Chapter 230 CHAPTER 230
The rogue camp stretched like a scar across the forest, hidden from the world yet alive with quiet danger. Fires burned low between makeshift structures, their glow barely piercing the thick darkness that surrounded the place.
At the center of it all stood the den.
Inside, Darius sat in a chair that had been carved to resemble a throne, though nothing about it carried the dignity of one. It was rough, uneven, built from pieces that did not belong together—much like the pack he ruled. Still, the way he sat in it, relaxed yet alert, made it clear that this was no imitation. In this place, he was king.
And yet, it was not enough.
He leaned back slightly, one hand resting against his jaw as his eyes remained fixed ahead, unfocused but sharp. His thoughts were not scattered. They were precise, moving from one problem to another with a quiet, controlled intensity.
“Do you know what irritates me?” he asked suddenly, his voice calm in a way that felt deliberate rather than natural.
One of his men, his most trusted subordinate, stood a few steps away. He did not answer immediately. He had learned that with Darius, silence was often safer than guessing.
Darius let out a faint breath, something close to a humorless chuckle.
“Losing sight,” he continued, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. “Not losing power. Not even losing men. Those can be replaced. But losing sight…” He shook his head slowly. “That is unacceptable.”
He pushed himself up from the chair and began to pace, his movements measured, controlled, as though each step was part of a pattern only he understood.
“Vaughn was not just a spy,” he went on. “He was a window. Through him, I did not have to guess. I knew. I knew what the council was planning before they even acted. I knew where to push, where to wait, where to strike.”
His gaze darkened slightly.
“And now that window is gone.”
The room fell quiet for a moment before his subordinate spoke carefully.
“There are still others,” he said. “Not as high as Vaughn, but….”
“Not high enough,” Darius cut in smoothly, not raising his voice, but making it clear that the matter was not up for debate. “What I receive now…” He paused briefly, as if weighing the word. “Rumors. Delayed truths. Fragments.”
He exhaled slowly, then added in a quieter tone, “Vaughn is dead, but not all doors have closed. Information still finds its way to me—slower now, less refined, but enough to keep the picture from going completely dark.”
His eyes flickered with something sharp.
“One of the elders from Silverpine was imprisoned. Seventeen years, hard labor.” A faint smile returned, thin and cold. “That, at least, came through clearly – that guard is still useful to me.”
He stopped pacing, his gaze lifting slightly.
“They were meant to be useful,” he added. “And perhaps they still will be. Broken men can be reshaped. Redirected. Used.”
His subordinate nodded, though he did not fully understand what Darius was planning.
Before he could speak again, a knock came at the entrance.
Darius did not turn immediately.
“Enter.”
The door opened, and two of the men stepped in, followed by three others who dragged something—or rather, someone—between them.
Two women.
Dust-covered, exhausted, their expressions caught somewhere between fear and disbelief.
Hilda stumbled slightly as she was pushed forward, while Anna struggled more visibly, her resistance sharp but weakened by exhaustion.
Darius’ gaze shifted toward them, his irritation fading into something else entirely.
Interest.
“Well,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “It seems the day has decided to offer compensation.”
He stepped forward slowly, his eyes moving over them with quiet calculation rather than open hunger.
“Where did you find them?” he asked.
“In the forest, Alpha,” one of the men replied. “Car veered off the road. They asked for help.”
Darius let out a soft hum, circling them once.
“Did you check their belongings?” he asked.
“Yes,” the man answered. “Nothing valuable. No clear destination either. Looks like they were running from something. No signs anyone will come looking.”
Darius nodded faintly, as if that confirmed something he had already assumed.
“That makes things easier,” he said.
He stopped in front of Anna.
For a moment, he simply looked at her, studying her in a way that made her skin crawl. Then he reached out, lifting her chin with two fingers, turning her face slightly toward the light.
Anna froze, her breath catching.
“Soft skin,” Darius observed calmly. “No calluses. No marks of labor.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “You have lived comfortably.”
Anna tried to pull away, but his grip tightened just enough to stop her.
“She will fetch a good price,” he added, almost casually, as though discussing livestock rather than a person.
Hilda’s breath hitched sharply.
“Please…” she started, her voice trembling.
But Darius had already moved on.
He stood in front of Hilda now, his gaze colder, less curious.
“This one,” he said, his tone thoughtful, “has seen more use.”
Hilda flinched at the word.
“She will not bring the same value,” he continued, “but there is always demand for obedience and experience.” He glanced briefly at his men. “Domestic labor, perhaps. Or something less… refined.”
“Please, you have this all wrong,” Hilda said quickly, stepping forward despite the fear in her eyes. “We are not—this is a mistake. You don’t understand who we are.”
Darius looked at her again, this time with mild amusement.
“Oh?” he said. “Then enlighten me.”
Hilda swallowed, desperation pushing her forward.
“I am…” she hesitated only for a second before saying it, clinging to the one thing she thought might save them. “I am the adoptive mother of the Mooncrest princess.”
The room went still.
Hilda went on, “If you don’t let us go right now…”
For a brief moment, hope flickered in Anna’s eyes.
Darius blinked once.
Then he laughed.
It was not loud.
Not explosive.
It was quiet, controlled, and far more unsettling because of it.
“The adoptive mother,” he repeated, stepping closer, his eyes locking onto hers. “From Silverpine.”
Hilda’s breath caught.
Recognition dawned in his expression—not surprise, but confirmation.
“Thank you for the introduction. Now I know exactly who you are,” he said softly. “The woman who raised her like a servant. The house she worked in while you watched.”
Hilda’s face drained of color.
“You think that will save you?” he continued, tilting his head slightly. “That the princess will come searching for you?”
He leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping.
“She will not.”
Hilda staggered back a step.
“As far as I know,” Darius went on, straightening again, “your husband is already in chains. Seventeen years. Hard labor.” His lips curved faintly. “And the girl you mistreated? She is finally where she belongs.”
He studied her for a moment longer before adding, almost thoughtfully,
“If anything, you disappearing would be considered… poetic.”
Hilda’s knees weakened.
Anna’s resistance faltered, her earlier anger replaced by something far more fragile.
Fear.
Real, consuming fear.
“You see,” Darius said calmly, glancing between them, “you have done something very convenient for me.”
He gestured lightly toward them.
“You have removed any reason for anyone to come looking.”
The realization settled in fully then.
They were not just captured.
They were forgotten.
Before either of them could speak again, another knock sounded at the entrance.
Darius turned his head slightly, irritation flickering briefly at the interruption.
“Yes?”
A guard stepped in, bowing his head slightly.
“Alpha,” he said. “There is another visitor.”
Darius’ brow lifted just a fraction, interest returning.
“Another?” he murmured. “Today seems to be a generous day.”
He straightened fully, his posture shifting back into that effortless authority he carried so naturally.
“Let them in,” he said.
The guard stepped aside.
And a moment later, Seraphine walked in.
The shift in the room was immediate.
Darius’ expression changed—not to fear, not to shock, but to recognition sharpened by instinct. In one smooth motion, he reached for his weapon and drew it, the gun steady in his hand as he pointed it directly at her.
The room held its breath.
Seraphine did not flinch.
She raised both hands slowly, her movements calm, deliberate, her gaze fixed on him without hesitation.
“Hey, relax. I come in peace,” she said.