The Alpha Believed His Rogue Over His Fated Mate

The silence didn't last long. It was shattered by a sound that made the very stones of the dungeon vibrate—the wail of the perimeter sirens. It was a high, piercing scream that meant only one thing: invasion.

Above me, the floorboards thundered with the stampede of paws and boots. I could hear the snarling, the tearing of wood, and the screams of the pack I had once called family. Greyson froze in the doorway, his head snapping up toward the noise. For a split second, his eyes met mine again. There was panic there, raw and unmasked. He looked at the chains biting into my blistered wrists, then at the stairs leading up to the battle.

"Greyson!" Francesca shrieked, tugging at his arm. "The Rogues! They're here for the baby! You have to protect us!"

He didn't look back at me. He didn't unlock the cuffs. He didn't even say sorry. He turned and ran, his Alpha instincts overriding everything else, leaving his mate chained in the dark while monsters stormed the gates.

"No..." I croaked, my voice a dry rasp. "Don't leave me."

But he was gone. The heavy iron door slammed shut, but he didn't lock it. He didn't have time.

I was alone. Defenseless. And I couldn't feel Selene.

The emptiness inside me was worse than the burning on my skin. I reached for her, mentally clawing at the dark void where my wolf used to be, but there was only silence. The Wolfsbane had done its job. I was human. Just a fragile, broken human in a war zone.

The sounds of battle grew closer. I heard a crash right outside the dungeon door, followed by the wet thud of a body hitting the floor. The handle turned slowly.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. *Please be a guard,* I prayed. *Please be someone who remembers I healed their pup's fever last winter.*

The door swung open.

It wasn't a guard. The man standing there was covered in filth, his clothes ragged, his eyes wild with the madness that consumed Rogues who had been away from a pack for too long. He smiled, revealing yellowed, sharpened teeth. In his hand, a serrated hunting knife glinted in the torchlight.

"Well, well," he rasped, stepping into the cell. The stench of rot rolled off him in waves. "Francesca said you'd be here. Said you were the loose end."

I pressed myself against the cold stone wall, the chains rattling. "She sent you?"

"She pays well," he chuckled, testing the edge of the blade with his thumb. "And she wants you dead before the Royals get here. Something about a cure?"

He lunged.

I screamed, squeezing my eyes shut, bracing for the bite of the steel.

*BOOM!*

The entire dungeon shook as if hit by a meteor. Dust and debris rained down from the ceiling. I opened my eyes just in time to see the stone roof above the cell explode inward.

A massive shadow dropped from the hole, landing directly on top of the Rogue with a bone-shattering crunch. It was a wolf—but not like any wolf I had ever seen. It was enormous, easily twice the size of an average Alpha, with fur as black as a starless night.

The Rogue didn't even have time to scream. The black wolf’s jaws snapped around his neck, tearing it away with a spray of crimson that splattered across the dungeon floor. The Rogue's body went limp instantly, the knife clattering uselessly to the stone.

The black wolf turned its massive head toward me. Its eyes were a piercing, intelligent amber. It shifted, bones cracking and reforming, until a man stood in its place. He was huge, radiating power that made the air feel thick. He wore a tactical vest emblazoned with a crest I knew well—the Royal Guard.

"Secure the perimeter!" he roared, his voice booming like thunder.

Suddenly, the dungeon was swarming. Men in black tactical gear dropped through the hole in the ceiling and flooded through the door, weapons drawn. They moved with a precision that made the Silver Moon warriors look like children.

"Target located," the huge man said into his comms unit, his eyes scanning my injuries. His expression darkened when he saw the burns. "She's in bad shape. Wolfsbane poisoning. Severe trauma."

"Get the medic!" someone shouted.

"Clear the way!" came another voice, deeper and more commanding than the rest.

The black-clad soldiers parted instantly, bowing their heads.

A man descended the stone stairs. He didn't run. He didn't rush. He walked with the terrifying calm of a storm about to break. He wore a long charcoal coat, the collar turned up, but it was his aura that made me gasp. It rolled off him in waves of pure, unadulterated power—ancient, heavy, and undeniable. It was the aura of a King.

He stopped at the entrance of the cell. His eyes, the color of molten silver, swept over the scene. He looked at the dead Rogue, then at the chains, and finally, he looked at me.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. The stone walls groaned under the pressure of his fury. He didn't say a word. He walked straight to me, ignoring the Wolfsbane puddle that hissed against his boots.

"Your Majesty," the huge man—Marcus Kane, the Beta—started, "the chains are silver. We need the keys—"

"I don't need keys," the King growled. His voice was low, vibrating through my very bones.

He reached out, wrapping his bare hands around the thick iron shackles binding my wrists to the wall. Smoke rose from his skin as the silver burned him, but he didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. With a snarl of effort, he ripped the chains straight out of the stone wall.

Concrete dust exploded around us. I fell forward, my legs too weak to hold me, but I never hit the ground. Strong arms caught me, pulling me against a chest that smelled of expensive cologne, ozone, and safety.

"I have you," he whispered into my hair, his voice suddenly gentle, a stark contrast to the violence of his arrival. "I have you, Helena."

He lifted me effortlessly, cradling me against him as if I weighed nothing. I looked up at him through swollen eyes, trying to understand why the ruler of our entire species was holding me like I was precious.

"My wolf..." I sobbed, the grief hitting me again. "He killed her."

The King's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. His silver eyes flashed with a terrifying promise of violence. He turned to Marcus, his voice projecting a command that made every wolf in the room drop to their knees.

"Burn this place to the ground if you have to," he ordered, his tone icy. "But find the Alpha responsible. And anyone who touches her again dies."