Bite of the Alpha

The Berserker Beasts were known for their unnatural endurance. Their life force was so dense it outclassed most packs. But even they couldn't withstand Bryan's wrath.

Victor lay crumpled and broken, barely human. His twisted limbs twitched, bones crushed beyond recognition. If Bryan hadn't just torn him from the sky with a punch, he wouldn't have believed this husk was once an Alpha.

> "Damn," Bryan muttered, scowling. "You look worse than the punch felt."

He grabbed Victor's disfigured body by the neck and lifted him into the moonlight. Muscles rippled. The sound of dripping blood grew louder. Bryan's claws glinted.

Puk!

His hand plunged into Victor's chest and yanked out a steaming, pulsing heart.

Victor coughed once. Blood spilled from his lips like wine. He didn't get a second breath. Bryan hurled the heart like garbage toward the remaining wolves.

A shocked beta caught it—by instinct, not desire. The organ beat once more in his hands. He stared at it, trembling.

Then—Whoosh! Victor's head slid from his shoulders. No one saw the strike. His body dropped, twitching. His head rolled, bumped the beta's leg, and settled in the dirt like discarded fruit.

Silence. Utter silence.

Then Bryan turned. His gaze locked on his next prey.

Williams.

The Alpha of the Black Hound Pack felt death before he saw it. Bryan's eyes—those blood-red coals—burned into him, stealing air from his lungs. The weight of that stare buckled his knees. Behind him, his own wolves—his sworn pack—stepped away.

So much for loyalty.

Fear overpowered tradition.

Williams couldn't blame them. He was barely holding it together himself.

A tremor ran down his spine. Sweat dripped from beneath his hairline. He could hear his heart hammering in his ears.

But Williams had something the others didn't.

Speed.

Catch me if you can, he thought, and ran.

He bolted in a blur, feet barely touching the ground. Dirt flew, grass tore beneath him. It was his gift—his legacy. He'd always been the fastest. The only Alpha who could outrun death itself.

But Bryan was already moving.

Faster.

Inhumanly fast.

The Primordial Alpha darted forward with frightening grace. He zigzagged between trees, using them like launch pads. Each impact sent him hurtling higher, faster. The forest blurred around him. To any other eye, he had vanished.

Ahead, Williams saw the hill. The path of escape.

Hope surged in his chest. He'd jump, clear the ledge, disappear into the forest. They'd never find him again.

He leapt.

The ground cracked in front of him.

Bryan landed.

Williams screamed and activated the deepest level of his speed ability, pushing past every limit. He darted forward, becoming a blur of motion. He twisted, sprang—aiming to leap over Bryan's head and vanish into the night.

It was a perfect plan.

Until Bryan disappeared mid-air.

Boom!

An earth-shattering force struck down. Dust shot skyward in a massive plume.

The watching werewolves froze.

No one moved.

Where was Bryan? Where was Williams?

A silence thick as tar spread. The dust began to settle. Shadows took shape.

Then came footsteps—slow, deliberate.

Bryan emerged first, unscathed, crimson-eyed.

Behind him, the body of Williams lay sprawled on the shattered slope. Blood soaked the grass beneath his crushed frame. He was naked, trembling. Bones jutted from his limbs at strange angles. One of his fangs was broken.

Still alive.

Barely.

Live, Williams thought, his mind screaming. Move. Please.

Bryan stood over him.

> "Try harder," he said coldly.

Crunch.

His foot slammed down. Williams' skull caved in, splattering the ground.

The betas choked. One young omega behind the line vomited. Another collapsed, eyes wide, unable to scream.

Bryan glanced toward the remains of Lucian. Ironically, the Alpha he had spared was the only one who died without his claws. Some backstabbing coward took the opportunity.

Either death hated him, or fate did.

He turned back toward the silent clearing. His hands—dripping blood—hung loose at his sides.

This wasn't mindless slaughter. It was strategy.

Crushing the Alphas meant dismantling the packs. Without leaders, they'd scatter. No need to chase them through every shadow. He'd kill a few, shake the rest, and make them remember.

Bryan wasn't a mindless beast. He didn't kill for sport.

These wolves weren't innocent. They were manipulated—fed lies about him, turned into weapons. Their deaths were laid at the feet of someone else.

The Originals.

They said he was weakened. Vulnerable.

Who told you that lie?

Bryan could feel his old hatred stir. He'd been quiet for years—resting, watching. And now they came like scavengers.

No more.

He raised his voice, fangs bared.

> "Run."

The word cracked through the clearing like thunder.

Betas and omegas trembled. Some stumbled back. Others turned to flee.

But before they could move, something shifted.

The air pressure dropped. A strange hum filled the space between heartbeats. Crows burst from the trees, shrieking in panic.

Then a shadow appeared on the ridge.

One figure.

Then five.

Then a full squad of fifteen.

They descended in silence, like ghosts.

Each one tall. Muscular. Eyes glowing a deep, ominous red. Their uniforms bore the sigil of the Alpha Pack—Christopher's elite.

Elite Alphas. All of them.

The remaining wolves stopped retreating.

No one could run now.

Then came the voice.

Low. Mocking. Bone-deep.

> "Well, well," the lead figure said. "Looks like the party started without us."

Bryan's expression didn't change. His shoulders relaxed. His claws flexed once.

> "Christopher," he said. "Finally crawled out of your den? Here to steal what you couldn't earn?"

From the center of the formation stepped a broad, scarred man. His eyes burned like wildfire. His smirk was jagged, carved with arrogance.

> "Earn?" Christopher chuckled. "The Wolf's Legacy isn't earned. It's claimed. And I'm here to claim it."

Bryan tilted his head, crimson eyes locking onto him like a wolf finding prey.

> "Then come and try."