Sold to Bastard Alpha after My Divorce!-Chapter 217

Kael’s POV

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The new defensive positions were in place by dawn.

I’d spent most of the night walking the perimeter with Ronan and the unit commanders, marking out the changes Aria had suggested. Pull back from the northern ridge—not all the way, just enough to make Magnus think we’d weakened. Reinforce the southern approach where he wouldn’t expect it. Rotate the flank coverage so the patterns he’d memorized for twenty years were suddenly wrong.

Close the gaps. Shift the angles. Make him second-guess everything he thought he knew.

By the time the sun came up, I was running on coffee and adrenaline and the particular clarity that comes when you’ve been awake so long that your body stops arguing and just does what you tell it to.

Fenrir was pacing. He’d been pacing all night, restless and eager, sensing what was coming.

*They’ll take the bait,* he said. Low growl in my head, satisfied. *They’ll see the weakness and they’ll come.*

*Let them come,* I thought back.

The trap was set.

Now we just had to wait.

---

The attack came at eleven hundred hours.

I was in the command tent reviewing supply routes when the alarm went up—three short bursts, the signal for enemy contact on the northern approach. Exactly where we’d left the gap. Exactly where Magnus would expect us to be vulnerable.

"Here we go," Ronan said beside me.

I grabbed my jacket. "Get everyone in position. Nobody moves until I give the signal."

"Already done, Alpha."

Of course it was. Ronan had been running drills on this for two days straight. Every soldier knew their position, knew the timing, knew what happened if they broke formation early.

I walked out of the command tent and headed for the observation point on the eastern ridge. It gave a clear view of the northern approach—the ravine, the tree line, the narrow choke point where the terrain funneled anyone stupid enough to charge through it into a kill box.

The perfect place for an ambush.

If you were the one doing the ambushing.

I reached the ridge and dropped into a crouch beside the forward lookout. He handed me the binoculars without a word.

I raised them.

Scanned the tree line.

There.

Movement. Fast and low, using the underbrush for cover. I counted eight—no, ten—wolves moving in formation toward the gap we’d left in the northern defenses. Dark fur, coordinated movements, disciplined enough to stay quiet.

These weren’t rogue ferals. These were trained soldiers.

Magnus’s men.

They hit the perimeter at the weak point exactly as expected. Slipped through the gap we’d left open, quick and confident, thinking they’d found an opening.

Fenrir growled low in my chest. *Now?*

*Not yet.*

I watched them move deeper into the trap. Watched them spread out, start to flank what they thought was our defensive line. Watched them position themselves for a strike that would never land.

Because the defensive line they were flanking wasn’t there anymore.

"Signal," I said quietly.

The lookout raised his hand. Three fingers. Two. One.

The forest erupted.

Our soldiers came from the sides—from positions Magnus’s men hadn’t even known to check, because we’d never held those positions before. Thirty wolves, moving as one, cutting off the retreat, boxing them in.

The enemy wolves tried to scatter. Too late. They were already surrounded.

The fight lasted four minutes.

I stayed on the ridge, watching through the binoculars, calling adjustments when I saw openings. Ronan was down there leading the ground team, his voice cutting through the chaos with clean, precise orders. Our soldiers moved like they’d been doing this for years instead of days—tight formation, controlled aggression, no wasted movement.

Exactly like we’d drilled.

By the time the dust settled, we had two prisoners pinned on the ground in human form, silver cuffs around their wrists. The other eight were either dead or fled back into the woods.

I lowered the binoculars.

Stood up.

Fenrir was practically vibrating with satisfaction. *Told you they’d come.*

*You were right.*

*I’m always right.*

I ignored him and headed down the ridge toward the capture site.

---

The prisoners were kneeling in the dirt when I arrived, hands cuffed behind their backs, surrounded by six of our soldiers with weapons drawn. Both men were bleeding from minor wounds—nothing serious, nothing that wouldn’t heal in a few hours. They’d been taken alive deliberately.

Because we needed information.

I stopped in front of them. Looked down.

One of them—older, grey at the temples, a scar bisecting his left eyebrow—met my eyes with the kind of defiant glare that said he knew exactly who I was and wasn’t impressed.

The other one kept his gaze on the ground.

Smart man.

"Names," I said.

The older one spat into the dirt beside my boot.

I didn’t react. Just waited.

Ronan stepped forward. "We can do this the easy way—"

"Or the way that involves significantly more pain," I finished. "Your choice."

The younger one cracked first. "Garrett," he said. Voice shaking slightly. "Garrett Stone."

I looked at the older one.

He said nothing.

"And you?" I asked. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

Silence.

I crouched down. Brought myself to eye level. Let him see exactly what I was—Alpha, fully in control, absolutely willing to make this as unpleasant as necessary.

"You came onto my territory," I said quietly. "You attacked my soldiers. You followed orders from a man who is currently wanted for treason, conspiracy, and about fifteen other charges I’m forgetting." I tilted my head slightly. "So I’m going to ask you one more time. What’s your name?"

His jaw tightened.

"Blackwood."

I nodded slowly. Stood up. Looked at Ronan. "Secure them in the holding cells. Standard protocol. No contact with anyone outside the camp."

"Yes, Alpha."

The soldiers hauled both prisoners to their feet and started marching them toward the detention area. Marcus went quietly. Garrett was shaking so hard I could see it from ten feet away.

Good.

Let them be afraid. Let them sit in those cells and think about what happened. Let them realize that everything Magnus had told them about my defenses—about the weak points, the patrol schedules, the easy targets—had been wrong.

Let them wonder what else he’d been wrong about.

I turned back toward the ridge, scanning the tree line one more time. Looking for movement, for any sign of a second wave.

Nothing.

The forest was still.

But Magnus was out there somewhere. Watching. Waiting. Realizing that the trap he’d set had just turned into a trap he’d walked into.

*Good,* Fenrir growled. *Let him know we’re not the easy target he thought.*

I smiled.

Not a nice smile.

---

I found Aria in the command tent an hour later.

She was standing at the map table, one hand braced on the edge, the other resting lightly on her stomach. That unconscious gesture she’d started doing in the past few weeks—protective, instinctive, like she was checking to make sure everything was still okay.

She looked up when I walked in.

"Well?" she asked.

I crossed the tent in three strides. Grabbed her by the waist. And lifted her clean off the ground, spinning her in a full circle before setting her back down.

She gasped. Grabbed my shoulders for balance. "Kael—what—"

"It worked," I said. Grinning like an idiot, not even trying to hide it. "Everything you said. Every single adjustment. They came exactly where you predicted, they fell right into the trap, and we captured two of them alive."

She laughed. It came out breathless and slightly stunned, like she hadn’t quite expected this to work as well as it had.

I pulled her against me. Rested my forehead against hers.

"You," I said quietly, "are my good luck charm."