Page 22 of The Forbidden Alpha

We hit the top and began the long descent down the other side of the mountain. The snow turned to sleet and the mist burned away, revealing a horizon that shimmered with heat. Every mile we dropped tightened something around my lungs, a tether pulling taut. This heat? It was the desert breathing down our necks. With its return, it brought dread. I reached over and squeezed Gabe’s hand.

The last hour of the drive passed without a word. The sun was beginning to set, bleeding across the horizon in shades of bruised purple and violent orange. Up ahead, long farmlands quickly surrendered to the harsh, sun-baked earth.

Gabe let out a low whistle as the skyline finally appeared.

This wasn’t a village. It was a fortress. Tall, sleek buildings of obsidian and glass rose from the dust, reflecting the dying sun.

We passed the massive stone gates, the words carved in black: WELCOME TO DESERT MOON.

Chapter 12

Ethan

Being an Alpha is a performance I’ve grown tired of giving.

Hosting the Mating Festival is a political necessity, a gift to the smaller packs that I’d rather set on fire. I don’t do small talk, and I certainly don’t pretend to like the vultures currently circling my borders. They all want the same thing: an alliance to quell their fear.

I’d rather be in the training pits, the air thick with the copper tang of blood and the salt of sweat, watching bodies slam against the earth as soldiers fought their way toward relevance. Instead, I’m forced to sit across from men who have never bled for their titles. The Alphas at the table reek of desperation—the sour, sickly scent of prey.

But the Council voted. And even a King must eventually open his gates.

The old packs clung to tradition—white walls and outdated laws and the slow death of relevance. Over the last two years, I’ve forged this territory into a citadel of glass and iron, a modern kingdom that defies every archaic tradition of our kind. We aren’t just a pack; we’re an instrument of war. I’d built it on the corpses of the ones who’d ruled before me—men who thought they could hold power through mercy. Mercy was a luxury I didn’t have. My people are the wealthiest and deadliest in the country because I demand excellence in the boardroom and the ring alike. If I prosper, they thrive. We don’t just survive in the North; we dominate, a predator that never stops evolving.

“The first of the guests are at the gate, Alpha. The Alphas of The Table send word—they want to meet before the festival opens. It’s time to put on the mask.”

I didn’t turn. I simply let a cold, sharp smile cut across my face. It had started as a joke between friends, a mockery of the monsters the world believed us to be, until it became a tangible crown of iron.

Odis stood in the doorway of my office, a man who’d never lost a fight, wrapped in a hundred-thousand-dollar suit. He was my Beta, my right hand, and the only man who didn’t flinch as Erebus surged beneath my skin. He possessed suits that could outshine mine, but refused to outshine me.

The Beta walked over to the stand he’d had built when I’d been out of town last year. The tungsten glass lowered into the pedestal itself, revealing the black mask—its spikes jutting out, a warning to the Goddess Herself. He carried it over to me, offering it with a reverence I didn’t deserve.

“Which one?” I asked, my voice a low grate that made the crystals on my desk shiver.

“Half Moon.” Odis lifted the mask. “They’re pulling into the main drive now. Olivia is already in position.”

I took the mask. It met my skin with a hiss, locking into place, sealing the monster away—or perhaps, letting him out.

Olivia, my Gamma. She was a five-foot-six shadow who ran my intelligence network with cold fury. She treated every mistake as a personal attack against her family. She was the reason my borders remained impenetrable.

“Let’s get this shit show started,” we rumbled.

Odis smirked, his lips pursing to catch a laugh. I didn’t deign to offer a response, walking past him as he flanked me, our boots echoing like a heartbeat through the halls.

For years, I had been a wolf without a mate—a slow-burn fever in my blood that made me sharper, meaner, and increasingly impatient with the traditions of our kind. But unlike the other wolves, I had something darker simmering in my veins. Something that counted down to a violent madness. Those closest to me knew it was only a matter of time before we succumbed to the void.

A mate would soothe Erebus. We couldn’t go backwards, but we could stop it from getting worse. Without one, I was on borrowed time.

The elders had a teaching for it, one I’d heard when I was a young boy and dismissed as a leash for weaker men: two souls could carry each other, but only the Goddess’s own bond could carry a third. An Alpha’s wolf came in heavier than most—older, hungrier, closer to whatever She’d been before She split Herself a thousand times over to make the rest of us. Without a mate to anchor the weight, Erebus and I were just grinding against each other in the dark, two souls doing a job built for three.

“Let’s go see if Jaxon has grown a spine,” we said.

“Since yesterday? Highly doubtful,” Odis murmured.

The heat outside was dry, shimmering off the pillars of the towers.

A red Jeep—small against my driveway—pulled to a stop. Alpha Jaxon and his Luna climbed out. He had the smile of a man who spent too much time in front of cameras and not enough time in the dirt—superficial. I scanned his flanks. His personal guards were a joke—two men who carried their weight on their heels, completely blind to their peripheral weaknesses. I was surprised they even made it here. One coordinated strike could have easily taken them out.

“Alpha Ethan,” Jaxon said, his hands spread wide in a performance of peace. His scent was a mix of pine and the faint, bitter tang of intimidation. “The stories don’t do this place justice. You’ve turned the North into a Goddess-damned fortress.”