Taken by the Alpha

Cerberus Thorne

What can you expect from a man whose reputation has been burned to ashes? For centuries, his name has been synonymous with a savage warrior, a man whose only desire is to feel the warmth of his enemy's blood in his cold hands. Nothing has ever stood between him and his prey. His view of the established hierarchy, set in stone since the dark ages, remains unaltered. He is the apex predator. All others, the so-called Alphas and their Betas, fall in line behind him. Then come the rest of the werewolves, those without titles, living under the rule of their 'leaders'.

“Alpha, I have news about the ‘Regina’ you requested. I’m not sure if you want to hear it, but she should be in the pack we’re visiting today.”

“Correct yourself, Rettacus. He didn’t request a ‘Regina.’ The council that thinks they’re above him did. Judging by the glare he’s giving you, he clearly doesn’t want to hear your news. They’re pointless. We’re visiting the Eastern pack for the same reason we visit all the others—to appoint a new Alpha...”

Clarice Mont

“Welcome, everyone. I hope you’ve all had a wonderful morning. As I mentioned yesterday, our King will be visiting us today. I expect you all to be on your best behavior and show him nothing but respect when he arrives.”

Everyone was silent, listening to their Alpha. His eyes held a hint of unease—this visit and the King’s opinion of his pack would reflect on him.

“I know you’re all nervous, but don’t be. Continue with your day as usual, even when the King arrives. Show him that we are a strong, functioning pack,” he said, his gaze sweeping over his people.

Clarice stood next to her father, his hands clenched into tight fists. Greta and her family were right behind them, their faces mirroring the worry and nervousness that everyone felt. But they had to hide their feelings—the Alpha wanted them to act normal.

“Alpha, how should we address him? Do we call him Alpha, King, your Majesty, Alpha King, or does he have a name we should use?” A pack member asked. The Alpha sighed—he didn’t have an answer.

“We respectfully call him King, unless told otherwise.” That was all their Alpha said before he dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

“Wow, that was intense. Are you scared? Because I am. My mom’s still a bit sick, and I think all this stress is making her worse.”

Greta’s voice broke the silence, startling Clarice. She chuckled at her friend’s rambling.

“Yes, it’s nerve-wracking. But what can we do? We have to do as our Alpha said—act normal and carry on with our lives as if it’s any other day. Even though we’re incredibly worried.”

Clarice mumbled the last part to herself, but Greta heard her and gave a small, understanding nod.

"Girls, I think it's best if you both head back to the house for now," Nathaniel suggested. Greta's parents and Clarice’s mother were approaching them.

"Why can't we just explore the grounds? Or visit the stream?" Greta questioned. Her brows knitted together in confusion, mirroring Clarice’s expression. Their parents collectively sighed.

"Honey, all the kids are staying inside today. Only the adults are allowed on the grounds," George, Greta's father, explained. His eyes were stern as he spoke.

"But the Alpha said we could carry on as usual. Plus, Greta and I are seventeen, practically adults. We're not children, we should be allowed to at least walk around." Clarice chimed in, drawing everyone’s attention.

She was petite. Even her best friend towered over her, reaching just above her shoulders. Her auburn hair was pulled back, revealing her emerald eyes and rosy cheeks.

Her voice was soothing and gentle, almost like a hushed whisper, even when she tried to sound assertive. That's why it was surprising to hear her stand her ground.

"Honey, listen to your father. You can't roam the grounds today. Any other day, yes, but not today," Kim, her mother, tried to reason. Clarice gently shrugged off her mother’s arm.

"I'm not a child! I don't need to be sheltered and protected forever. I get that you're scared, I get that our King is a bad man, but that doesn't mean he'll kill Greta and me just for walking around our grounds."

Before anyone could respond to Clarice’s outburst, she grabbed Greta's hand. She pulled her out of the pack house and they ran towards the stream.

"Where are we going?" Greta panted, struggling to keep up with Clarice's brisk pace.

"To the stream." Clarice's voice was slightly deeper, reflecting her wolf’s irritation.

Wolves, regardless of age, don't appreciate being coddled or treated as if they can't handle anything. They're wild and untamed, needing freedom or their anger can become dangerous.

"Claire, you need to calm down. I get that you're upset with your parents, but you need to relax. If you don't, you might shift impulsively and that won't be good for either of us. You know this."

Clarice didn't hear her best friend's words. She was too focused on reaching the endless stream near the pack border, hidden behind a cluster of thick trees.

“Clarice!” Greta’s voice echoed, her hand gripping her best friend’s in an attempt to halt her. Fear was etched on Greta’s face. She was terrified of Clarice losing control and turning into a werewolf. But what truly unnerved her were Clarice’s eyes.

They weren’t dark. Instead, they were an eerily light shade, almost a pale green if such a color existed. Werewolves’ eyes typically darkened in the presence of their wolf, especially when they experienced intense emotions like anger, lust, unease, or fear.

The only exception was when a werewolf found their soulmate. Their eyes would lighten upon touching their destined partner. But that’s what puzzled Greta. Clarice didn’t have a soulmate in their pack. It was unheard of for a werewolf to find their soulmate within their own pack. The soulmate had to be from another pack or a different breed.

So why was Clarice so agitated? Why was her wolf taking control?

“I must shift. Everything hurts, Greta. I don’t know what’s happening. My wolf is pushing against every barrier I’ve put up. It burns. It burns so much,” Clarice’s voice trembled, her words punctuated by her deepening voice and shaking hands. Her legs were buckling under her.

“Calm down, Claire. Breathe. You need to calm down. All impulsive shifts hurt. You need to reason with your wolf. Reassure her that her anger is unfounded,” Greta advised, her gaze fixed on Clarice’s pale green eyes. She felt helpless. The pack house was a mile away, and the loud gurgling of the stream drowned out any cries for help.

“Clarice, please,” Greta pleaded, her voice laced with worry. The sight of her best friend pulling at her auburn hair, her eyes glossy with unshed tears, was heart-wrenching.

“Run,” Clarice’s voice was barely a whisper, her eyes mirroring the color of her irises. Greta’s eyes widened in shock, her lips forming a silent ‘o’.

“Run!” Clarice’s voice echoed again, this time followed by a scream of pain as her ankle twisted, a bone jutting out grotesquely. The forced shift had begun.

Greta didn’t have time to respond. She turned on her heel and sprinted away from her best friend, who was on the verge of shifting uncontrollably, with no control over her wolf and no idea how to shift back.