The Alpha’s Damnation

It was midnight, and though Seraphina’s body begged for rest, her mind refused to comply.

She lay stiffly on the makeshift bed, staring at the fur-lined ceiling above her.

Each uneven patch of fur seemed to mock her, their dark shadows resembling the chaos she couldn’t escape.

The dim light of the moon cast faint patterns across the room, but her thoughts were consumed by the echoes of last night—the growls, the screams, the blood.

Her stomach churned with hunger, a sharp pang cutting through her grief.

She hadn’t eaten since the attack, but how could she?

The thought of food felt like a betrayal to the memories of her people. And yet, the emptiness gnawed at her insides, relentless and demanding.

Her heart clenched as her mind dragged her back into the nightmare she desperately tried to bury.

She could still hear the blood-curdling sounds of that night—the growls that tore through the air like thunder, the screams that were abruptly cut short, the sickening crunch of wood splintering under immense force.

She had been locked in her room, the heavy wooden door an unyielding barrier between her and the horrors outside.

She’d screamed for help, her fists pounding relentlessly against the door until they were raw and bruised. “Please!” she had cried, her voice breaking with desperation. “Someone, please!”

But no one came.

No one answered.

Only the haunting cacophony of violence seeped through the cracks, filling her with dread. She could hear the agonized wails of her people, each one cutting through her like a blade.

She had sunk to her knees, her forehead pressed against the cold wood of the door, trembling as she listened to the slaughter unfold.

Her fists had fallen limp against the door, her strength drained by the overwhelming weight of helplessness.

It felt like hours—hours of hearing her family and friends being butchered while she remained powerless, caged like an animal.

And then, silence.

The absence of sound was deafening, more suffocating than the chaos. Her breath hitched in her throat as she waited, her body paralyzed with terror.

The silence felt like a predator, creeping closer, waiting to strike.

When she finally heard footsteps—heavy, deliberate—her entire body tensed. The sound grew louder, closer, until it stopped just outside her door.

The door had splintered suddenly, the force of the blow sending shards of wood flying across the room.

She had scrambled backward, her hands trembling as she pressed herself against the far wall.

And there he was.

Adolphus stood in the doorway, framed by the jagged remains of the door.

His dark hair was disheveled, his chest heaving from exertion, and his eyes—those cold, predatory eyes—pierced through her like a dagger.

He had smiled then, a slow, cruel curve of his lips. “Hello, Butterfly,” he had said, his voice deep and mocking, as if he were greeting an old friend rather than the last surviving member of a slaughtered family.

Even now, the memory made her shudder. Her fingers gripped the coarse blanket beneath her as she forced herself back to the present. She couldn’t relive it anymore. She wouldn’t.

With a sharp intake of breath, she pushed herself upright and moved to the window, hoping the cool night air would calm the storm raging inside her.

Pulling back the curtain, her gaze swept over the quiet courtyard below. Her breath hitched when she saw him—Adolphus, standing under the pale light of the moon.

His tall frame was cloaked in shadows, and in his hand, a thin line of smoke curled upward from the cigarette between his fingers.

He was staring right at her.

Her heart thumped unevenly, her body frozen as her mind raced. Was he watching her? Waiting for her?

She squinted, hoping she was mistaken, but there was no denying it. His piercing eyes were locked on her window, unyielding and unapologetic.

He took a slow drag from his cigarette, the glowing ember briefly illuminating his sharp features.

His expression was calm, calculating, as though he were silently daring her to come closer.

Her fists clenched at her sides, and for a moment, she considered confronting him. But what could she say? What power did she have against him?

With a shaky breath, she let the curtain fall back into place, shutting out his intrusive gaze. She exhaled slowly, her fingers trembling as she stepped away from the window.

Her stomach growled again, the sound breaking the silence and pulling her attention to the gnawing emptiness inside her. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, her jaw tightening.

No, she thought. Not tonight. Tonight, I mourn.

Without another thought, she sank to the floor, her back pressed against the cold wooden frame of the bed.

She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in her arms, letting the memories engulf her.

Her mother’s gentle humming as she worked. Her father’s hearty laughter echoing through the halls. The playful bickering with her siblings, their voices always tinged with warmth and love.

They weren’t just memories. They were pieces of her soul, fragments of a life stolen from her.

The tears came then, hot and unrelenting, spilling down her cheeks as her body shook with grief.

She cried for her family, for her people, for the life she would never get back.

Tomorrow, she will pretend. She would wear the mask she needed to survive.

But tonight, she let herself break. Tonight, she let herself hurt.