8 - The Weight of the Alpha

KAEL POV

Kael’s fists connected with the thick trunk of a training post, breath huffing out in sharp exhales as he worked through a series of punishing strikes. Sweat clung to his skin, dampening the collar of his shirt and dripping down his spine. His muscles burned with each movement, but the pain grounded him. It was the only thing that made sense lately.

Around him, the clang of steel and the heavy thuds of sparring filled the crisp morning air. Warriors of Nightclaw moved in precise formations across the field below, sparring in pairs, shouting commands, and honing the edge of their instincts. Kael watched them between sets, his arms crossed over his chest as he tried to center himself.

This was his world—discipline, control, strength. The foundation his parents had built and entrusted to him before they were taken too soon. Nightclaw blood ran deep in the soil beneath his feet, soaked from centuries of war, of pride, of vengeance.

And now, it feels like he might all come undone because of her.

But he can’t let that happen.

He exhaled sharply and rolled his shoulders, stepping back from the training post.

His warriors were strong—loyal to a fault. But the hatred they held toward Moonfang was just as ingrained as their discipline. Aria’s pack. His enemy.

A union between them? Feels impossible.

His boots crunched on gravel as he made his way to the edge of the training grounds, nodding at a few warriors who paused to salute. He returned the gesture without a word. From the rise, he could see the whole field—the organized chaos, the camaraderie, the unspoken trust. These were his people. His responsibility.

What would his parents think if they were still alive? His mother, who had once believed peace could be found through alliance. His father, who believed strength was the only path to survival. Both lost in a border ambush nearly a decade ago. The details were still murky. Some said it was rogues. Others whispered Moonfang involvement. Kael had never found definitive proof. Only blood, grief, and silence.

And now, Aria. A girl who shouldn’t matter.

But she did. She mattered more than he wanted to admit.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, biting back the frustration rising in his throat. He wasn’t like Ronan. His younger brother had the luxury of freedom. Of recklessness. Ronan traveled the world, hopping from one pack’s territory to another, never staying long enough to feel the weight of expectation.

Ronan didn’t see the pack’s future in every decision he made. Didn’t carry the burden of legacy.

The last message from him had come two weeks ago. A brief, infuriatingly vague letter that read: “Found a group of sea wolves. Might stay a while. Don’t do anything stupid bro.”

Kael had snorted when he read it. Typical Ronan. Hot-headed, stubborn, always chasing the next thrill. But his heart was good. His intentions, even when misguided, were rarely cruel.

Kael envied that, sometimes. The ability to run.

Instead, he was rooted here. Bound by duty. Bound by blood. Bound by the ghosts of war.

And yet, even duty couldn’t shield him from the way Aria’s presence haunted him.

She’d crept into his mind like a melody he couldn’t forget. He’d watched her tend to wounded animals, gather herbs, soothe a crying pup with a voice that could silence storms. She didn’t belong in the bloodied world he ruled. She belonged to something gentler.

But the bond didn’t care about boundaries. Or hatred. Or history.

He should reject it. Cut the connection at its root. Yet when he closed his eyes, he saw her. When he breathed, he swore he could smell lavender and pine. When he dreamed, it was her voice that called to him.

He’d spoken to no one of the pull—except Elias. And Elias, to his credit, hadn’t laughed. He hadn’t even flinched when Kael admitted he felt something that defied the rules they’d lived by since birth. Elias had simply nodded, quiet understanding in his gaze.

It had been enough.

A sharp cry from the field jolted him back. Two warriors collided, one crashing to the ground with a heavy grunt. Kael narrowed his eyes and strode forward, barking orders. “Focus! You lose your footing like that in a real fight, you’re dead. Again.”

They scrambled to reset, sweat and dirt streaking their skin.

Kael folded his arms again, watching them with a critical eye. He needed them strong. Ready. Because the truth was, he didn’t know what came next. If Aria ever learned the truth—if the bond was acknowledged, if the old grudges boiled over—he would need every advantage.

Because the world as they knew it wouldn’t survive peace easily. It had never known how.

He stayed there a while longer, silently watching his warriors fall into rhythm again. A breeze kicked up across the field, carrying the scent of earth and steel. It stirred something deeper in him, something ancient and quiet. He wondered, not for the first time, if the bond between him and Aria was fated—or a curse disguised as a gift?

He thought of her laugh, rare but warm. The way her fingers moved deftly over herbs, coaxing life from root and flower like it was magic. He wondered if she thought of him too—or just the shadow she felt at the edge of her senses. A presence she couldn’t name.

Kael tilted his head back and stared at the sky. The clouds were parting, letting streaks of morning sun break through.

He didn’t know how to fix this. Didn’t know how to bridge the gap between centuries of hate. But for the first time, he felt the stirrings of something he hadn’t allowed himself in years.

Hope.

And it felt dangerous. Reckless.

But maybe, like Ronan always said, sometimes the only way to move forward was to stop standing still.

Kael turned back to the training field. The warriors were ready. Nightclaw was ready.

He just didn’t know if he was.