Chapter 115 115
Theron's POV
I have never feared a man.
Not kings. Not Alphas. Not gods wrapped in old prophecies and whispered warnings.
But I understand power. I respect it. I study it the way a hunter studies the wind, because the wind can carry your scent to your enemy, or hide you long enough to strike.
And if there is one truth I have learned clawing my way from a rogue pup to a chosen Alpha, it is this:
Power never belongs to the worthy.
It belongs to the one willing to take it.
They call me the Chosen Alpha. The one marked by fate. The one the southern wolves rallied behind when I tore the last tyrant from his throne with my teeth.
But chosen does not mean absolute.
There is a crack in my crown. A flaw in the design of fate.
Daevir.
My dear, conflicted brother, raised in ease while I was raised in blood. The irony would be amusing if it weren't inconvenient.
He does not even understand what he is. That is the dangerous part. A wolf who doubts himself is more volatile than one who knows his fangs.
The elders' scrolls, the old songs, the mutterings of blind seers, I have chased them all. And they all bend toward the same cursed truth:
Only Daevir has the power to take me down and unite the clans and the humans.
He is the one marked to take me down and take my powers, if only he knew it and acted on it.
Only the Alpha born of the false emperor's line
My jaw tightens just thinking about it.
But he doesn't want the role. He doesn't crave dominion. He still smells like guilt and restraint.
Yet fate coils around him like a favored son.
And then there is her.
Amarien, the divine mark.
The gods' cruel little signature on the world.
She has no idea that the old magic that started the age-long war between the werewolves flowed in her blood.
I feel it when I stand close to her.
She is the anointing.
The seal.
The final key.
Whoever she is mated to will not just rule wolves. They will end the war. Command loyalty. Bend destiny itself.
And she loved Daevir.
That alone could have crowned him as the one to defeat any chosen Alpha in any universe.
No wonder their son wield just power. That little brat should have plunged me to hell if he stayed one more second in the South.
If Daevir married Amarien, they would both be unstoppable.
I will not allow that.
Call it ambition. Call it survival. Call it the hunger of a boy who was once thrown to the wild and told he did not belong.
I have bled too much to stand second to anyone.
Claiming Amarien is not about desire, though she is dangerously easy to desire. It is not about passion, though her fire stirs something feral in me.
It is about severing fate at the root.
If she is mine, the prophecy bends to me.
If she is mine, Daevir's claim weakens. He will never stand a chance to defeat me.
If she is mine, the power becomes legitimate, undeniable, even to the old gods.
And yes… There is another truth I do not say aloud.
A quieter one.
When she looks at me with that wounded fury, when she refuses to bow, when she turns her face away from my kiss like I am the one unworthy…
It makes me want her more.
Like a conqueror wants the last unconquered land.
She is exactly the kind of woman fate chooses to stand beside kings.
And I will be the king she stands beside.
Even if I must build that future with careful lies and sharper truths.
If claiming Amarien makes my rule absolute… then I will claim her.
If loving me is not in her heart… then loyalty will do.
If loyalty fails… then the bond will hold her where emotions cannot.
Cruel?
Perhaps.
But the world was cruel to me first.
One day, Daevir will realize what game we are truly playing. One day, he will look across a battlefield and understand that the war was decided not by power or armies…
But by the woman he let slip from his hands.
And when that day comes, when prophecy stands behind me like a shadow and the clans kneel as one…
Even he will not be able to stop me.
Because Amarien will be mine.
And with her…
I will rule the world.
Amarien shifted in her stance, snatching me off my thoughts and bringing me back to the room.
I watched her pull away from my touch, and the space between us felt wider than any battlefield I had ever crossed.
Strange, how I could stand before a line of fanged enemies without fear, yet one woman's silence could make my chest feel split open.
Yet for all my strength, I did not know how to make her choose me.
I had tried charm, the kind that made lesser women blush and lower their gazes. I had offered protection, power, a place above all others.
I had even softened my voice, told her truths I had never spoken aloud about my past, about my mother, about the nights I starved and the days. I bled to rise in rank. Those confessions were rarer than mercy from me.
Still, her heart remained sealed like a fortress with no gate.
I studied her face now, searching for cracks. "Your eyes betray you," I said quietly. "They always drift away, as if your thoughts are tethered elsewhere."
She frowned. "You assume too much."
"No," I replied, stepping closer, though I did not touch her. "I observe. There is a difference. You are still in love with Daevir."
Her expression sharpened at the name, just for a heartbeat. A flicker, but I saw it. I always saw it. "I am not," she said, too quickly.
A low scoff left me. "You expect a wolf like me to miss the scent of longing? Your pulse changes when he is mentioned. Your anger rises like a shield, not a weapon. That is not indifference, Amarien."
She folded her arms, as if to hold herself together. "You read what you want to read."
"If you don't love him," I pressed, letting my voice drop into something firmer, something Alpha, "then accept my offer. Stand with me. Be my mate. Let me claim you and end this uncertainty."
There it was, my final card laid bare. I hated how much it mattered, how much she mattered. Wars were simple. Territories were simple. Hearts were not.
Her eyes met mine, and for a moment I thought I saw sympathy there. That was worse than rejection. Sympathy was for the wounded, and I had built my life so I would never be seen as weak again.
"You think everything is a bargain," she said. "I am not a treaty, Theron."
My jaw tightened. "You would be more than that. You would be mine."
"And that is the problem," she shot back. "I don't want to be anyone's."
I felt my wolf stir, restless, frustrated, pacing beneath my skin. I had fought Alphas larger than me, torn down rivals twice my age, and survived winters that killed stronger wolves. This is my hardest battle yet. And I will win.
"Not mine," I asked quietly, "and not his either?"
Her gaze did not waver. "Not yours! Not Daevir's! Not anyone's!"
Frustration burned behind my ribs. I was not used to doors closing in my face. I was the one who broke them down. Yet something in me held back from forcing this one.
"Amarien…"
She turned before I could speak again, and she stormed off.