The Royal Alpha

Chapter 10: The Rogue's Return.

"Any other wolf who wishes to claim their mate?" Elder Raoul asks.

His gaze moves deliberately—first to Sierra, then to me.

The moment his eyes land on mine, I know.

He heard us.

Not all of it, perhaps. But enough.

That day, when I wrapped the space between Sierra and myself in silence, I believed the barrier had held. I believed my control was enough. But Raoul is not like other elders. His magic is old, refined, layered with knowledge passed down through blood and war. If fragments of our confrontation slipped through, he would have recognized them immediately.

My wolf surges forward, claws scraping against the inside of my ribs.

Claim her.
Now.
Here.

The urge is violent in its clarity.

I feel my jaw tighten, muscles locking as I force my wolf back—not without cost. My pulse roars in my ears, vision sharpening until every scent, every sound in the hall becomes unbearable.

I do not move.

I promised her time.

A year.

That promise is the only thing keeping my restraint intact.

Around us, the hall fills with applause and murmured blessings as Aztec and Avery are congratulated. The sound is almost physical—each word a blade scraping against my nerves.

Three years.

That's how long my wolf has waited.

Three years of unrest, of instinct pulling toward something unnamed, unfound. And now—now that she stands within reach, breathing the same air, rejecting us—

My fists curl at my sides until my palms sting. I grit my teeth hard enough that my jaw aches.

Then I feel it.

Her gaze.

Sad.
Broken.
Confused.

My wolf rears violently, furious and desperate.

Enough.

I turn and leave the hall without a word.

The gardens are empty, moonlight spilling across stone and grass like pale fire. The moment I cross into the open air, control snaps.

My shift is instantaneous.

Bone and muscle realign in a blur of heat and pressure, senses exploding outward as my wolf takes over. The world sharpens—colors deepen, scents multiply, emotions become tangible currents in the air.

I turn my head.

She stands at the edge of the hall.

Sierra.

Our eyes lock.

Recognition flickers across her face—subtle, delayed, but real. I wonder if she remembers the first time she saw me like this. At the gates. Watching. Waiting.

For a breathless second, neither of us moves.

Then I turn away and bolt into the woods.

Running is the only thing that keeps me sane.

The forest welcomes me with shadow and silence, earth cool beneath my paws as I push my body harder than necessary. Every stride burns excess fury from my veins, every breath grounding me in something solid.

The borders are unguarded.

Everyone is still inside celebrating.

So I make a decision.