The Clash of Alpha and Traitor
The chamber shook with the force of their battle—stone cracked beneath their feet, blood splattered against the walls, and the air pulsed with dominance.
Darius Graves, in his massive obsidian wolf form, prowled low, golden eyes glowing with rage. His muscles tensed, his breath came in deep, controlled exhales—he was waiting for an opening.
Ronan wasn't giving him one.
Because Ronan wasn't just a wolf anymore.
Silver and black energy twisted around his shifting form—not quite man, not quite beast. His silver-ringed eyes burned with something ancient, something primal. Something beyond werewolf strength.
Darius lunged.
Ronan met him head-on.
The impact sent a shockwave through the chamber, dust and debris falling from the ceiling. Claws slashed, fangs snapped, growls tore through the air like thunder.
Darius's sheer weight sent Ronan skidding back, but Ronan twisted, using the momentum to slam a clawed fist into Darius's ribs.
CRACK.
Darius yelped as he was flung into the stone wall, his massive body leaving a crater in the rock.
The room trembled.
But Darius recovered fast.
He charged again, this time lower, faster, more precise.
Ronan barely twisted in time—Darius's claws sliced across his ribs, drawing first blood.
Pain flared. The scent of iron filled the air.
But Ronan grinned.
Darius had improved.
Good.
Because Ronan didn't want an easy fight.
He wanted to break Darius completely.
...
Astrid had watched many battles.
She had seen packs turn against their own, had witnessed alphas rise and fall.
But she had never seen a fight like this.
Ronan wasn't just fighting to win.
He was fighting to end Darius.
Astrid's heart pounded as she gripped her dagger, torn between everything she had once believed and the truth unfolding before her eyes.
Darius had taken power, had forced the world to bend to his will.
But standing here, watching him struggle against Ronan—
She realized something chilling.
Darius had stolen the throne.
But Ronan?
Ronan was born for it.
She exhaled sharply.
And when Selene dodged a vampire's strike and barked, "Astrid, a little help here?"
Astrid didn't hesitate.
She turned on the vampires, blade flashing, and started cutting them down.
...
Darius lunged again, aiming for Ronan's throat.
Too slow.
Ronan caught him mid-air—one clawed hand gripping Darius's throat, the other slamming into his ribs.
CRACK.
Darius yelped as more bones splintered. His wolf form trembled, his weight buckling under the sheer force of Ronan's assault.
Ronan didn't let go.
His silver-ringed eyes burned into Darius's.
"This was never your throne," Ronan growled.
Darius snarled, thrashing, trying to break free.
But Ronan squeezed tighter.
"You betrayed me," he continued, voice low, lethal. "You stole my pack. You took everything that was mine."
Darius choked, claws digging into Ronan's arms, but it wasn't enough.
Because Ronan wasn't just a wolf anymore.
He was something more.
Darius's golden eyes widened—realization dawning.
Ronan wasn't just trying to win.
He was trying to kill him.
And he couldn't stop him.
For the first time, Darius Graves felt fear.
...
Selene barely had time to process what was happening before she realized—
Ronan wasn't stopping.
His grip on Darius's throat was tightening, his silver energy crackling, twisting, becoming something darker.
She had seen him fight before.
Had seen his rage.
But this?
This was different.
Selene sprinted forward, shoving Astrid out of the way.
"Ronan, stop!"
But he didn't hear her.
Or he didn't care.
The darkness inside him was taking over.
And if no one stopped him—
He was going to kill Darius.
Kael cursed under his breath. "Shit. He's going too far."
Astrid's breath hitched. "We have to—"
But before they could move—
A cold laugh echoed through the chamber.
...
The shadows along the walls shifted.
The torches flickered.
And then—Lilith stepped forward.
Unhurried.
Unbothered.
A smirk curling her lips as she observed the scene before her like a queen watching her subjects play their parts.
"My, my," she mused. "And here I thought you had more control than this, Ronan."
Ronan's grip on Darius tightened as he snarled at her.
Lilith only raised a delicate brow.
"Kill him," she purred, stepping forward, "and watch how quickly the world kneels before you. Kill him, and you're no longer a lost alpha—you're something much more terrifying." Her violet eyes gleamed.
"But don't," she tilted her head, "and you prove you still have that pesky thing called weakness."
Selene bristled. "She's playing you, Ronan."
Lilith sighed. "Oh, please. I'm merely pointing out the obvious."
She took another step forward, the air around her bending in submission.
"Everyone here already knows the truth," she said sweetly. "Darius Graves is nothing. He was never a king—just a desperate little wolf clinging to a stolen throne."
Her violet gaze bore into Ronan.
"But you?" she whispered. "You could be something else entirely."
Ronan's breath was heavy.
The power inside him howled for blood.
For revenge.
For Darius's death.
And yet…
Lilith's words settled deep inside him.
Like poison.
Like truth.
Slowly—**so painfully slow—**he loosened his grip.
Darius crumpled to the ground, gasping, body shaking from the near-death experience.
Lilith's smirk widened. "Good boy."
Selene bristled. "You're enjoying this way too much."
Lilith only laughed.
"Oh, darling," she mused. "You have no idea."
...
Darius didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't fight back.
Because he knew.
He had lost.
Astrid stepped forward, golden eyes unreadable.
"You're not the alpha anymore, Darius."
Her words cut deeper than any blade.
Darius clenched his jaw, but he said nothing.
Because there was nothing left to say.
Ronan turned.
Without a word, he walked away.
And the world shifted.
Because in that moment—
Ronan Blackwood had reclaimed his name.
Tomorrow, the world would fear it.