The Alpha Behind The Mask

Chapter 174: Something’s Not Right

Aurora’s POV

​"I don’t understand you, sir," I stammered, my voice thin and trembling. I didn’t even know his name—Oliver had never told me, and the pack only ever referred to him as "sir." To me, he was just a wall of cold, hard stone.

​"Cut the act!" he roared, slamming his palms onto the desk. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the small room. "I know you were sent here to kill my son. I am not a fool, girl. I’ve seen your kind before. You hide behind a pretty face and wait for the perfect moment to strike. So tell me... who sent you? Was it the rebels? A rival pack?"

​"No one sent me!" I cried out, the tears finally breaking through. My heart was thumping so hard I thought it would burst. "Oliver is my life. I love him! I would never hurt him, let alone kill him!"

​He scoffed bitterly, a dark, hateful sound. "Liar. You women are all the same. Liars. Deceivers. You use ’love’ as a weapon until you get what you want, and then you leave nothing but blood behind."

​He began to pace the room, his words coming out like stabs of a knife. He spoke and spoke, accusing me of things I hadn’t even dreamed of, blaming me for every misfortune that had ever fallen on Oliver. I felt smaller and smaller with every word, my back pressed against the bookshelves as I looked for a way to escape.

​Suddenly, the heavy door swung open. A guard rushed in, his face pale and his breath coming in short gasps.

​"Sir! Please, come quickly," the guard urged, his voice full of panic. "Something is wrong. The healers... they’re losing him!"

​The air left my lungs. My world stopped spinning. Losing him?

​Oliver’s father didn’t even look back at me. The rage in his eyes shifted into a sudden, sharp fear, though he tried to hide it behind his stern mask. He started for the door, but then he paused and pointed a finger at the guard.

​"Escort her out," he barked, his voice cold. "I want her off the grounds. Now."

​"No! Please!" I begged, reaching out as he marched past me. "I need to stay! I need to know if he’s—"

​"Get her out of my sight!" he yelled over his shoulder.

​I couldn’t argue. The guard grabbed my arm, his grip firm and hard. He didn’t hurt me, but he didn’t give me a choice either. I was dragged back through the dim hallways, past the guards in wolf form, and out through the heavy front doors.

​The crowd of reporters was still there, but I didn’t see them. I didn’t hear the cameras. I just felt the cold air on my face as I was pushed past the gates.

​Exhausted and broken, I managed to wave down a taxi. I sat in the back seat, my head against the window, watching the packhouse disappear in the distance. The driver didn’t say a word, thank God. He just drove through the quiet streets as the sun began to set, casting long, bloody shadows over the city.

​When I finally reached my apartment, I could barely get the key into the lock. The moment the door shut behind me, the strength left my legs.

​I collapsed onto the floor right there in the entryway. I didn’t even bother to turn on the lights. I just curled into a ball, my bare feet bruised and dirty, and began to sob.

​The silence of the apartment was terrifying. It felt like a grave. I lay there in the dark, wondering if the man I loved was still breathing, while the man I had slept with was still out there, hiding in the shadows with a mask and a lie.

​I was alone. And for the first time in my life, I had no idea how to survive living. Oliver was my world. It was a truth I had buried. But now, with the fear of losing him and the silence of my apartment screaming at me, I realized I was nothing without him. If he stopped breathing, I didn’t think I would have the strength to keep my own heart beating.

​My phone on the floor was a constant, buzzing nightmare. The new line—the one Raymond had used to contact me earlier—kept calling and calling. Each vibration felt like a drill against the hardwood floor. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. How could I speak to the man who had potentially murdered my reason for living?

​Instead, I stayed curled in a ball, my eyes glued to my tablet screen. I refreshed the news feeds every few seconds, desperate for a headline that said The King is Awake or Recovery Expected. But the reports remained bleak. They spoke of "unstable conditions" and "national emergencies."

​I was drowning in the dark when a sudden, heavy knock at the door made me gasp.

​The sound was sharp, demanding. I stood up on shaky legs, my heart leaping into my throat. I crept to the door and looked through the peephole. My breath hitched.

​It was Raymond.

​He was dressed entirely in black, his face hidden behind that familiar, dark mask. The sight of him sent a jolt of pure terror through me.

​I stepped back, shaking my head. "Go away, Raymond," I whispered, though I knew he could hear me. "Please, just go away."

​"Open up, Aurora," his voice came through the wood. It was rough, sounding like he had been screaming or drinking. "Don’t make me break the door down. You know I will."

​I knew he wasn’t lying. Raymond didn’t make idle threats. With no other choice, I reached out with a trembling hand and turned the lock.

​The moment the door clicked, he shoved it open. He stepped inside, slamming the door behind him. Before I could even draw a breath to speak, he grabbed my arms and pinned me against the wall, his body weight crushing into mine.

​I winced, my head hitting the plaster. "You’re hurting me," I gasped, struggling against his grip. "Let me go!"

​"No," he growled, his face inches from mine.

​I froze. Something was wrong. I looked at him, trying to see the man I had spent the night with just twenty-four hours ago. He had the same build—the broad shoulders, the lean muscle. His green eyes stared at me through the slits of the mask, sharp and piercing. But as I took a breath, I realized his scent was off. Raymond usually smelled like rain and expensive cedarwood, but this man smelled of something sharper, something different—like copper and old smoke. His energy was different, too. It wasn’t the calm, calculated strength of Raymond; it was a wild, toxic aggression that made the hair on my arms stand up.

​"Your voice," I whispered, frowning as I looked into those green eyes. "What happened to your voice? It sounds... different."

​He scoffed, a dark sound that lacked the dry wit I was used to. He leaned in closer, his grip on my wrists tightening until I thought the bone might snap.

​"I can change my tone whenever I want, little bird," he muttered. "I’ve had a long day. Dealing with a lot of things takes a toll on a man’s throat."

​My heart hammered against my ribs. I wanted to scream that he was an impostor, that this couldn’t be him. But then, as he shifted his weight, I saw it. On his left wrist, peeking out from the edge of his black sleeve, was the distinguished scorpion tattoo. It was identical to the one I had traced with my fingers in the dark of my bedroom.

​It was him. It had to be him. Maybe the pain of the day was just playing tricks on my mind. Maybe my grief for Oliver was making me see things where there were none.

​"I missed you," he murmured, his tone shifting into something uncomfortably soft. "I told you to come to me. You shouldn’t have ignored my calls, Aurora. I don’t like being ignored."

​"I was at the packhouse," I snapped, trying to find some of my old fire despite the fear. "Oliver is dying, Raymond! How can you be here? How can you act like this?"

​"Forget about him," he growled, his eyes flashing with a mean light. "He’s already gone," he continued. "You need to focus on the man standing in front of you."

​He didn’t wait for me to reply. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his kisses rough and demanding, biting at my skin. It didn’t feel like the passion from the night before; it felt like a claim. Like he was trying to mark me.

​I felt a wave of nausea as his hand moved, sliding down from my shoulder to the hem of my nightgown. I tried to push him away, but he was like a mountain of cold muscle.

​"Raymond, stop," I begged, my voice breaking. "Please, I’m not in the mood."

​He didn’t listen. His hand began to lift the fabric of my gown, his fingers cold against my skin. "You’re mine, Aurora," he whispered against my ear, his breath hot and smelling of something I couldn’t name. "Remember our contract... I can have you when and however I want, and right now, I want you."