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184
Scarlett
I was stunned as Mother appeared, pulling my father along like a limp doll. His body left a trail of blood on the ground, his weak cries lingering in the air.
This man, who had been a terrifying presence in my nightmares and seemed untouchable, was now reduced to a pitiful, wounded state.
His screams echoed across the place, drawing pack members from their homes like moths to a flame.
A primal satisfaction bloomed in my chest as I watched him squirm, the architect of my suffering finally experiencing pain of his own.
“Who the heck are you?” someone growled. A burly male stepped forward, chest heaved in misguided bravado. “How dare you step into our land!”
I almost laughed—they were still the same blind followers, ready to defend a tyrant simply because he wore the crown. Loyalty without conscience was just another form of cowardice.
The crowd grew larger as people poured out of buildings, their murmurs of confusion turning into a loud chorus. Tension filled the air, thick with fear.
Mother moved with cold rigor, ignoring the growing crowd as she continued her assault. Father’s screams—high and desperate—were music to my ears.
His pleas for mercy fell on deliberately deaf ears. This was the first time I’d ever seen Father reduced to something so... small.
“Who are you?” he gasped when Mother finally released him, stepping back to survey her handiwork.
Blood painted his face in fantastic patterns, his split lip trembling as he fought for breath.
“I,” my mother began, before shifting back into her human form.
A collective gasp swept through the crowd, followed by stunned silence. Then:
“Luna!” someone from the crowd screamed. “Is that you?”
By now, all of us had returned to our human forms, standing as silent sentinels behind Mother. But it was her presence that commanded attention.
She stood regal and elegant, radiating an aura of power that seemed to bend the very air around her.
This was her true self. This was the woman who had birthed me—a queen worthy of leading armies, a true Alpha in every sense of the word.
“Yes,” she confirmed confidently, her voice louder now. “I’m Alpha Lucy.”
“Alpha?” my father spat from the ground. “Who gave you that title?”
Mother’s laugh was cold enough to freeze flame. She towered over him, a goddess looking down upon a worm.
“This pack,” she stated, “is my birthright. These people are my people. Everything here belongs to me.”
The color drained from my father’s face. Everything seemed to crash down on him at once. He clutched his chest, struggling to breathe.
“How?” he finally managed, his voice a ghost of its former authority. “How is it possible? You’re dead...”
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the birds seemed to hold their breath.
“Why did you crawl out from your grave, Lucy?” His voice rose, hysteria fraying the edges. “A dead person is supposed to remain dead. Forever.”
He struggled to his feet, swaying like a drunkard. “Why are you here?”
“Dead?” Mother scoffed.
“Yes!” he snapped, his voice cracking. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool morning air. “Why are you here? No... I’ll send you back to your grave.”
The madness in his eyes mirrored what I’d seen in Nina’s—his true daughter.
They were cut from the same twisted cloth, both of them clinging to delusion even as reality crashed around them.
Even facing death, neither would bend, neither would admit their crimes.
Father launched at her. I wanted to attack him too, but Mother’s hand shot out, stopping me with a single authoritative gesture.
“This is between us,” she commanded, her eyes never leaving her target. “Stay back, Scarlett.”
So we watched—all of us, the entire pack—as the two former mates crashed together in a brutal dance.
Their bodies blurred with inhuman speed, the sound of flesh hitting flesh and bones cracking like thunder in the clearing.
Mother moved with fluid grace, like liquid silver, always one step ahead of her opponent, striking where he was most vulnerable.
The difference in their abilities was obvious to all observers—Mother wasn’t just strong, she was transcendent.
“Ahh!” Father’s primal scream tore through the air as Mother’s foot connected with his sternum, sending him flying across the dirt like a broken toy.
“How dare y—” Blood erupted from his mouth, cutting off his words as his body crumpled against the ground.
Before he could even attempt to rise, Mother was upon him again. She lifted his considerable weight as if he were nothing more than a child’s doll, before breaking his bones.
I came to a shocking realization that she wasn’t trying to kill him. No, she was being far more deliberate than that.
She waited patiently, minutes stretching like hours, allowing his wolf healing to knit his bones back together just enough before she struck again, renewing his agony. The scene in front of me was brutal and terrifying.
The crowd, initially shocked into silence, began to howl with growing excitement as Mother broke his bones over and over again.
“Please,” Father finally begged, his pride shattered along with his body. He clawed pathetically at her feet, his fingers leaving bloody smears on her skin. “I was wrong... honey.”
Mother crouched to his level and whispered coldly, “No, you’re not.”
“It was the devil,” he rasped, weakening. “It wasn’t my fault…”
“You should have killed the devil before he pushed you to it,” she replied.
I stared at my mother in wonder, suddenly realizing the depth of strength that flowed through her veins—through our veins.
Mother was strong—so strong it made me wonder if I could ever be like her. I thought I was strong. But I was wrong. Next to her, I was nothing but a fly.
“You shouldn’t have betrayed me, killed me, and destroyed my only child,” she continued, each word dripping with quiet danger. Her hand moved to his throat, not squeezing, just resting there.
“Despite the love I gave you... everything. I gave you my pack, my people—and you repaid my kindness with death. You poisoned me, drove a dagger through my heart, and dumped me for wild animals to eat. And you think I would believe you now?”
“You’re my mate,” he muttered, audacity still flickering in his eyes despite his broken state. “You should believe everything I tell you, Lucy.”
My jaw clenched in disbelief. I couldn’t believe it. Despite being battered, bleeding, and on the brink of death, he still held onto his arrogance like a shield.
“I love you, Lucy. Trust me, I do… Everything that happened—it wasn’t my fault.”
“Whose fault was it then?” she cut him off sharply. “Tell me, Alaric.”
“That bastard Patrick,” he blurted. “It was Alpha Patrick. If you want revenge, go find him.”
Mother’s eyebrow arched elegantly. “So now it’s no longer the devil, but a dead man?”
Blood drained from his face, leaving him silent. “Yes,” he insisted. “He was the one who planned all of this.”
“He’s dead,” Mother replied coldly.
“Then go find him,” Father snapped, a flash of his old imperious self breaking through his fear.
Something was off about him. “Mother,” I screamed.