Alpha Talon's Dark Revenge

Talon

I woke up on a cold, bleak bare floor, the chill biting into my skin. Although the room was thick with darkness, I could still feel that the night was still young. Every inch of my body screamed in agony, an immense pain that made me feel as though death had come for me but cruelly pardoned me. My feet were numb, useless as I tried sitting up. It was fucking difficult to lift even a finger. My body, heavy with exhaustion and pain.

For a moment, I actually thought I was already dead—long gone from this miserable existence. It would have been preferable. But as I lay there, reality crashed down on me. I remembered. My painful existence, which was worse than death itself, came flooding back in painful ashes.

A single tear slid down my cheeks, hot against my cold body, as the traumatic events of the day clawed my mind. Mama. Papa. Slaughtered like a chicken before my very eyes. Our packs decimated—killed in the most gruesome ways, their bodies ripped apart, and the packhouse burnt down to ashes.

Hot, angry tears streamed down, my heart stinging with immense pain and sorrow. I saw my Mama's face, the Luna of our pack, clearly as though she were standing in front of me, right before the silver blade slashed her throat. Her sorrow-filled eyes locked onto mine, and I heard her voice echo in my head, soft and pleading.

Run.

Hide.

Survive.

Even as the assassins ruthlessly dragged her away, she was praying desperately to the moon goddess for me, her son, her only child. Even as her throat was ripped open, blood gushing out of it like a river, she was still praying for me to SURVIVE.

My papa. My kind, gentle papa, too soft to be the alpha, some had always said. He loved and treated everyone equally, his leadership defined by benevolence. A man who despised violence, levelheaded and peaceful. He believed that our strength lay not in violence, but in our ability to overcome challenges and battles without spilling blood. He had been wrong. And now he was gone too.

Mama always pushed me to fight, to defend myself as a warrior would. My training began early, at just eight years old, and I hated it. The long hours of martial arts left my muscles aching and my spirit drained, but Mama never let me quit. She saw the necessity of it, her eyes always watching me with that sharp, calculating look, as though she could see the battles ahead and knew I had to be ready.

"You will be the leader of the pack someday, and the responsibilities of fending and defending the pack will rest on your shoulder," she would say whenever I grumbled through the sweat and pain.

My mama wasn't just a Luna—she's also a warrior. Beneath her kindness, there was a fierceness that no one dared to challenge. That was Mama—beautiful just as she was fierce.

As I lay there, tears streaming down my cheeks, the door swung open with a violent crash. I barely registered the familiar scent, but as the figure approached, I saw his face.

It was my father's Beta- Beta Sam.

Beta Sam approached, and relief washed down on me. Maybe, just maybe, I'd see another sunrise like Mama wanted. But my relief soon evaporated like gas. The way he looked at me, his expression, which was a mix of dread and disgust, hit me harder than any blow. His gaze was cold, destructive, like brimstone, ready to destroy everything in its path.

Was he the same Beta Sam? The one I had never seen a frown on his handsome face? Then why was it different this time? Why was he so angry? Maybe he was angry to see me in this dejected state? Of course, who wouldn't be? A top-tier prince like myself has fallen brutally from his grace.

I tried to ignore it, trying to brush off the disquiet gnawing at me as I forced my attention to what mattered. The pack? The rest of them? They couldn't have been wiped out—not like this. We were too strong, too fortified. My papa had always ensured the security of our pack, making it nearly impossible to breach.

"Beta Sam. The rest of the pack?" I asked in an urgent and sad tone. Even though I desperately wanted to ask about my parents bodies. But I knew what was expected of me. My parents would have wanted me to put the pack first.

He laughed, the sound sharp and cruel."You must still think you are a prince, don't you?" He bent down to my level, and this time the look on this face was clear. It was dread, anger, annoyance, disgust. His eyes were burning with something I couldn't recognise. My heart sank. He wasn't the same Man. The more I looked at his face closely, the more he lost all familiarity and looked like a stranger.

"What do you mean beta Sam?" I asked, even though deep down I already knew.

"You are no more a prince, Talon," he repeated, his voice colder. "Get used to it. Your life will get harder from now on. There's a new king now, and you'd be wise to submit."

Was he really the same man, my father's most trusted friend and warrior? The one who persuaded my father to let me train when my mother suggested it? Was...he the same man who trained me and encouraged me, giving me all the attention and courage I needed to wield a sword for the first time?

"Beta Sam. What do you mean?" I asked again, my voice trembling. I knew exactly what he meant, but the words refused to settle in my mind. I clung to the hope that all was a mistake and that somehow this wasn't the betrayal it appeared to be. My heart raced as if denying the truth would keep it from becoming real.

He looked at me coldly, unfazed by my confusion. "This is my last respect to your father—as an old acquaintance."

Old acquaintance? The word hit me like a blow. How could he reduce their bond to something so distant, so impersonal? My father had seen him more than a friend—he treated Beta Sam like family, his trusted confidant. He never acted like a superior, consulting him and valuing his opinion in everything, even the most sensitive decision of the pack.

He stormed out of the room, his footsteps loud and clear, leaving me broken and confused. My heart ached not just from the loss of my parents, but from the betrayal of the one person I thought would stand by me. I groaned, my body trembling, tears flowing freely as my mind tried to make sense of it all. Beta Sam's betrayal was a deeper cut than the loss of my parents.

But there was no time to mourn. My stomach growled, reminding me of how long it had been since I last ate.

The door slammed open again, and two unfamiliar werewolves grabbed me by the arms, dragging me outside. Pain shot through my body as I struggled to keep up with their forceful pace.

Outside a crowd waited—elders, warriors, and pack members—all the people I have been so desperate to protect. Their eyes pierced towards me. Some with disdain and others with sympathy. I stumbled and fell to the ground.

"Alpha, what should we do to him?" One of the men asked, bowing towards Beta Sam.

Alpha? Already? He couldn't even wait until my papa's body grew cold. Beta Sam stood tall, his new title fitting him with an unsettling ease, his authority radiating through the crowd like he had been waiting for this moment all his life.

"Throw him into the forest," he said, his voice hard. 'He's weak. He won't be able to survive the cold night."

Murmurs spread through the crowd.

"No. Kill him," Elder Dean cut in, stepping forward, his eyes burning with malice. "Leave no loose ends. He might become a hassle later," he added, bowing slightly to Beta Sam.

It was silent for a while. My heart pounded, desperate prayers slipping from my lips, begging the moon goddess for mercy. I looked at Beta Sam, pleading silently for him to reconsider.

But mercy didn’t come. His eyes, full of cruelty, met mine. “Give him a sword,” he ordered, his warriors cheering as they tossed a blade at my feet.

My heart sank. A sword fight? Against him? It was a death sentence. I'm weak. Hungry. Tired. Even if I was well fed and in the right frame of mind, I wouldn't have won him. He was the best warrior in the lunar strike.

"Get up, Talon. Or else I will strike you now," he threatened, swaying his sword, which was light in his hand like a feather.

A guard yanked me to my feet, and I swayed unsteadily, barely able to keep my balance. I looked around the crowd. My eyes pleading, asking for help, hoping—praying—that someone, anyone, would come to my aid. But the faces in the crowd were blank, defeated. No one moved. No one spoke. Most of them buried their heads to the ground as if averting the spectacle of my brutal death, but no one dared to utter a sound.

Beta Sam lunged, each strike brutal and calculated. His blade sliced through the air, cutting into my flesh. Pain exploded through me, but I pushed through it, charging at him with everything I had left. I didn’t even get close. He toyed with me, enjoying every second of my humiliation, before plunging his sword deep into my stomach.

I heard painful whimpers from the crowds. I glanced at him one last time, and the look on his face promised dread, disgust and malice. How come I have never seen this side of him before?

My vision dimmed, my body growing cold. My thoughts, my final thoughts, were of revenge—of how I would’ve lived, if only to make him pay for all he had done. But this was the end.