavy clunk.

I sagged against the chains.

*Your little sister screamed at exactly the right time.*

Ivy. She knew about the trap. She led me to it. The realization twisted like a knife in my gut, sharper than the silver, worse than the wolfsbane.

The physical pain dragged my mind backward, plunging me into memories I tried to bury.

Three years ago, standing in the center of the pack council room.

"You are our strongest female, Elara," Elder Thorne announced, his voice echoing off the high ceilings.

Declan stood beside me, his golden eyes watching me, waiting for my answer.

"Take your place as Declan's Luna," Thorne continued. "It is your right."

I shook my head. "No."

"No?" Thorne frowned, exchanging a look with the other elders. "It is a great honor. You will rule by his side."

"I want a place I earned myself," I told the council, lifting my chin. "Make me First Warrior."

"A female has never held that rank," Thorne argued.

"Then I will be the first."

I wanted respect for my blade, not my womb. I took the title. I took the scars. I bled for Declan, for the pack, for Ivy.

And this was my reward. Chained to a rotting wall in a forgotten cellar.

A familiar, bitter voice echoed in my head. My mother, Dinae.

"Look at Ivy's painting, Elara. Isn't it beautiful?" Dinae's voice drifted through my memory.

I stood in the kitchen, twelve years old, knuckles split and still bleeding from the training yard. I held out the small iron token the warriors had given me for winning the day's sparring.

Dinae didn't even glance at it. "You're too rough, Elara. Stop brawling. Be more like your sister."

It was always Ivy. Ivy the delicate. Ivy the perfect.

One tear slipped free and stung the cut at the corner of my mouth.

I bit down until the sharp pain cleared my head.

I will not cry for them.

"I am not dying here," I whispered to the damp stone. "I am going to kill every single one of you."

Footfalls echoed down the corridor outside my cell.

I stiffened. The rhythm was wrong. It wasn't the heavy, dragging step of the leader. It wasn't the synchronized march of the guards.

These steps were light. Fast.

Someone paused right outside the heavy oak door.

The iron lock clicked.