Chapter 89 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

Alric

Something feels off.

The elders have been whispering among themselves more than usual. Their eyes hold something I don’t like—anticipation, maybe even hope. It’s suspicious. I’ve ruled them long enough to know the signs. They’re waiting for something. Scheming, perhaps.

But it doesn’t matter. They can plot and plan until their throats go hoarse; none of them have the spine or strength to oppose me. Not while I have Savage Claw at my back.

I glance out the cracked window of my office, the fading moonlight spilling pale silver over the rundown buildings of White Stone. The place looks ragged, yes, but it is mine. It’s still standing, isn’t it? And that is because of me.

They call me weak behind closed doors. A coward. They think I don’t hear, but I do. I see their sneers, the way they avoid meeting my eyes. And still, they come crawling to me when the vampires circle closer. Still, they live under the protection I arranged.

If not for me bringing Savage Claw into our territory, they’d all be corpses by now. Do they think I don’t realize that?

I clench my fists, my nails biting crescents into my palms. Let them whisper. Let them hope.

No one can touch me. Not Stellan with his endless complaints. Not Vane with his hollow glares. Not even that old crone Nana. They all depend on me even as they curse my name.

And Savage Claw? They’re my trump card.

Yes, their leader is crude, arrogant, and his pack has drained us dry, but that’s the price of survival. And as long as they’re here, no one dares to challenge me. Their presence alone keeps the vampires at bay and the elders in check.

I rise from my chair, shaking off the numbness in my legs. My office feels suffocating, so I step outside. The chill of the night air clings to my skin as I walk through White Stone’s grounds.

The silence is heavy, almost unnatural. Once, even at this hour, you’d hear pups laughing, the shuffle of night patrols, the distant hum of community life. Now—nothing. Not even the occasional howl.

It’s the curfew, of course. My decree. Necessary, I tell myself. The vampires prowl in the dark, and wolves wandering at night are easy prey. So everyone hides behind barred doors while Savage Claw roams and does whatever it is they do.

I walk past the old butcher’s shop. The windows are shattered. The shiny new equipment that was supposed to revitalize it? Gone, sold off months ago. The school is dark, no teachers inside. Most of the younger wolves are out in the fields or hauling goods instead of learning their letters.

A pang of... something twists in my gut. I squash it. This is temporary. All great leaders endure hard times. History will remember me as the alpha who kept White Stone alive.

Up ahead, two of Savage Claw’s men lean against the fence outside a house. They’re drinking straight from a bottle, loud enough to break the curfew silence. The sound grates on me, but I keep walking.

One of them notices me and smirks. "Pack Leader," he says lazily, with a mock salute. His friend laughs under his breath.

I want to snarl, to remind them whose territory they’re in. But I don’t. Instead, I nod stiffly and keep walking. I can feel their eyes on my back, feel the heat of their laughter even as I disappear into the next street.

I don’t even notice where my feet are taking me until I stop in front of Eamon’s house.

It’s a hollow, sagging thing now. The windows are clouded with grime, the porch boards soft with rot. Weeds curl around the steps like claws reclaiming what’s theirs. The house hasn’t seen life in months, not since he died.

I scoff. Figures. Even dead, his shadow lingers.

Eamon always had everything. Despite being the younger brother, he was born an alpha wolf—something I should have been. The pack leader position that should have been mine as firstborn? Handed to him, because fate decided he was "special."

I hated him for it. I still do.

And when I finally had something for myself, just one thing—an omega. Thalia. She was supposed to be mine. And Eamon, ever the greedy bastard, took her too.

I grit my teeth and kick a loose rock toward the sagging steps. It bounces off with a dull clatter.

Good.

I turn away, jaw tight. As I walk, my gaze catches on a patch of earth, just slightly fresher than the wild grass around it. That’s where his pyre stood. That’s where we burned him.

For a moment, I stare at it. My heart beats heavy in my chest, though I’d die before admitting why.

"I hope you’re seeing me, brother," I mutter under my breath.

"Hope you’re watching what I’ve built. What I’ve taken."

But the words taste hollow.

The night is quiet, and my own voice feels small against the empty streets. No answering voice from the afterlife. No flash of approval or disapproval from the goddess. Just silence.

*

I wake to noise. Voices outside—too loud, too early, too eager.

What the hell is going on?

I sit up with a scowl, drag on a shirt and pants, and step into the hallway. I’m not the only one unsettled. Wolves are out in the street, whispering, glancing my way, then snapping their gazes aside like I’m invisible.

My lip curls. They used to bow when they saw me. Now they can’t even meet my eyes.

I grab the first pup that crosses my path, a scraggly little thing no older than ten. "You," I bark. "What’s happening?"

His ears flatten. "Th-the... to-town... square..." he stammers, eyes wide.

Pathetic. I push him away and keep walking.

The whispers grow louder as I cut through the pack’s ragged streets, and I see more faces peering from windows. Hopeful faces. Excited faces. It makes my stomach turn.

What are they waiting for?

The thought hammers in my skull as I push through the crowd, Savage Claw’s leader swaggering behind me. Their faces are wrong—too eager, too alert. This isn’t fear; it’s anticipation.

"My, my, pack leader, did you call for an audience?" the Savage Claw leader drawls, grinning with that infuriating smirk.

I ignore him. I don’t have time for his games. My back stiffens; my heart pounds.

I shove my way to the front, Savage Claw’s leader trailing behind me with his smug smirk. The murmurs of the crowd turn into a low hush, wolves of all ages packed tightly around the old wolf statue. Their eyes are not on me—they’re fixed ahead, bright with something I can’t quite name.

And then I see him.

"Good morning, Uncle-in-law," He says, voice smooth, carrying easily over the restless murmurs of the wolves packed around us.

"Quite the pleasant morning for an uprising, is it not?"