Alvric's fists clenched at his sides. His breath came heavy, like a storm brewing just beneath his ribs.
"A message?" he repeated, voice edged with disbelief."He knew your name, and that's reason enough to drag a vampire into our home?"
He took a step forward, eyes narrowing. The room was silent—everyone waiting, watching.
"We lost dozens tonight, Lycaon. Families torn apart. And you, my son, my heir bring back the very thing we swore to destroy."
His voice cracked, just for a moment—more pain than anger now.
"What if it's a trap? A curse in disguise? What if trusting him costs us the rest of what we still have?"
He looked at the vampire again, limp in Lycaon's arms.
"You speak of messages and instincts, but don't forget—we're at war. And war doesn't forgive the luxury of doubt."
Lycaon's jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady.
"I know what war is, Father. I've fought it. Led it. Bled for it."He shifted the vampire's weight in his arms, his gaze never leaving Alvric's.
"And I've seen monsters. But this..." he nodded slightly toward the unconscious figure, "this doesn't feel like one."
Murmurs rippled through the wolves around them, but Lycaon didn't waver.
"If I killed him tonight, we'd lose more than we already have. I don't know why he knows me, or what he wants, but I will find out."
He stepped forward now, matching his father's presence with his own.
"You raised me to protect this pack. That's exactly what I'm doing. Even if it means protecting something no one understands yet."
A beat of silence.
Then, lower, but resolute:
"I'm not asking for your trust. I'm asking for your patience."
"I know, Father," Lycaon said, his voice low but firm, as his grip on the vampire tightened—fingertips digging into the unconscious man's leg.
He understood the weight behind Alvric's words. He wasn't wrong—vampires, even broken and bleeding, were never to be trusted.
His gaze met his father's hard, resolute gaze and then swept over the room, to the eyes of his people. Grief. Fear. Rage. They were all written on the faces that looked at him now for answers.
With a step forward, he turned determined to face them.
"Listen to me."His voice rang out, sharp and unwavering.
"This vampire will not harm a single one of you. I've bound him with my magic, and I will keep him contained. He will be locked away, interrogated, and questioned by every means necessary."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the stillness.
"Whatever this is, whatever he is, I will uncover it. And if he's a threat, I'll end it myself."
His eyes burned, golden and unflinching.
"You have my word," Lycaon continued, his voice steady as stone."And I know it won't be easy to trust me right now—but all I ask of you is this: recover. Rest. Be patient."
His golden eyes swept over the wounded, the grieving, the ones who had barely survived the night. Determined. Focused. But behind that tempered steel, there was something else—something quieter.
Grief.
Regret.
The weight of leadership carved into his posture, but the sadness never left his voice.
"I carry the same pain you do. The same questions. But if we falter now, we lose more than just tonight—we lose everything we've fought to protect."
Alvric's expression hardened.
"Then you'll get your answers… but on our terms."He turned, barking orders to the guards without looking back.
"Take the vampire to the black dungeon. Chain him. Spell-lock the room. I want three sentries outside at all times—no one in, no one out without my command."
The guards hesitated, their eyes flicking to Lycaon.
"Now."
Lycaon didn't move. His grip tightened on the vampire, jaw clenched like stone.
Alvric met his gaze again, quieter now but just as cold.
"You may be my son, but I'm still Alpha. If he's not a threat, then he can wait behind steel and runes until you prove it."
He stepped back, the weight of his authority filling the room.
"And if he is what I think he is," Alvric said, his voice like a warning wrapped in ice, "then I just saved your life… and everyone else's."
He didn't shout. He didn't need to. The weight of his words settled across the room like fog. He understood his son's choices—perhaps more than he wanted to—but understanding did not mean acceptance.
Not yet.
As Alpha, Alvric couldn't afford the luxury of hesitation. Not when so many eyes looked to him to feel safe. He couldn't waver, not even for his son. Especially not for him.
He had to remain the wall that didn't crack. The flame that didn't flicker.
The vampire was taken to the lower dungeons beneath the manor, bound in spells and iron. As the final locks echoed shut, Lycaon dropped to one knee before his father, head bowed low.
The weight of the night bore down on his shoulders, and the pain within him wasn't just physical—it was a fire in his chest, one he couldn't extinguish.
"Alpha," he said, voice tight with exhaustion, "with your command, I can begin the healing. I can use my magic to help the wounded… to help our people recover."
Silence followed.
Then the heavy footfalls of another approached Kaelen Vaer, the leader of the Grey Alphas, Lycaon's closest friend and second-in-command. He knelt beside him, head bowed as well.
Here, magic was not cast without weight. It was sacred—ancient. And among the wolves, it was rare. Only the ruling Alpha could permit its use. Even for his own heir.
To wield it without consent was to break the very law that bound their kind together.
But Alvric did not answer right away.
His eyes narrowed—not with anger, but with the weight of disappointment. Not in his son's strength, but in his choice.
"You already used your magic," he said quietly, each word precise and sharp as a blade."You cast a binding spell. Without consent. Without counsel."
The hall fell silent.
Kaelen's head lifted slightly, his expression unreadable, caught between loyalty and law. The others in the room tensed, ears perked, eyes flicking between the Alpha and his son.
Lycaon remained still. He didn't raise his eyes. Didn't defend himself.
Because Alvric was right.
He had done what he wasn't supposed to. What no Alpha heir had dared do in decades.
He had broken the law.
"I had no choice," Lycaon said finally, voice low and steady.
"If I hadn't sealed him, he would've either escaped or been killed—and if he is truly who you think he is, that death would have doomed us all."
A long silence.
Then Alvric stepped forward, towering over his kneeling son. His presence was thunder, his voice the calm before it.
"Magic without permission is a betrayal of our bond. You knew this, Lycaon."He paused, then added "And yet… you chose to act."
Lycaon slowly lifted his gaze, meeting his father's eyes—not in defiance, but in full acceptance of whatever came next.
"Then punish me. Strip me of rank. Lock me away. But let me save the ones who still breathe."
For a heartbeat, the room seemed to freeze.
Then Alvric's gaze softened—only a little. Just enough to hint that beneath the hardened Alpha… a father still lived.
"No," he said.
In Lycaon's favor stood Kaelen Vaer, the leader of the Grey Wolves. He stepped forward, the silver trim of his cloak catching the low light, his voice steady but laced with urgency.
"He had no choice, Alpha," Kaelen said, his eyes flicking between Alvric and the kneeling heir."If Lycaon hadn't bound him with that spell, something far worse would've happened. You felt it too—the shift in the air. That vampire wasn't ordinary. And that night… wasn't ordinary."
The weight of Kaelen's words hung heavy. The room listened in silence, torn between the sacredness of their laws and the truth of survival.
Alvric didn't move. He stood with his hands clenched at his sides, eyes fixed in the distance—on nothing, and everything. Inside him, rage warred with reason. Duty battled blood.
His son had broken ancient law. But he had also saved lives. After a long, breathless pause, Alvric exhaled. Slowly. Sharply. His voice came like a blade drawn from its sheath.
"Enough.""Both of you—go. Help our people."
His gaze did not meet theirs as he spoke.
"Do what needs to be done. But know this…" he paused, eyes still distant, voice low and grim."Magic always comes with a price. And this night has only begun to collect its debt."