Chapter 314
The reports spread like wildfire through Mooncrest and the bordering packs.
【In recent weeks, the Enforcers of the High Council completed an arduous investigation and pursuit, successfully bringing closure to a string of bloody retaliations… Carmen of Ashmoor Academy, accused of multiple killings, was seized alive after resisting arrest. In custody, the Council determined through evidence provided by Duke that all slain bore blood–debts of cruelty–wolves who had brutalized Riley of the Ebonclaw Pack and her daughter. While her methods were deemed merciless, her acts were not wholly without cause. The Council, weighing both justice and mercy, sentenced her to five years of confinement rather than execution.]
Public reaction was divided–some called her a monster, others whispered she had only done what every wolf silently wished they could do.
Duke walked down the cold corridor of the Council’s fortress–prison, chains echoing faintly from deeper cells. His boots struck stone with steady rhythm, but his heart pounded unevenly, knowing she would be behind that door.
Carmen sat cross–legged on the bunk, her once–wild hair now tied back, her wrists scarred faintly from silver manacles. She looked up when the lock clicked.
For a moment, she smirked. “I thought the Council would forget about me the second the bars shut.”
Duke stepped closer, jaw tight. “I told you I wouldn’t, You should know me by
now. ”
Her eyes softened, only slightly. “Five years in here… it might as well be a lifetime.”
“I’ll wait.” His voice was iron, steady as the mountains of Stormridge. “When you walk free, I’ll be there. You won’t be alone again.”
Carmen’s throat tightened. Wolves like her were not supposed to cry–but the tremor in her hands betrayed her. “You stubborn fool. Don’t waste your life
chained to mine.”
“I chose this chain,” Duke replied, his wolf voice rumbling beneath his words. “And I will carry it until you are free.”
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For a long moment, silence lay between them, thick with things unspoken. Finally, Carmen’s lips curved in something between a smile and a grimace.
“Then promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“Riley’s daughter… protect her. She’s the last piece of Riley left in this world. Don’t let her grow up alone. Don’t let her forget who her mother was.”
Duke’s chest burned as though his wolf claws scraped against it. He nodded. “On my life, I’ll guard her.”
Carmen leaned back against the wall, her gaze shifting to the barred window where moonlight spilled in. “Then I can endure this cage. Five years, ten… if she’s safe, it’s worth it.”
Far away, in the Stormridge stronghold, grief still hung like a storm cloud.
The Duskgrave estate had fallen into silence. Lucien Duskgrave, Alpha Prince of Stormridge Pack from Northhaven, was a shadow of himself. Once proud, unyielding, untouchable–now he sat slumped in the embroidery chamber that still smelled faintly of roses and thread.
The once–vibrant chamber was now a tomb. In his hand lay the delicate piece of silk Riley had embroidered before her death, her touch still lingering in every threaded line. Lucien’s fingers traced the pattern over and over, as if by doing so he could summon her warmth back into his arms.
He had not hunted in weeks. He had not shifted. His wolf paced endlessly in the dark of his soul, restless and grieving. His eyes–once sharp as a blade–were now hollow, as though carved out by sorrow.
The door creaked open. Mrs Beck stood hesitantly, tray in hand. “My lord… you must eat something.”
Lucien didn’t move. His gaze never left the silk.
Behind her, Matriarch Duskgrave approached, her once–straight spine bent with exhaustion. Her voice cracked as she addressed her grandson. “Lucien… I know your pain. I feel it too. Riley was family to us all. But if you continue like this, even your wolf will abandon you. And Stormridge cannot survive without its Alpha
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Lucien finally blinked, his voice hoarse, unused. “Without her, what is there to survive for?”
The old matriarch’s eyes glistened. She steadied herself against the doorframe. “The pack. The bloodline. The child you might still leave behind. Lucien, you are the heir of Stormridge. If not for yourself, then for the pack, you must rise again.”
Silence filled the chamber, heavy as snow.
After a long, torturous moment, Lucien’s lips moved. “The Stormridge vault holds my seed. Use it. Let the healers and their sciences find me an heir. I care not who bears it. It doesn’t matter.”
The matriarch closed her eyes, pain carving deeper lines into her aged face. She had prayed he would never reach this point–where even love could not anchor him, and only duty remained.
“Very well,” she whispered, tears brimming. “If this is the path, then the pack will obey. But Lucien… know this. Riley would never have wanted you hollow.”
Lucien said nothing. He stared down at the embroidery, his soul echoing with the memory of Riley’s laughter.
Somewhere deep in his chest, his wolf howled, long and mournful, a cry for a mate lost and a future that felt like ashes./
And still, beyond grief, the Alpha Prince of Stormridge was being dragged