The Midnight River Pack had only just begun to rebuild after three long years of chaos and loss. They were still standing on unsteady ground, struggling to regain the respect they’d once commanded.
What they needed now were strong, capable leaders who could project that strength to the world—who could remind the other packs and races that they weren’t to be trifled with.
And Addison? She couldn’t offer them that. No matter how Beta Greg looked at it, she wasn’t a symbol of power. She was a variable—an unpredictable risk at a ti when they could least afford one.
As much as the pack needed a strong Alpha to lead them, they equally needed a powerful Luna—soone who could stand beside their Alpha, guide the pack with wisdom and strength, and one day bear a stronger Alpha bloodline that would beco the hope and future of their people.
Thinking about this, Beta Greg couldn’t help but furrow his brows in frustration. A wave of repulsion washed over him at the thought of Addison.
He didn’t even need to speak for Zion to notice—thanks to the deep connection he shared with his pack as their Alpha, Zion could sense the emotional undercurrents running through them. And right now, he could clearly feel his Beta’s dissatisfaction pulsing through that bond.
If not for the forr Alpha’s influence, Zion was certain that no one in the pack would have accepted Addison in the first place.
From the very beginning—when his father returned ho on the brink of death, carrying an unconscious girl in his arms—Zion had been filled with resentnt. That sa girl, Addison, was later revealed to be his chosen mate, chosen by his father.
The idea alone stirred intense dissatisfaction within him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Addison was cunning and manipulative, seizing the opportunity to secure a position of power as Luna of the Midnight River Pack, the second strongest in the werewolf world at the ti.
But after his father’s death, everything crumbled. The pack was swiftly trampled by their enemies, pressured from all sides, and their status plumted.
Alliances were severed without hesitation—no one feared retaliation anymore. All the weight of survival and leadership fell onto Zion’s shoulders the mont he ca of age.
His father hadn’t even completed his Alpha training for Zion, leaving him to figure things out on his own. Zion had to lead his warriors into battle after battle, facing overwhelming odds against vampires who attacked with brutal tactics and sheer numbers.
The pressure was suffocating—and the bitterness he felt toward Addison only deepened.
Even Zion had montarily forgotten his resentnt toward Addison after spending so ti with her. They hadn’t spoken about their past—no discussions about the three years they had been apart, no attempts to understand each other.
Instead, they just mated like it was mating season, consud by instinct rather than intention.
Now that Zion looked back on it, a deep frown creased his face. It felt wrong. He felt like he had been under a spell—seduced, drawn in, manipulated. The idea that he might have been chard rather than truly willing unsettled him.
He hated it. He hated the feeling of losing control over himself, like his body had betrayed his mind.
Frustrated and exasperated after discussing the pressing matter of the Royals with his Beta—specifically the preparations they needed to make while waiting for the royal convoy to escort the princess back to the capital—Zion stord off to the training grounds.
His Beta trailed after him, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. He recognized that look in Zion’s eyes: turmoil, conflict, the desperate need to shake off the weight of everything clouding his mind.
Zion was angry—not just at the situation, but at himself. Angry for losing control, for allowing Addison to seep into his thoughts and shake the foundation of who he believed himself to be, the hatred he was clinging into. He needed to fight it. He needed clarity.
Sensing this, his Beta gladly followed. If Zion needed soone to punch, to vent out that chaos brewing inside, he’d be there. As they stepped onto the training grounds, where the warriors were just beginning their warmups, the two n faced each other in silence.
Their eyes t, tension thick in the air, each carrying their own thoughts and burdens, ready to let it all out the only way they knew how—through the clash of fists and fury.
Zion tilted his head to the side, stretching his neck until a satisfying crack echoed in the air. He rolled his shoulders, loosening the stiffness coiled there. Beside him, Beta Greg bounced lightly on his feet, testing the flexibility of his ankles and repeatedly shaking out his wrists.
The mont the surrounding warriors noticed their Alpha and second-in-command gearing up for a sparring match, they quickly gathered around, grinning with anticipation. A good fight between the top two was always worth watching.
Just as they squared off, Greg broke the silence with a grin.
"My Alpha," he said, voice laced with mischief, "how about we make things a little more interesting with a wager?"
Zion arched a brow, amused. "I’m listening."
"If I win," Greg declared, "you’ll follow my arrangent for the entire week—no complaints."
Zion let out a low chuckle, a rare smirk playing on his lips. "Bold of you, considering you always lose. What’ll you do when you lose again?"
"Alpha Zion, I always lose anyway. Can’t you at least give the small satisfaction of a reward if I win?" Beta Greg said shalessly, a playful glint in his eyes. "Just a little sothing to help nd my fragile ego and give a sense of fulfillnt."
He wasn’t wrong—every ti they sparred, Zion could toss him to the ground like a feather if he wanted to. Greg could count on one hand the number of tis he’d managed to win, and each of those was under... special circumstances.
Still, Zion often humored him. Not because he thought Greg stood a real chance, but because he didn’t want to crush his Beta’s pride or dampen the morale of his second-in-command. After all, how would it look if the pack thought their Beta was as weak as a chick?
"Alright, it’s a deal," Zion agreed without hesitation.
The mont the words left his mouth, Greg lunged forward with a burst of raw strength, leaving a deep imprint on the dirt ground. In a blink, he was in front of Zion, his fist slicing through the air toward Zion’s cheek.
But before it could land, Zion effortlessly caught his wrist with a single hand, his stance unshaken. With a sharp twist, he hurled Greg into the air.
Greg reacted mid-flight, curling his body, tucking his knees, and flipping over with practiced ease. He landed on his feet in a crouch, dust flying around him. Without missing a beat, he launched himself again—this ti veering to Zion’s side and aiming to strike from behind.
Yet Zion still hadn’t moved an inch from his original spot. He stood firm, watching Greg intently, his sharp gaze reading every movent, every angle—calculating. He wasn’t just waiting. He was observing, learning, and planning his counter with cold precision.
Just as Zion was about to strike, a voice called out from the sidelines, pulling his attention.
"Zion!"
User Comments
0 comments from readers