Chapter 2 Insignificant brothel dancer
[Belle Morte Castle]
The glittering castle concealed secrets buried deep within its ancient walls—secrets born from centuries of glory, betrayal, and bloodshed. Every stone seemed to carry the memory of the lives that had been sacrificed to strengthen the kingdom that stood beneath its magnificent banners.
Belle Morte was no ordinary castle.
It was the heart of the kingdom, the seat of power, and the home of the most feared Alpha in the realm.
Within those towering walls lived Cyrus Rhaziel—the Alpha of Selene, a man whose power was unquestioned, whose presence commanded fear, and whose life was slowly being consumed by a deadly curse.
The cursed, dying Alpha.
“Alpha? I have some news to deliver.”
A deep voice echoed across the open balcony, carried by a sudden gust of cold wind. The curtains fluttered violently, their fabric brushing against the marble floor as the sound reached the man seated inside.
Cyrus lifted his gaze from the ancient scroll spread across his desk.
“Mm?”
The single, curt response carried a quiet warning.
It was late, and Cyrus had been occupied with several important scrolls. He had little patience for interruptions, especially when they came without warning.
“Forgive my insolence and my intrusion, Alpha.”
The Beta's voice came again from beyond the curtains that separated the balcony from the private chamber.
“But this servant of yours has found someone who matches the criteria.”
Cyrus's fingers stilled over the parchment.
His eyes narrowed.
For months, he had been searching.
Blonde hair. Green eyes.
A woman who might possess the answer to the curse slowly devouring him from within.
Curtis—the Beta entrusted with compiling a list of every blonde-haired woman who matched the description—had finally returned with news.
And judging by the hesitation in his voice, this time, he had found someone.
“I hope this isn’t another wild goose chase of yours, Curtis.”
The magnetic yet chilling voice reverberated through the chamber and reached the Beta standing beyond the curtains.
Every hair on Curtis’s body seemed to stand on end.
He knew exactly what it meant to waste the Alpha’s time.
“I… I’m not entirely certain, Master, but—”
Curtis hesitated, deliberately leaving his words unfinished. He needed to leave himself an escape, some small possibility that would prevent his Alpha from treating his report as a definitive claim.
One wrong statement could cost him dearly.
“If you aren’t certain about your search, Curtis, then you must have a reasonable explanation for appearing here at this hour.”
Alpha Cyrus placed his quill down on the table with deliberate calmness. The ancient scroll remained beneath his hand, its parchment nearly swallowed by the unnatural paleness of his fingers.
Even from a distance, Curtis could see how sickly his Alpha had become.
Cyrus’s complexion had lost the healthy warmth characteristic of werewolves, and his once-powerful body had grown noticeably frail beneath the weight of the curse consuming him. His declining health was impossible to conceal.
Yet somehow, even while death steadily claimed pieces of him, Cyrus Rhaziel remained devastatingly handsome.
His sharp features, commanding presence, and imposing stature could still rival any of the kingdom’s strongest and most desirable Alphas.
“Y-Yes, my Alpha.”
Cyrus’s voice remained soft.
Almost gentle.
But Curtis had served him long enough to recognize the dangerous agitation concealed beneath that calm exterior.
He sat stiffly against the marble railing of the balcony, allowing the icy wind to sweep around him. Normally, the cold would have been unpleasant, but tonight, it barely registered.
Not when the indifference of the man behind those curtains frightened him far more.
Through the thin, white curtains, Curtis could make out the Alpha’s silhouette.
Cyrus sat motionless in his chair, his long, sleek black hair loose around his shoulders, cascading down his back until it reached the middle of his spine.
There was something almost haunting about his appearance.
Like a beautiful man already halfway claimed by death.
“Then don’t beat around the bush.”
Cyrus shifted slightly in his chair, leaning toward the edge as his shadow stretched across the floor.
His voice echoed through the chamber once again, carrying that same cold, commanding edge.
“Spill the matter.”
“But make certain you have something worthy of my attention.”
The Alpha had already been far more lenient than usual, allowing Curtis to occupy even a few precious moments of his time.
A cold shiver traveled down the Beta’s spine.
Curtis swallowed hard, forcing down the fear rising in his throat along with the dreadful thoughts of what might happen if his news proved insignificant. His fingers trembled slightly despite his efforts to remain composed.
Inside the chamber, Cyrus slowly ran a hand through his sleek black hair, parted neatly down the middle. A weary expression settled over his pale face, emphasizing the exhaustion carved beneath his eyes.
Yet those striking golden orbs remained sharp.
They stared unwaveringly toward the curtains.
“I came across a lowly woman in the marketplace, Alpha.”
Curtis finally began, his voice cautious. He paused briefly, uncertain how his master would react to what he was about to reveal.
“Although she has blonde hair and emerald-green eyes, her scent is peculiar. She… she doesn’t smell like a werewolf.”
He swallowed.
“Rather, she smells like something else entirely.”
The Beta squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled sharply. Surely, he thought, this was the moment his life would end. He could almost imagine the blade descending upon his neck for daring to bring such an uncertain report before the Alpha.
But nothing happened.
Silence descended over the balcony.
Only the bone-chilling wind moved, sweeping around Curtis’s body and seeming to seep beneath his skin. Slowly, he opened one eye. Cyrus was still sitting in his chair.
Completely unmoved.
“Where did you spot this woman?”
Curtis’s eyes widened.
That was not the question he had expected. Given Cyrus’s notoriously ruthless temperament, he had anticipated dismissal at best—or punishment at worst.
Instead, the Alpha wanted to know where she was.
“With due respect, my lord, I saw her near the park beside the clothing shops.” Curtis straightened immediately. As the Alpha’s confidant, he knew better than to offer vague information. Cyrus expected precision in everything—especially when it concerned a matter important enough to disturb him.
The Alpha is actually interested in some lowly woman.
Curtis struggled to comprehend it.
Is this really happening?
He stood rigidly, his hands clasped behind his back as protocol demanded. He could not leave until his master dismissed him.
“Mm.”
As expected, Cyrus revealed nothing.
No surprise.
No curiosity.
Not even the faintest hint of emotion. Instead, another question followed. “What do you mean by ‘lowly woman,’ Curtis?” His tone had not changed even slightly.
It remained calm, restrained, almost indifferent.
But Curtis knew better.
He had served Cyrus long enough to understand that the shorter the Alpha’s words became, the more dangerous the situation was.
The coldness in that voice was never without purpose.
And Curtis had just stepped directly into it.
Curtis hesitated.
For the first time that evening, the Beta found himself genuinely terrified of the words he was about to speak. He knew the answer would not please his Alpha. Worse, if this woman truly turned out to be the potential Luna, describing her in such a degrading manner could cost him his life.
“Alpha… um…”
His voice faltered.
Curtis realized he was already standing on the edge of death.
Before he could utter another word, the Beta dropped to his knees on the chilled marble floor, bowing his head in submission.
“Forgive my insolence, Alpha.” He swallowed hard. “The woman works in a brothel as a… dancer.”
The final word barely left his lips.
For several heartbeats, nothing happened.
Then Cyrus’s golden eyes ignited.
The exhaustion that had weighed upon his features vanished beneath a sudden surge of hunger and fury. His pupils narrowed into predatory slits as an unfamiliar, animalistic intensity swept across his face.
His nails lengthened into sharp, lethal claws, extending several inches beyond his fingertips. A low, guttural growl rumbled deep within his chest. The sound was barely contained, yet it seemed to reverberate through the very walls of Belle Morte.
Curtis froze.
He remained on his knees, too terrified to raise his head.
Something had awakened inside the Alpha.
And for the first time, Curtis wondered whether the woman he had dismissed as a lowly dancer was truly as insignificant as she appeared.
