The Lone Alpha // Book Two

𝑂𝑛𝑒

𝑇here were a lot of things I wanted to say to the Enforcer who herded me out of my dingy, tiny cell and towards the narrow corridor that led out of the dungeons.

Like how she didn't need to worry that I'd try to break free and hurt her, because I was hurting too.

Like how the damp, moldy walls drowned my muffled panic attack as I cursed fate for taking away my father.

Like how I would never, not in a million years, kill my beloved Papa, my first Alpha. I was an orphan, and I don't think there's any age where I wouldn't have mourned the loss of my last living parent.

It felt like time didn't exist inside the cell the Enforcers has tossed me in after they found me lying beside Otsoa's dead body. They didn't talk to me or listen to my words of protest. Instead, I was brought here. The dungeon cell reserved for the worst werewolves - Alpha killers.

The cramped room was closed on all sides, deep underground from the Oasis Manor. Someone had carved the earth to create a holding room and as I entered with my head high, determined not to let it scare me, a rat scurried in the corner. I had never felt claustrophobic until today. The walls seemed to grow narrower every time I looked at them; the ceiling scrapped at my scalp, and the scent of aged moss and piss made me want to puke.

But more than anything, it was the belief that every living werewolf mourned for the deceased Grand Alpha, and believed me guilty, that tore at my mind. I craved to stand by my Clanmates and grieve with my kind. But those luxuries weren't for a murderess like me.

So, I waited, pacing back and forth, and clung to the faint beacon of hope that my brother, the new Grand Alpha, would come to my rescue soon.

After what seemed like hours - long hours of unspoken anxiety and worry - I heard the faint sound of a key being turned. I turned in the direction, the sudden light of a lantern focused on me made me squint.

"Alpha Lyandra," came a whisper. "He will see you now."

The door opened, and the silhouette of a woman stood at the entrance, beckoning me ahead. Stretching my limbs, I got up and wiped my face on my cloak to scrub away the dirt and crusted tears.

"Who is he?" I said.

She didn't reply.

"Where are we going?"

Again, she said nothing.

"What if I don't come?"

"I'll leave you here until your trial in two days."

Curiosity got the better of me. I walked steadily towards her, though a flush rose in my face at the intensity with which she stared at me. There was just enough light that I could make her features. She wore the red of Enforcers, but I had never seen her before. She was tall, five feet eleven inches or better, her pale brown hair pulled up in a bun held together by silver pins. At first glance, she seemed young, barely legal, but when I looked at her eyes, there was an intensity there that made me add another ten years. There was a tightness in her shoulders, a wildness around her eyes. One didn't get that look unless they'd lived that long, or faced a fair amount of abuse.