Chapter 103
103
Third Person’s POV
The walls of the hospital room felt like they were closing in.
Ronan Duskcliff sat alone in the dim light, motionless except for the rhythmic tightening of his jaw. His body bore the marks of the battle–bruises along his ribs, torn muscle along his collarbone, and the bandages wrapped tightly around his throat, still seeping the faintest traces of blood.
But it was not pain that consumed him.
It was the rage.
He glanced down at the money still scattered across his bed. Neatly stacked bills. Ten thick bundles. Ten thousand credits. Tossed onto his hospital sheets like a tip for a street performer.
The message had been clear: You’re worth this much. No more.
Delivered by Duke, Lucien Duskgrave’s smug and ever–loyal Beta. The bastard hadn’t even looked nervous walking into the room, despite knowing he was facing an Alpha who’d just been humiliated in public.
“Medical expenses,” Duke had said with mock sympathy. “Our Alpha wanted to be generous.”
And the worst part? Duke hadn’t even said Lucien’s name. Just our Alpha–as if Ronan wasn’t one.
Ronan let out a low growl, claws threatening to extend from his fingers before he forced them back with effort. Losing control now would only add to his shame.
No–he needed clarity. He needed answers.
Because it wasn’t just the money.
It wasn’t just Lucien’s punch to the jaw.
It was what happened next.
He closed his eyes, trying to recall every second. The street outside Moonthread Den. The way Lucien had stood over the she–wolf in his arms, shielding her face, his pheromones flooding the air like a wall of fire. Ronan hadn’t seen her–could barely scent her–but something about the situation had prickled at the back of his mind.
So he’d opened the car door. Just a look. Just a glimpse. Just enough to satisfy the question clawing at him.
And then–darkness .
Something had struck him from behind like a boulder hurled by a god.
The impact had shattered his awareness in an instant, knocking the air from his lungs. He didn’t even have time to shift fully before jaws closed around his throat–not Lucien’s. No. This scent had been foreign. Strange. Ancient.
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His wolf had screamed. Not in anger, but in fear.
A white wolf.
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The image haunted him–moonlight–bright fur streaking past his vision, fangs stained red, a raw power that didn’t belong to any Pack he knew. She hadn’t just attacked him–she’d dominated him.
And then she was gone.
Ronan had once vaguely heard Scarlett mention that Riley was a white wolf, but her wolf spirit was incomplete. So he didn’t connect the powerful, muscular white wolf that defeated him with Riley.
When he came to, Lucien was standing between them, golden eyes alight with possessive rage, body taut like a drawn bowstring, one hand on the she–wolf’s back, the other held out like a warning to stay away.
That wasn’t the posture of a Pack Alpha protecting a subordinate.
That was the posture of a male standing over his mate.
Ronan inhaled sharply. The truth began to click together like steel teeth of a trap.
A white wolf.
In Mooncrest territory.
Protected–claimed–by Lucien Duskgrave.
Ronan had heard whispers, long ago. Folktales passed between elders when the moons were full. White wolves were said to be celestial–born. Wolves of prophecy. Wolves of ruin. Most believed they had all died out. Some said they’d never existed at all.
But now?
Now, one had bitten him. And left a wound his wolf couldn’t heal.
The shame would have been enough to crush a lesser Alpha.
But Ronan… Ronan wasn’t just angry.
He was intrigued.
He stood up slowly, limbs aching, head still pounding. His body was bruised–but his mind was sharp. Cold. Focused like a blade honed in silence.
Lucien had a secret.
A dangerous one.
And in the game of territory, secrets were weapons.
He reached toward the nightstand, grabbing his phone with bloodied fingers. The screen flickered to life, casting a pale glow over his face. He scrolled until he found the number, and pressed dial.
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The line connected almost immediately.
Finished
“Alpha,” came the voice on the other end–crisp, efficient. His Beta. Loyal. Quiet. Deadly when required.
“I need eyes,” Ronan said, his voice hoarse from the wound but firm as stone. “There was a white wolf at Moonthread Den. Female. Fast, strong, unregistered.”
There was a pause. “A white wolf?”
“You heard me.”
“I didn’t think they-”
“I don’t care what you thought. I was bitten. Deep. I still can’t shift. That means this isn’t a rogue. It’s something else. Something powerful.”
His Beta’s tone shifted. “You think Lucien’s protecting her?”
“I know he is.” Ronan’s eyes narrowed, pacing to the window. “I want her identity. Her origin. Who she’s bonded to. Any rumors, rogue sightings, rogue rescues, any sealed records. I don’t care if it’s from the Pack archives or the old prisons. She wasn’t on the Council register. That means someone’s hiding her.”
“And the official route?”
“No.” Ronan’s voice cut through the line like a whip. “No Pack Elders. No bureaucrats. This stays off the grid. Use back channels. Pay whoever needs paying. I want to know who she is–and why Lucien would risk his throne to keep her hidden.”
His Beta didn’t hesitate. “Understood. I’ll begin tonight.”
Ronan ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed.
The wind howled outside the window, brushing against the glass like claws against bone.
He stared at his reflection in the pane–bloodied, half–dressed, humiliated… but not broken.
“Enjoy your illusion of victory, Duskgrave,” he murmured, his voice nearly a growl. “Because once I uncover what you’re hiding…”
His eyes glinted with cold satisfaction.
“I’ll burn your kingdom from the inside out.”
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17:00 Thu, Aug
A Broken Alpha Heiress‘ Revenge