Chapter 147

The world around me swayed, a dizzying blur of motion that made even walking a struggle. I wasn’t sure if it was my body that was failing me or if the true exhaustion weighed heavier on my mind. The ache in my chest wasn’t just from battle—it was the weight of my first kill, an invisible wound that bled guilt. I could justify what I’d done, tell myself over and over that Merrick deserved to die, but none of that changed the hollow feeling gnawing at my core.

My gaze kept drifting to my hands, still smeared with drying blood, and the knife I clenched so tightly my knuckles turned white.

Leif slipped his arm beneath mine, steadying me as we moved forward, matching my uneven steps with careful patience. My wounds had mostly healed, knitting back together the way they always did, but his were slower to fade. Deep gashes still marred his neck and chest, proof of the battle that wasn’t yet over.

"Are you alright?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

"I’ve survived worse," he said with a lopsided grin. "You're the one who looks like a damn massacre. You’re not about to drop dead on me, are you?"

I let out a slow breath. "It’s not my blood. Well… mostly not mine." My lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. "My body will heal. It’s my mind that feels... broken."

Leif’s expression darkened with concern, but his tone remained firm. "You need to pull yourself together. Our groups might have secured the area, but that doesn’t mean we’re safe yet." His sharp eyes flicked to mine, gauging my state.

"I will," I assured him, forcing my features into something that resembled a smile. "Speaking of moving forward… where exactly are we going?"

We had already passed the audience hall, our steps now leading toward the stairwell.

"The duel," Leif answered. "It’s happening outside, behind the mansion."

"That was… fast," I muttered, barely above a whisper.

I found myself wondering just how long I had been locked in my fight with Merrick. Long enough for the others to secure the mansion, long enough for them to move on without me. Guilt began creeping in again—not for the kill, but for not being there when my group needed me most. Instead of fighting beside them, I’d been wrapped up in my own personal battle. Maybe I hadn't had a choice, but still...

"I should have been there with the rest of the group," I murmured, my chest tightening. "I should have—"

"That’s bullshit, Thalassa," Leif cut in sharply. "I ran into that red-haired bastard before you fought him. First off, you did us all a favor by taking him down. And second—" he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "I don’t think anyone else in our group could have handled him the way you did. Trust me, everyone had an easier time without him in the fight."

His words settled something in me, a quiet reassurance that maybe, just maybe, I had contributed more than I thought. My lips twitched into a weak smile, gratitude creeping into my expression. I took in a slow, deep breath, feeling a shift inside me—not quite healing, but a step toward acceptance.

The battle had stripped away my naivety, leaving me exposed to a world I had once viewed through a lens of misguided optimism. I had imagined a fight where no one had to die, where the fallen could rise again and choose a different path. But that was nothing more than a child's foolish dream. The truth was far colder, far grimmer. And now, I saw the world for what it truly was—a battlefield painted in shades of grey, where survival meant sacrifice.

As we neared the grand staircase leading to the mansion’s main exit, I noticed warriors nodding in my direction, some even offering small smiles. Their faces held something close to admiration, though I wasn’t sure I deserved it. Word had traveled fast—faster than I had anticipated. My fight with Merrick had become a story of its own.

"Well done, Thalassa!" one warrior called out, grinning. "We haven’t even hit the Southern Moon yet, and you’ve already taken out one of their best fighters!"

I mustered a small, awkward smile in return, still trying to reconcile the weight of taking a life. But at least now, the burden felt a little easier to bear.

Stepping outside, my eyes swept over the scene before me—close to a hundred Moon Valley warriors, bound and guarded by the Blue Moon Pack. Every one of our six groups had completed their missions, and now they were gathering to witness the final, desperate play from the Moon Valley Pack: the alpha’s duel.

It was an ancient law, a final chance for a pack’s survival. A leader could challenge another in single combat, placing the fate of their people in their own hands. A strong alpha meant a pack had hope. A fallen alpha meant absolute defeat. And now, all of Moon Valley’s hope rested on Alpha Iskander, a merciless tyrant known for his bloodlust.

As soon as my feet hit the cool earth outside the mansion, I slipped out from under Leif’s support. My balance returned, and my wounds were nothing more than faint aches beneath the shredded remains of my black shirt and torn pants.

But I was still sticky with blood—Merrick’s, mine, and gods knew who else’s. The scent clung to me, thick and metallic, reminding me that the fight wasn’t just in my head.

I exhaled sharply, my fingers twitching with the desire to wipe it all away. Not just because it smelled terrible.

Because it made me look like I belonged to this war.

Like I had been born for it.

And I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

As we stepped onto the grounds behind the mansion, a massive crowd had already formed, encircling the space to create an impromptu arena for the alphas' battle. Instinct urged me to hang back, to disappear into the shadows rather than stand among those who looked pristine, untouched by the fight, while I looked like a walking massacre—Bloody Mary in the flesh.

But Leif had other plans. Before I could protest, he took my hand and began weaving us through the mass of bodies. To my surprise, people stepped aside, parting for us as though I had earned a place at the front.

Near the inner edge of the arena, a familiar figure moved to block my path. Kenzo. His hands found my shoulders, his gaze sweeping over me, eyes dark with concern.

"Thalassa..." he murmured, almost breathless, his fingers tightening as if anchoring himself.

"I'm fine," I managed, offering a faint, weary smile.

Leif answered before Kenzo could push further. "She killed Merrick."

I stiffened. Leif knew his name? Was Merrick that infamous among the wolves?

Kenzo’s expression darkened, a quiet rage simmering beneath his skin. "I should have killed him back at the Palace," he muttered, voice taut with unspoken fury. "I warned him."

"It doesn’t matter now. He’s gone, and I’m still standing." A lie, but one I had no intention of correcting. Kenzo had enough on his shoulders—he didn’t need to carry my burden too.

His eyes remained locked on mine, as if searching for the truth I refused to give. His hands slid down from my shoulders, brushing over my freshly healed arm, tracing along my side as if memorizing every place that had been wounded.

"Seriously, Kenzo, I’m fi—"

I barely finished before he pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly against his chest. His warmth, his scent, the steady rhythm of his heart—it wrapped around me like a shield, a wordless promise. Then, with deliberate gentleness, he pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

"Stay here and watch me win," he murmured. The quiet command sent a shiver through me, and before I could reply, he released me, stepping into the center of the clearing.

I watched as he moved, his presence radiating authority. Even as he circled the makeshift arena, his attention remained briefly on me before shifting to the opposite side, where the Moon Valley Pack gathered. A beat later, their Alpha emerged, accompanied by the thunderous chants of his warriors.

Alpha Iskander.

He was a towering force, broad-shouldered and thickly muscled, with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes that glowed with a cold, calculating intensity. His tanned skin contrasted sharply with the cruel smirk on his lips. As I assessed him, I couldn’t ignore the sheer power in his frame—his bulk, his strength. Against him, Kenzo would have to rely on more than brute force.

A member of Iskander’s pack lifted a hand, signaling the fight’s beginning. I inhaled sharply.

Kenzo shifted in the blink of an eye, his black wolf emerging in a seamless burst of motion. Iskander’s transformation followed, revealing a grey-brown beast—imposing, but lacking the raw menace Kenzo exuded.

Both wolves roared, their deafening challenge making the ground tremble. I stumbled, the vibrations unsettling my balance, but Leif’s steady grip caught me.

"Careful," he muttered. Then, with quiet certainty, he added, "Relax... this won’t take long."

I glanced at him, unsure whether to believe his confidence or let my nerves consume me. He knew Kenzo better than I did—knew what his alpha was capable of. But even so, my heart pounded erratically, the adrenaline from my own battle with Merrick still surging through my veins. The thought of watching Kenzo fight, knowing what was at stake, felt almost unbearable.

Then, in a blur of motion, Kenzo struck.

His claws sliced clean through Iskander’s throat before the brown-grey wolf could react. Blood spurted, painting the earth red. Iskander howled in pain, his jaws snapping wildly at the air, desperate to land a hit—but Kenzo was too fast, too precise. Each time Iskander lunged, Kenzo evaded with lethal grace, his attacks relentless. The once-mighty Alpha of the Moon Valley Pack was reduced to a bloodied mess, his fur now crimson, his movements slower, more erratic.

The more Iskander weakened, the more his rage burned, but it was futile. His strikes missed their mark, his desperation turning him into a mere plaything for the black wolf. Kenzo dragged it out, prolonging his suffering, making his pack watch in silence as their leader was dismantled before their eyes.

Then, with one final move, Kenzo rose onto his hind legs and clamped his powerful jaws around the nape of Iskander’s neck. The grey-brown wolf let out a guttural, agonized moan—the unmistakable sound of surrender.

Kenzo could have ended it then. Could have torn out his throat and left his body cooling on the ground. But instead, he released him. He stepped back, towering over the broken wolf, victorious.

Iskander would live. A lifetime of imprisonment would be his punishment.

Someone tossed a cloth toward Kenzo’s wolf, but he ignored it, shifting back into human form without hesitation. Stark naked in front of the entire crowd, he seemed wholly unbothered. And judging by the way some of the female warriors were gawking, they certainly didn’t mind either.

I, however, found it significantly harder to breathe.

Thankfully, he didn’t take long before covering himself—just enough time for my heart rate to stabilize.

A deafening roar of triumph erupted from the Blue Moon warriors. They chanted Kenzo’s name, their voices thick with pride. It was undeniable—he wasn’t just an alpha. He was a king in the making.

Even now, shirtless and barefoot, his dominance was absolute. Every step he took demanded respect, every glance had others lowering their heads in deference. Sweat glistened across his chest, trickling down sculpted abs, and I had no doubt that more than a few she-wolves would have willingly thrown themselves at his feet if given the chance.

He was a vision of raw, untamed power.

I clapped, grinning with relief that it was over. But then—

His eyes found mine.

The intensity in his gaze stole the air from my lungs. A slow, wicked smirk curled his lips as he strode toward me with purpose.

I swallowed, parting my lips to say something—to congratulate him, to acknowledge his victory—but before I could speak, he silenced me the only way he knew how.

With a kiss.

Not just any kiss. A fierce, possessive, maddening kiss that sent heat coursing through my veins.

And just like that, I forgot how to breathe all over again.