Broken heart of a warrior

Chapter 14

I tore down the dimly lit corridor, my footsteps against the polished stone, yet inside me a storm raged unchecked. Fury coiled in my chest, a living thing, roaring louder than any footfall. I burst through the grand entryway, and the chill of the night lunged at me, tangling in my hair, biting at my skin, carrying with it the intoxicating taste of freedom. Each inhalation felt like fire, each exhale a silent curse cast at the audacity of that woman and the betrayal of my so-called father. Had I lingered one more second in that gilded cage, the golden walls themselves might have been drenched in blood. Master's calm voice echoed in my mind, a tether against the tempest: all would be well, the time was near. Perhaps it was the only thing holding me back from unleashing the wolf fully, letting the claws and fangs of my fury rend everything around me.

The garden stretched before me, narrow yet winding, hedges trimmed to perfection lining the path like sentinels. Moonlight spilled over the dew-kissed grass, casting long, quivering shadows that mirrored the unrest in my soul. The scent of night-blooming flowers mingled with the crisp, earthy aroma of wet stone grounding me even as memories clawed their way up from the dark corners of my mind. Past and present collided—the echoes of the dining hall, the scorn and venom, clawed at me, threatening to expose the hidden truth I had fought so fiercely to lock away.

I chastised myself with each step, boots crunching softly on the gravel. I should never have gone to that dinner I should have conjured excuses, fabricated reasons, anything to shield the reality of who I am. But the choice had been mine and the truth of my nature had nearly slipped past my careful control. Shadows from the hedges twisted and leaned as if whispering secrets back to me, and I shivered, both from the cold and from the knowledge that the wolf within had tasted the edges of freedom tonight. This... this was not good. Not good at all.

Damn Jonathan and everything he has forced me to endure. How could the man I once idolized—flesh and blood of his beloved mate, the hero of my childhood—be capable of such unrelenting cruelty? My chest tightens with the weight of questions but I know that no answer could ever erase the scars, no explanation could undo what has been done or what I have become. The night presses around me, the moon casting silver light over the garden path, turning the hedges into silent witnesses to my fury. Each shadow seems to mirror my pulse, each breeze carrying whispers of my anger and sorrow.

Antonio... His face, a flash of betrayal, is seared into my mind. I know he has seen through the veil, pieced together the truths I had hoped to conceal. I pray silently that he will forgive me for the deception. I do not deserve forgiveness; that much I know. I should have released the past entirely when I became a Warrior yet he is one of mine, a part of my blood and pack. Even if he turns away for eternity even if our paths never cross again, he must know I am alive. That knowledge alone is my gift, my proof that I have endured, that I have changed, that I am stronger. I can only hope he keeps the secret, that he does not carry it to others. If he does... everything I have fought for, everything I have clawed back from darkness, will unravel.

And yet, guilt does not touch me. I cannot feel it. Standing up for Antonio was never a choice. It was instinct, a fire coursing through my veins, a low growl beneath my skin that would not be stilled. If fate forced me to do it all again, I would. I would regardless of cost, regardless of consequence. My tolerance for injustice, for the mistreatment of those I love, is finite—and I will not, could not, stand by while what is mine is trampled. The wind whips through the trees, carrying the scent of earth and frost, and my wolf stirs within me, restless, alive, ready. Every shadow, every flicker of moonlight, seems to whisper the same truth: I am Alina, I am here, and nothing—not cruelty, not betrayal, not blood or fire—will make me bow.

Those fools fill me with revulsion. Every last one of them, perched on their gilded thrones of arrogance, oblivious to the lives they are meant to guide. They never paused to truly know Antonio, never sought to understand him yet they treated him as if he were a stranger, as if his very existence were a burden or a mistake. Leaders of werewolves, they claim, yet they cannot even lead their own home, cannot even protect or respect their own child and still they sit in their ornate seats, pretending to hold wisdom. How can they shape a future, nurture strength and courage in the next generation, when they cannot even acknowledge the value of their own flesh and blood? It is beyond comprehension, a cruelty too deep to forgive, a disgrace cloaked in golden insignia.