My own spit almost caused me to choke. I pulled my hair back from my ears. Extreme surprise caused my eyes to widen. I was aware of it. A person can never be too good to be true. Despite being the Alpha of the Moon's preferred pack, he murders the same wolves that she herself endowed with magical abilities. I want to shout with delight. I was aware that this man was far from flawless. According to already established norms, he is simply the definition of perfection. There is nothing more or less! To communicate my shock in a more direct manner, I bring my fingertips to my lips. It is genuinely shocking, but not for the purpose I intended. In reality, I'm simply thinking of prideful shock at the fact that Storm's remarks have just plainly demonstrated that he isn't that pure, despite the fact that I'm currently expressing compassionate shock. In relation to purity, I ponder whether he is a virgin. Too early, Ava, is too soon. "You killed them?" I gulped and yelled. Storm chuckled into his palm while pressing his index and third fingers against his glabella. I just sat there wondering what was so humorous as his curly hair tumbled forward, covering his face. He just openly acknowledged murdering witches, and he finds that amusing? Though I don't judge, I still He had a broad smile on his face when he drew his face away from his palm to lean on the chair. "Slow down. He continued to chuckle as he remarked in a bemused tone, "It was a joke. I cast a tight glare his way. "We kill witches here, but not that kind of kill." I don't understand. "I mean, unless you're killing someone out of kindness, which I would never be caught dead doing, I don't think there's another way to kill," she replied. He sat up now and adjusted the cuff on his wrist. "The death of the body isn't always the death of the soul," he said. Actually, I don't kill them. Simply taking away their magic kills them, I suppose, but it's not my responsibility. Every witch is aware of the dangers associated with getting caught up in this pack, so I let out a phony sigh of relief while shaking my head. "Oh. I believed you to be—You believed that I had genuinely killed them, right? He cut me off, raising an eyebrow. "I don't. I truly stand for mercy, contrary to other Alphas, believe it or not." But how can denying someone their power be viewed as merciful? I retaliated immediately. I'm not convinced by his reasoning. In the first place, how is it even possible to take away someone else's magic? Don't they have it from birth? Storm knit his fingers collectively. "First off, I don't think it's fair to compare taking away a witch's magic who enters my pack with the intention of doing something evil to taking something that isn't theirs for anything terrible to take away a life. Every action has repercussions. They are aware of the laws. But, Alpha, how can you know that everyone is aware of the rules? What if one of them, like I did, just happens to stumble into your pack at random? I had my eyes firmly fixed on him. He made his brow twitch. Fucking rules. "What if you take the magic away from a witch who is innocent because of your so-called rules?" I abhor them. the ones in this pack in particular. They are so incredibly limiting! Storm exhaled, but he and I both maintained our composure. I gave him a direct, unwavering look while maintaining my composure. "Arian's group is where most witches originate. Every witch in Arian's pack is aware that it is forbidden to enter my pack. not just by Arian but also by me. It's widely known. So, as I indicated earlier, they are aware of the risks involved in coming here. What if the witch isn't a member of Arian's pack, though? As I continued, I briefly worried that I might be creating my own grave. Even the kinder Alphas don't seem to like being beaten up so much, in my opinion. "First of all, that's unusual, and secondly, I never accept a witch's power without first making sure whether or not the witch belongs to Arian. However, many witches have a tendency to shapeshift and alter their looks," he growled, his lips forming a frown. "I abhor it when people act this way. They attempt to assume the persona of a loved one, but sadly for them—and as I already mentioned—I can smell witches, so their attempts to do so are always unsuccessful. Certainly not with me. My point is that, while I don't particularly love using their power, I need to make the person who continues sending these witches to my pack learn a lesson. Also, if they are bold enough to breach the law, they need to be just as bold in accepting the repercussions, right? On that, I won't change my views. "You see, what you may perceive as unfair, I perceive as my responsibility as an Alpha. We would already be extinct in this pack if I allowed every witch to go with their magic in tact. I don't at least kill them. They used to be killed by every Alpha before me, but Storm, you only kill a portion of them. You murder their spirit, to use your own words. How exactly does that improve you, then? You might not comprehend what I mean, but occasionally, a physical death is preferable to a person's internal or external pain. When there is nothing left to live for, what good is life? when everything is suddenly taken from you right in front of your eyes? What good is a life that falls apart because everything has just been turned inside out? I don't understand the purpose of such a life, and as an Alpha who is supposed to prioritize kindness, I find it puzzling that he doesn't get it. "Your eyes are judging me," he said, cocking his head to the side. His hair did the same. They are not, I said. I immediately rebuked his comments by denying them. I notoriously shook my head. "Yes, they are," he concludes, and all of a sudden, his eyes are glued to mine. As an unseen weight begins to lie on top of my shoulders, I start to stiffen up. I shook my head once again, unknowingly gripping the papers in my hands. Only once have I ever experienced this peculiar heaviness from a distance, and I don't enjoy it. I never enjoyed it. I don't enjoy how exposed I feel when using raw power. Being exposed to vulnerability is such a strange experience for me. Although I am a strong and powerful person, I find myself at odds with either my wolf or myself since this heavy gaze feels like the sharpest of needles pressing into my skin. I keep trying to look at Storm, but it feels like some unseen force is squeezing my spine. When Storm looks so intently into my eyes, I feel as though he is trying to rake through my memories or perhaps my soul. I'm not sure why, but it's getting harder and harder to look into his eyes. You cannot display any vulnerabilities, Ava. Hold your gaze. "So, tell me then." He starts over, but his implacable, deep-set, dark gaze holds me captive and won't let go. I turn my head away, not against my will but against the will of every stiff bone in my body. Embarrassing, Ava. Just disgusting. What would you do if you were Alpha? Kill them all, obviously. However, I would be a distinct breed of Alpha. In my little twenty-three years of life, I've seen too much to know that not only do people stink like crazy, but some of them are just on some lunatic level of evil that I don't even want to consider. Case in point: Aiden and Nessa. They are the epitome of evil. No further explanation is necessary. In other words, Storm, if I were ever Alpha, I don't think Alpha Ava would exactly be pleasant. The witches in Arian's pack should all be burned down; at the very least, I should declare war. Too polite, you are. I'm not. I'll get rid of you if you become a problem for me. That's how I live. In a nutshell. However, Storm seems to be a distinct kind of Alpha. Since he wants to lead with kindness and embodies roses and daisies, I'm not sure what else he can do besides deprive them of their power or let them go. I keep trying to think of a more forgiving yet practical approach, but I can't. Storm interrupts me and adds, "I'll let you think more on it then." Think about it, and if you have any ideas, please share them with me. I nod in agreement as he points once more to the pile, saying, "I'm actually rather intrigued. Every time I go through everything, Storm anticipates that my face will flutter in recognition. I make sure not to let him down. He asks if any of the images evoke any memories, and I shake my head and reply that nothing does. He just nods in response to my pretense that I am unfamiliar with any of these locations, the disappointment appearing to readily fade from his lovely features. He bemoans, "I'd really like to get you home." I squint intensely, clutching the papers, and he asks me to keep them, instructing me to try reading them regularly in the hopes that someday something will ring a bell. "I can't imagine what your family must be going through looking for you and wondering who you are," I say. I turn the images away from me and concur. Then, fifteen years ago... Princess Rose, where is your mother? As he sat down next to me for dinner and sighed heavily, my father asked me this. Sweat gathered on his forehead as he rested in the dining chair and unfastened his tie. He appeared worn out from work. He constantly appeared worn out. I told my dad that she was inside as I ate the pasta that my mother had made. She consistently produced the best meals. I had earlier requested that she cook pasta for my birthday party on Saturday when she brought my food to me. I had invited all of my classmates and friends from my music academy because I turned nine on Saturday. I was eager to receive my presents. I cherished getting presents. It was my favorite celebration memory. My dad does his own food service. Like she often did, my mother placed the substantial dish of pasta in the middle of the table. I ate while chewing. It was quite tasty. Your math tutor today grumbled about you to Rose. You're not performing as well as you used to, he claimed. Why are you upset, princess? Dad inquired out of the blue after finishing his own pasta and before rolling up his sleeves. I gave him a headshake. Math didn't appeal to me. I never enjoyed math. I don't think I'll ever find math enjoyable. "Rose?" My father urged me, turning away from his meal to face me directly. I stopped eating because I was afraid. I spoke while I still had food in my mouth, saying, "Daddy, it's hard," and putting the spoon down to yank at my tightly-tied ponytail. My father's eyes widened, and he said, "I don't understand it," which made me feel afraid. I had to yank at my hair more firmly as a result. "Rose, you are my heir. No matter how difficult the task, you must succeed no matter what. You have to be the best, yet recently you have been slipping. I believe you spend too much time practicing the harp and not enough time reading. Therefore, no music lessons until your tutor provides me with positive feedback. I cried out in disapproval, "But Daddy-" Only his finger was extended to halt me. A little signal to tell me to keep quiet. If you say anything further, I'll cancel your birthday party as well. As soon as I started crying, I immediately stopped talking, even though I wanted to yell at him. I was studying, I swear. Just difficult. Why didn't he accept my story? I was actually studying! Finish eating, then head to your room to finish your schoolwork. Take out all of your study notes as well. I want to go over them all and see precisely what is difficult for you. My father insisted that even though I was in the fourth grade, my private tutor was teaching me seventh-grade mathematics. At times, it felt too difficult, but I gave it my best effort. Just incredibly difficult. But I gave it my all! Why didn't he accept my story? I want you to participate in that math competition, but how could you do so if you were slacking off at such a crucial time of the year? My lips began to tremble as my father muttered to himself. I wanted to sob and get my mother. However, I was too afraid of my father to even stand up. What if he became more furious and called off my party? "Enough with your antics. I believe I treated you too leniently. I'm going to be stricter now because I don't want you to ruin our family's reputation. My head dipped to brush away a tear that had fallen down my cheek. I wanted my dad to not hear me sniff, so I stopped. I must perform better. I have to do better, but math is challenging. Although I'm doing my absolute best, it's challenging. I was relieved to see my mother enter the room as soon as the door opened and closed. To help my father understand that I'm not lazy, she would explain everything to him. Everything will be fixed by Mom. I'm good and studying instead of playing or doing anything else; Mommy will tell Daddy. I don't even go over to my friends' houses to play after school or on the weekends. I didn't even play any video games or watch any cartoons. I simply focus on my studies and music. My mother was holding a big knife at the door when I found her after wiping the tears from my eyes and turning to look for her.