Chapter 128 Hundred and thirty three
“Where is he?” Torin muttered as he stepped into the clearing, his breath fogging in the cold dawn. “He was just here. I swear it.”
“Maybe you blinked,” Lysa snapped, rubbing her arms. “Shadow creatures don’t wait for slow eyes.”
“He’s not a shadow creature,” Torin hissed. “He’s a man. A cursed one, yes, but still a man.”
“Men don’t move like that,” Lysa whispered, staring at the broken trees, the shredded bark, the half-circle of crushed earth. “Men don’t kill a whole hunting squad in under a minute.”
Sienna stood at the tree line, half-hidden, listening.
Torin dropped to his knees and touched the ground. “He fought them alone.”
“No,” Lysa said, kneeling on the opposite side. “He didn’t fight. He punished.”
Sienna closed her eyes for a breath. Their voices carried awe, fear, disbelief, emotions she had felt herself when she’d seen the shape lingering between the trees.
She stepped forward.
Torin stiffened instantly, bowing his head. “Your Majesty.”
Lysa did the same. “We didn’t hear you approach.”
“You weren’t meant to,” Sienna said softly. “Tell me what you saw.”
Torin exchanged a look with Lysa, both uncertain whether they should speak honestly.
Sienna held their gaze until the hesitation broke.
Lysa swallowed. “We came here because we heard screaming. By the time we arrived, the assassins were already dead.”
“How many?” Sienna asked.
“Eight,” Torin answered.
“And how were they killed?”
Torin hesitated again, then said quietly, “With a force I’ve never seen. Their throats snapped. Their arrows burned. Their bodies…”
Sienna stepped closer. “Their bodies what?”
He lowered his eyes. “Gone. Dragged away.”
Sienna’s heart twisted. Ryder always did that, hid the remains, carried burdens alone, protected others from the ugliness of what he’d become. Even now, even cursed, he fought to keep the world from fearing him. But the world feared what it didn’t understand, and Ryder’s existence now defied every law of the land.
Lysa looked toward the deeper forest. “Your Majesty… he saved us.”
Torin nudged her sharply. “Lysa.”
“What? It’s the truth.”
“What exactly happened?” Sienna asked.
Torin rubbed the back of his neck, recounting slowly, “When we reached the clearing, two assassins were still alive. One aimed at Lysa. The other at me.”
“And then?” Sienna pressed.
“We didn’t even see him arrive,” Lysa whispered. “One moment there were arrows. The next, the air ripped open and he was there. Just… there.”
Torin nodded. “He moved like light bending. Like the wind folding around him.”
“Did he speak?” Sienna asked.
“No, Majesty.”
“Did he look at you?”
Torin shivered. “He looked through us.”
Sienna inhaled shakily. That was Ryder now, half here, half somewhere far darker, suspended between man and monster, fighting every second to stay on the side that still remembered kindness.
Lysa stood slowly, brushing dirt off her knees. “People are calling him something.”
Sienna tensed. “What name?”
“The Ghost Alpha.”
The words hit Sienna like a blow to the chest.
Torin nodded grimly. “The nomad packs speak of him. They say he appears where death is thickest. That he hunts the darkness that hunts you.”
Sienna tried to steady her breath. “And what do you say?”
Torin met her gaze without fear. “He saved our lives before we even knew we were targeted. If that makes him a ghost, he’s a ghost I’d follow.”
Lysa stepped beside him. “And if he’s an Alpha… he’s the only one the rebels fear.”
Sienna swallowed hard. “Take me to the nomads.”
Torin blinked. “Majesty?”
“They’ve seen him more than anyone,” she said. “They might know where he goes after each fight.”
“But the nomads, ”
“Take me.”
Torin exchanged a glance with Lysa, then bowed. “As you command.”
They led her deeper into the forest, weaving through thickets and narrow paths until the trees opened into a wide clearing alive with movement. Wolves of every size and shape circled a fire. Their human forms moved between tents patched with leather and old cloth. Faces turned as Sienna entered, some curious, some cautious, none openly hostile.
An older woman stepped forward, her braid reaching her waist. “Queen Sienna,” she said in a low, respectful voice. “We wondered when you would come.”
“You know why I’m here,” Sienna said.
The woman nodded. “Because you’re looking for the one who leaves storms in his footsteps.”
Sienna’s throat tightened. “Where is he?”
A murmur rippled through the nomads. Some exchanged looks. Others bowed their heads.
The woman gestured toward a circle of stones at the far end of the clearing. “We don’t summon him. He summons us.”
Sienna moved toward the stones anyway.
The woman caught her arm gently. “Careful. That place remembers pain.”
“So do I,” Sienna whispered.
She stepped into the stone circle.
Immediately, whispers coiled through the air, not voices exactly, more like echoes of emotion. Rage. Fear. Grief. Devotion. Too many stories layered beneath the ground. Sienna breathed slowly, letting the air settle around her.
A young boy approached timidly. “My queen?”
She turned to him. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen, yet his eyes held the weight of many winters.
“Yes?”
“You’re the reason he keeps fighting.”
Sienna blinked. “I’m the reason he’s suffering.”
The boy shook his head fiercely. “No. The curse made him a ghost. But you… you keep him human.”
Her chest tightened. “Did he tell you that?”
“No.” The boy’s voice softened. “He doesn’t speak. But he watches you. Every time the moon rises, he looks toward the Citadel. Every time you bleed, he breaks something in the forest. Every time you cry…”
He hesitated.
Sienna crouched. “What happens when I cry?”
“He disappears for days.”
Her breath caught. “Why?”
The boy lifted his small shoulders helplessly. “Maybe he feels it. Maybe he tries to stop feeling it. Maybe both hurt too much.”
A low wind curled around them, cold and strangely familiar. The nomads looked up as one, whispers spreading like wildfire.
“He’s here.”
“He’s close.”
“The Ghost Alpha returns.”
Sienna stood, heart thudding painfully, scanning the treeline. The wind stilled. The fire dimmed. Every wolf fell silent, ears pricked, faces turned toward the dark woods.
Then,
A shadow shifted.
A figure emerged just beyond the firelight, tall and silent, half-faded into the night. His presence fell like a weight across the clearing, not oppressive, just immense. The nomads knelt instantly, heads bowed so low their hair brushed the snow.
“My Alpha,” the older woman whispered.
Sienna did not kneel.
Ryder’s head turned toward her, not fully, not boldly, but enough that the fire caught the faint edges of his face. His hair was longer, wilder. His shoulders shook with the effort of standing still. His breath fogged in short, strained bursts, as if the curse pressed against his lungs.
Sienna whispered, “Ryder.”
The nomads inhaled sharply.
Ryder flinched.
Not visibly. Not dramatically. But she saw it, the tiny tremor that went through him when he heard his name in her voice.
He took one step forward.
The curse snarled inside him. She felt it. Everyone felt it.
The older woman grabbed Sienna’s arm. “Don’t move.”
Sienna didn’t listen.
“Ryder,” she said again, louder this time, each syllable trembling. “Look at me.”
He did.
Gods, he did.
Pain carved through the clearing like a blade.
Torin bowed his head. “He hears only her.”
The boy whispered, “He always has.”
Sienna stepped closer, ignoring the murmurs rising around them. “You’re hurt,” she whispered. “Let me help you.”
Ryder shook his head once, slow, agonized. Another step forward, and the ground shook beneath his feet. The fire flared wildly. The curse surged, trying to tear him back into the dark.
But he held still.
For her.
She reached out, her hand trembling. “Please.”
For a breath, for a heartbeat, for the smallest slice of time,
Ryder lifted his hand too.
Not to touch her.
To stop her.
A warning.
A plea.
A promise.
His lips parted, and for the first time in weeks, a sound escaped him.
Not a word.
Not a growl.
A broken whisper dragged from somewhere deep inside him.
“Run.”
And the forest exploded around them.