CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Strangely, Alpha Kalen no longer carried the sharp disdain he once held for Alpha Thorne. In the past, every time his mother praised Thorne, his blood would burn with resentment. But tonight, beneath the mountain breeze after the bloodshed, that hatred had dulled into something more complicated—reluctant respect.

With a measured smile and a rare flicker of satisfaction, he turned to address his Shadow Elite and warriors. Yet before his voice could settle them, Kaelin broke free from the ranks. Her steps carried urgency, her eyes intent on Thorne. She rushed toward the waiting Obsidian Lynx Hypercar, her heart tugging her forward.

“Alpha Thorne,” she called, her voice low but fierce, “thank you for helping us tonight.”

Thorne’s gaze met hers, cold steel glinting beneath the dim light of the dead of night. His eyes held no warmth, only the detachment of a man who carried too many burdens. “Don’t thank me,” he replied flatly. “I didn’t do it for you.”

Kaelin froze, her breath hitching. Once, long ago, she had been one of the few allowed to see beyond Thorne’s brutal exterior—the one who had glimpsed his trust, his rare moments of gentleness. That past now felt like smoke slipping through her fingers.

“Alpha…” she began, her voice trembling with unspoken words.

But he cut her off, his tone sharpened to a blade. “If you’re not ready to tell me what I need to know, then don’t waste my time.” His command carried the weight of finality. He knew Kaelin harbored secrets, and whoever she was shielding, whatever truth she withheld, it tested the very edges of his patience.

Their eyes locked in silence. His gaze burned with expectation, while hers flickered with hesitation. In the end, her answer was nothing more than a weak whisper.

“It’s not that simple.”

Thorne’s jaw tightened, disappointment heavy in his chest. He turned away, his voice like a door slamming shut. “That’s what I thought.”

He slid into the Obsidian Lynx Hypercar, not granting Kaelin another glance. The sharp ache in her chest deepened, as though her heart had been cleaved open. She watched helplessly as he closed himself off again, as impenetrable as ever.

The Hypercar purred to life. Before leaving, Thorne exchanged a few words with Kalen’s father, and Luna Marcelline remained seated beside him, silent but steady. Within minutes, they returned to Duskridge Pack’s main house.

After washing away the stench of battle at the healer’s ward, Thorne prepared to leave. He gave Luna Marcelline a single piece of advice, his voice quiet but edged with warning. “If I were you, I’d keep a closer eye on Kaelin.”

The Luna’s lips curved faintly, her expression calm yet layered with meaning. “You needn’t tell me, Thorne. I already have someone watching her.”

His sharp eyes studied her for a breath, but he did not press. He only nodded before departing.

The drive back to Wolfsbane Pack was the fastest Thorne had ever allowed the Hypercar to roar across the Nightbloom Trail. Duskwatch City’s glow flickered faintly on the horizon, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

All throughout the drive, he practiced disguising his voice, altering its tone until it no longer sounded like his own. It was strange at first, but he kept at it relentlessly. He had failed once before—seeking out his enemies before repairing the bond with his mate, Luna Celeste. That mistake had cost him dearly. This time, he would try a different approach.

At a roadside stall near Ashwood Vale, he purchased a long wig cap, grey contact lenses, a stronger body cologne, new clothes, and the materials to paint tattoos across his shoulders. Each item was carefully chosen to forge a new identity. By the time he reached Wolfsbane Pack’s border, the dead of night had deepened.

He avoided the main gate, steering instead toward Hollowfang Passage—an old emergency tunnel long forgotten by most of the pack. Dust, spiders, and tangled webs clung to its walls, but Thorne pressed forward, clearing the obstacles with steady determination. Emerging from the other side, covered in cobwebs and dirt, he trekked through Nightbloom Glade until he reached Frostfang River.

There, in the icy waters of the river, he washed himself clean. This place had always been his secret refuge, one of three hidden sanctuaries he used when pack responsibilities became too heavy. The cold water bit at his skin, sharpening his focus.

Once dry, he slipped into his new attire. With deliberate strokes, he painted tattoos onto his shoulders, each line crafted to distort his familiar appearance. He fixed the wig into place, long blond strands tied into a bun with false sideburns framing his jaw.

He inserted the grey lenses, erasing the deep darkness of his natural eyes. And last, he rehearsed the smile. He had never been a man who smiled freely—so this, perhaps, was the most important part of the disguise.

When he finally regarded his reflection in the rippling water, the man staring back at him was a stranger. No one, not even his closest, would suspect it was Alpha Thorne.

By the time he returned to Moonspire Keep, Luna Celeste was asleep, the cottage door locked tight. He recalled having placed Burke on night watch and dialed his number. The warrior’s voice answered almost immediately, faintly carried on the stillness.

“How is the situation?” Thorne asked.

“She’s asleep. Everything’s quiet and peaceful,” Burke replied.

“Good. From now on, check in every two or three days. No need to linger every night.” Thorne’s voice was calm, though the order was layered—he was dismissing Burke without making it obvious.

“Yes, Alpha. I’ll leave to prepare for training in a few hours.”

“That’s fine.”

Thorne ended the call, ensuring Burke had departed. Then he approached Celeste’s cottage chamber. He tried the door, but his own security enchantments made it impossible to open without breaking it down. Only she held the key. He moved to the window, but it, too, was sealed.

He tapped once on the glass. Moments later, the lights inside flickered on. He stepped back into the shadows as her silhouette appeared, long hair spilling like silk around her shoulders. She peered out, confused.

“Is somebody there? Seraphine?” Her voice trembled with worry.

Only silence answered her—just the faint sound of retreating footsteps. Alarmed, she rushed to the door, unlocking it and stepping into the night. The air was cool, the silence heavy, and with her wolf suppressed, she felt the raw ache of vulnerability.

“Whoever you are, you don’t need to hide,” she called, her tone brave though fear coiled beneath.

The sound of hurried steps came again, this time behind her. She spun, catching sight of a tall figure running into the shadows. Her instincts overpowered her hesitation. “Hey! Who are you? Stop!”

She chased him down the Nightbloom Trail, barefoot in pajama pants, her breath sharp in her chest. Modesty no longer mattered; she would not allow a stranger to escape so close to her sanctuary. But the man was fast—his frame moving like wind over stone. She knew she could not close the distance with speed alone.

So she leapt.

Her hands locked around his neck from behind, pinning his face to the ironbark floor of the trail. “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice low, edged with a courage she wasn’t sure she felt.

Beneath her, Alpha Thorne—disguised beyond recognition—allowed himself the faintest smile. The strange thrill of her nearness struck him like a blade and a balm all at once. His disguise had worked. Even she could not see through it.

“An enemy,” he murmured, voice altered, tinged with amusement.

Celeste narrowed her eyes. She had never seen this man before. His long blond hair was tied into a bun, tattoos covering his shoulders, his sideburns giving him the look of a hardened wanderer. Yet the cologne clinging to him—strong, masculine—stirred something familiar. It reminded her of Thorne. Different, but undeniably close. And only Thorne’s scent had ever lingered with her this way.

Her fingers tightened around his throat as she turned him to face her fully. Grey eyes glimmered up at her where dark ones should have been, and his smile unsettled her deeply.

“From where?” she demanded, her heart racing wildly. Deep down, a silent prayer clawed at her chest: that this stranger would not shift, that he would not become something she could not fight.