Chapter 79 80
“Not just weapons,” Barbie whispered. “Hybrids. The curse is mutating.”
The footage glitched again — one of the scientists turned, his face pale under the flickering light.
I recognized him.
“Wait,” I hissed. “That’s— That’s Dr. Harlan.”
“The ASA lead?” Gregor asked sharply.
“Yes,” Barbie’s voice was small, but steady. “They’re building something. You can feel it. The energy.”
Gregor nodded grimly. “A hybrid army. Cursed wolves merged with human tech.”
The image zoomed — Sugar was shouting something at a guard, furious, fiery as always. The sound didn’t come through, but I didn’t need to hear it. I knew that look.
She was stalling.
She was protecting Leon.
My throat tightened. “We have to go. Now. They’ll kill them.”
Gregor turned toward me — that fierce, protective fire back in his eyes. “We can’t storm an ASA-Black Fang base blind. We need a plan.”
I glared right back. “You’re not leaving them.”
The name hung in the air like a curse.
They knew what was hanging in the air, they killed Margaux.
Hamlet turned away, breathing heavily. “Marigold,” he muttered, as if saying it aloud would make it less absurd. “All this time. She was Marigold. The Marigold—the one from the ancient prophecy. The Dark Wolf. Damn it!”
Alex rubbed his face with both hands, his voice shaky but bitter. “And we didn’t even see it. The signs were right there. Her eyes. Her strength. Her… rage.”
“She was different,” Morgana whispered, setting the teapot down with a small clatter. “But she was still our daughter. Our little Margaux.”
“She was not Margaux. We all know that,” Hamlet growled.
“Was?” Hamlet snapped, turning toward her. “Don’t say it like Marigold’s dead.”
“Isn’t she?” Alex shot back. “Black Fang is hunting her. The Queen’s soldiers. And if the rumors about ASA involvement are true, even humans want her blood. She’s not just a runaway anymore, Hamlet—she’s a target.”
Hamlet’s nostrils flared. “I will not sit here while you bury her alive in your words!”
“Guilty much?!”
“Enough!” Alpha Wolfgang's voice boomed.
“Then what do you want to do?” Beta Whiteland challenged, standing.
Hamlet hissed, “March into the cursed northern forest and announce, ‘Hey, we’re the idiots who killed the wrong girl and now pushed her into exile’? That’ll go well.”
Their father slammed his hand on the table. The tea rippled, the tension snapped. “Enough!”
Both brothers froze.
Reinhardt exhaled deeply, his shoulders heavy beneath his alpha mantle. “We received confirmation from Prince Leon’s spies an hour ago.”
Alex’s voice dropped. “About her?”
Reinhardt nodded grimly. “She’s alive. But… she’s with Gregor.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Hamlet blinked, stunned. “Gregor? The traitor?”
“He’s no traitor,” Morgana said sharply, surprising even her husband. “He’s an alpha who lost everything because of the Queen’s curse. If Marigold chose to stand with him, perhaps there’s more to his rebellion than we know.”
Hamlet’s fists trembled. “He’s dangerous. The Queen’s wrath follows him—and now, it’ll follow her.”
Alpha Reinhardt leaned back, rubbing his temples. “The royal report confirms it. Black Fang is on their trail. And so is ASA.”
Alex frowned. “Humans?”
“Humans,” Reinhardt repeated. “Armed with tech that shouldn’t exist. Drones that can sniff out supernatural energy signatures. They want Marigold. Her blood, specifically.”
Morgana’s voice broke. “Because of the curse.”
All eyes turned to her.
“What do you know?” Hamlet asked carefully.
She hesitated, fingers gripping her teacup. “When I was still in the royal court, before your father took me from that viper’s den, I heard whispers—about an ancient prophecy. The Queen’s own alchemists feared it. It said the blood of a young female dark warrior mixed with the Fae’s essence could purify the curse that binds the royal bloodline.”
Alex stiffened. “And Marigold—she’s that warrior?”
“She is,” Morgana whispered. “She’s the one who can break the curse that’s been poisoning the Queen’s army and the Black Fang for decades. But that also makes her the most valuable—and the most hunted—creature alive.”
Hamlet ran a hand through his hair, swearing under his breath. “So that’s it. The Queen wants to use her. ASA wants to dissect her. And alpha Gregor—”
“—wants to protect her,” their father finished quietly.
The brothers looked at him.
“I knew alpha Gregor,” Alpha Reinhardt said, his voice low. “Before the crown turned him into a fugitive. He was an honorable man, loyal to his soldiers. If he’s with Marigold now, it means he’s found a reason to fight again.”
Alex looked unconvinced. “And what if that reason gets her killed?”
Morgana’s eyes filled with tears. “She’s already chosen her path, my son. All we can do now is choose ours.”
Hamlet turned to his father, desperate. “Then what’s our move? We were wrong to plan to kill her, it ended up killing Margaux. It was our mistake, are we going to make the same mistake again by abandoning our family?
Alpha Reinhardt stood, towering, the weight of leadership settling back onto his shoulders like an old cloak. “We prepare. The Queen is gathering her armies in the east. The Black Fang are spreading through the ravines. And the humans have crossed into our borders with their machines.”
Beta Whiteland frowned. “And what about Prince Leon and Sugar? There’s no word from them either.”
Reinhardt’s face darkened. “Their last transmission was cut off near the northern border. I fear they’ve been captured.”
Morgana gasped, covering her mouth.
Hamlet slammed his hand on the table again. “Then we don’t sit here. We fight.”
Alex sighed. “You and your hero complex…”
Hamlet shot him a glare. “You can sit here and polish your swords, but I’m going after her. After them.”
Reinhardt finally smiled—a grim, approving smile. “Then you’ll both go. Together.”
Alex blinked. “What?”
“Brothers go together,” the Alpha said. “If you’re to bring Marigold home, you’ll do it as one.”
Hamlet groaned. Alex swore under his breath.
Morgana, through her tears, smiled faintly. “Maybe that’s what she wanted all along.”
The room fell quiet again, filled with the low hum of the fire and the ticking of the clock.
Outside, thunder rolled over the Whiteland hills. The storm that had chased Marigold north now reached the Wolfgang estate, shaking the windows and howling through the trees.
Hamlet looked out toward the dark horizon, eyes flashing gold. “Hold on, little sister,” he murmured. “We’re coming.”
“I’m not,” he said firmly. “But you’re not dying for them either.”
“Oh, please,” I scoffed. “I’ve already died twice emotionally this week. What’s one more time physically?”
Barbie slapped her tiny forehead. “I cannot believe you two are in charge of saving the world.”
I shot back, “We’re the only ones hot enough to do it.”
“Tragic but true,” Barbie sighed dramatically.
Gregor ignored us both and pulled out a faded map from one of the metal drawers. “Look here. ASA’s northern facility connects through the mountain pass. If we take the ravine east, we can reach it before dawn.”
“That’s insane,” I said. “You mean cross the cursed ridge that even birds avoid?”
He smirked. “Exactly.”
I blinked. “Oh, fantastic. I was hoping for a death wish tonight.”
Barbie rolled her eyes. “You two flirt like war criminals.”
I smiled, tired but wild. “Yeah. And we’re about to become ones.”
Gregor folded the map and looked at me. “We move before sunrise.”
The storm outside growled — thunder like a warning drum. The outpost lights flickered, and for a second, I thought I saw a shadow move on one of the screens — not Leon, not Sugar. Something else.
Watching us.
The Queen’s whisper slithered through the static:
“Run as you wish, my little wolves. The curse always catches up.”
Barbie shivered. “I hate when villains have good sound design.”
I reached for Gregor’s hand, heart racing. “Then we run faster.”
He squeezed back, eyes locked on mine. “Together.”
Whiteland Mansion, Wolfgang Pack Territory
The mansion, usually a pillar of quiet dominance and wealth, was now a storm in itself. The air smelled of frustration, brewed tea, and expensive mahogany furniture that had suffered one too many slams from Hamlet’s temper.
For ten minutes straight, Hamlet had been pacing the long Persian rug in the family’s council room like a trapped wolf. His hands were clenched, jaw ticking. The sound of his boots echoed with each heavy step.
“Stop pacing, Hamlet. You’re giving me a migraine,” Alex muttered, lounging on the velvet couch but clearly on edge.
Hamlet spun toward him, eyes burning. “A migraine? Our sister is gone, Alex. Gone. And it’s your fault!”
“My fault?” Alex scoffed, sitting up so fast the teacup in front of him rattled.
“Idiot!” Hamlet barked back, slamming a hand against the wall. “If you weren’t busy sneaking around with the royal guards pretending to be useful, you would’ve noticed she was planning to run!”
“Enough!” Their father’s deep voice cut through the tension like a blade.
Alpha Reinhardt Wolfgang sat at the head of the table, his presence commanding even without raising his voice. His greying beard caught the flicker of the chandelier light, and his golden eyes—once warm—were now dimmed with exhaustion.
Across from him, their mother, Lady Morgana and their father Beta Whiteland who was frowning at them, her wife quietly poured tea into fine porcelain cups. Her hands trembled, and the faint sound of porcelain clinking against silver betrayed the composure she tried so hard to keep.
“No amount of shouting will bring Margaux—” she stopped herself, voice breaking. “—Marigold back.”