Sold as the Alpha King's Breeder

*Rhys*

I stood there, rooted to the spot as chaos unfurled before my eyes. The woman in the center of the tempest, who looked like Saoirse, moved with her grace, but it wasn’t her. The air crackled with a sinister energy that I felt in the marrow of my bones.

"Shyla?" I whispered the name like a curse, watching her command the elements around her. She had taken over Saoirse’s form.

My fists clenched at my sides, powerless as Shyla summoned whirlwinds and called down lightning. Trees splintered, and earth churned. Amid the wild dance of destruction, an odd pattern emerged.

My men, who had been readying for conflict, were somehow spared the brunt of her wrath. Like a deliberate brush of an artist avoiding certain spots on a canvas, her havoc wove around them, leaving them untouched.

"Stand down!" I shouted to my warriors, my voice barely carrying over the roar of the storm. They hesitated, their instincts clashing with my command, until they slowly backed away, forming a wary perimeter. It was clear we were not the targets but spectators to a demonstration of power unlike any I’d ever seen.

"Shyla," I tried again, louder this time, stepping forward with caution. "What do you want with Saoirse? Why are you here?"

But she did not answer, lost in her own torrent of rage, or perhaps too far gone to recognize my plea. All I could do was watch and wait, wrestling with the dread that filled me to overflowing.

After what felt like an eternity, the cacophony ceased, leaving a silence so profound it felt like another force of nature. I stepped through the shattered remnants of what had once been thriving woodland, my gaze fixed on Saoirsa’s form standing serenely amid the desolation.

"Shyla," I began, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Can we speak?"

She turned to me, her eyes still glowing with an otherworldly light. The glare she leveled at me was as sharp as a sword’s edge. "There is nothing to say, Rhys Crimson of Egoren. You cannot be trusted. I have watched as you’ve abandoned the one who cares so deeply for you."

I flinched at the ice in her tone. "You must know that wasn’t my choice. I didn’t abandon Saoirse. I would never."

"Your presence here does little to convince me otherwise," she snapped. "You and your king have done enough."

"Shyla, please," I pleaded. "We need to understand. Why have you emerged?"

She drew herself up. The very air around her seemed to bow in deference. "I have come back for them," she said, gesturing vaguely toward the horizon. "For the people who suffer while tyrants like Pyroth plan their conquests."

"Speaking of Pyroth," I pressed on, desperate for any scrap of information, "what of his impending arrival? He won’t stop until he has this realm under his control."

"Lord Pyroth poses no threat now," Shyla stated, the certainty in her voice like a beacon in the darkness. "With my return, this land, these people, they will be protected."

"Protected?" I echoed, doubt clenching my heart. "By you alone?"

"By me," she affirmed, the power in her words resonating in the still air. "And all who stand with us against such tyranny."

The ground still smoked beneath my feet, remnants of Shyla’s fury etched into the scorched earth. Gripping the hilt of my sword, I fought to keep my voice steady, though I knew it was futile. "Shyla, you can’t believe you’ll stand against Pyroth alone."

"Watch me," she retorted, her gaze piercing through the haze of destruction that lingered around us.

Before I could utter another word, she turned away from me, her cloak billowing behind her like a dark wave. With a grace that belied the chaos she had wrought, Shyla approached one of the dragons that lay curled on the ground, its scales shimmering with the same unearthly glow that danced in her eyes.

"Shyla, wait!" I called out, desperation clawing at my throat.

She spared me not a glance as she placed a hand upon the dragon’s snout. The creature stirred, rising to its full, majestic height, and let out a low growl that rumbled through the air. She swung herself onto its back with an ease that spoke of ancient bonds, of silent understandings between rider and steed.

"Go home, Prince Rhys," she commanded, her voice carrying over the wind. "Tell your king to leave us be. Any step toward my people will be taken as the threat it is and will be met as such."

The dragon unfurled its vast wings, the sound like thunderclaps echoing in the stillness of the aftermath. I stood rooted to the spot, watching helplessly as Shyla—as Saoirse—and the dragon ascended, their silhouettes cutting across the sky until they were but specks against the vast expanse above.

Turning on my heel, I found my Beta. His expression was grim and expectant. Our eyes locked. Without needing to speak, he understood the gravity of the situation.

"Track them," I ordered, my voice a mere whisper carried away by the wind. "Use every satellite at our disposal. We cannot lose sight of her."

"Understood," he replied with a nod, already reaching for the communication device clipped to his belt.

I watched in silence as the dragon and its fierce rider disappeared into the distance, the weight of dread settling heavily upon my shoulders.

My mind raced with questions. What power had awakened within Saoirse to cast such devastation and yet promise protection? And what consequences would we face if we failed to heed her warning?

I trudged through the charred remains. The scent of smoke clung to my nostrils as I pulled out the communication device, its screen flickering to life in the dim light of the dying fires.

My thumb hovered over the call button, hesitating only for a moment before pressing down with determination.

"Father," I said as soon as his stern face appeared on the screen, his brow furrowed with concern. "We need to talk."

"Rhys," he greeted me, his voice laced with the weariness that comes from bearing the weight of a kingdom. "What is it?"

I explained what we had found upon arriving at Hunters Glen. “Then there’s the matter of Alpha Patrick. He must be freed, but the pack needs a leader."

His eyes narrowed, considering my words. "And you think that should not be Alpha Strider?"

"No. Someone else," I replied firmly. "Anyone but him. He was willing to betray his own.”

"Very well," he consented after a pause that stretched too long for my comfort. "We’ll let the pack decide their interim leader until Lady Strider and her mother are restored or a new Alpha has been appointed.”

"Thank you, Father," I said, a small sense of relief piercing the fog of uncertainty. "I’ll see to it immediately. I... I will stand in as the interim for now."

“As for the Blackstone pack members who have infiltrated Hunters Glen, grant them the choice to join Hunters Glen or leave entirely."

“There’s... more, Father.”

I explained everything to him, from Saoirse’s capture to the battle against Aleric and his claims of prophecy.

"Father," I began, my voice steady despite the maelstrom within, "Saoirse is... She’s not herself. An ancient entity has her in its grasp."

King Xander’s visage, projected onto the air before me, furrowed with sorrow. "Rhys, my son," he uttered, his voice tinged with regret, "we don’t know if Saoirse is willing in this possession or fights against it. We just don’t know."

"Then we must act," I insisted, clenching my fists. "We can’t leave her to–"

"Patience, Rhys," he interrupted, his tone firm yet laced with empathy. His expression had shifted to one of deep unease. "The attack on Blackstone concerns me greatly. We must wait for Axureon’s report. If we hear nothing by month’s end, our alliance may be shattered like glass underfoot."

"But–" I swallowed the protest, knowing it would fall on deaf ears. With a nod, I acquiesced. "As you command, Father."

Waiting felt much like surrender, but I knew better than to argue with the king. "We’ll keep watch."

"Stay vigilant, my son," he said, his image flickering as he ended the call.

The communication ended. I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I pocketed the device and looked up at the sky, wishing I could still see Saoirse in the distance.

***

We cleaned up as much as we could. I gathered my men before heading on to Hunters Glen. There was much to do, but I had Dax keep eyes on the satellites, tracking Shyla’s movements.

I gathered everyone in front of the pack house and sent some of my men to free Alpha Strider. I turned to face the gathered members of Blackstone, their faces a mosaic of fear and hope.

"Members of Blackstone," I addressed them, my voice carrying across the clearing, "you have the right to choose. You can join Hunters Glen or depart. We will support you in your decision."

Murmurs rose among them. Daxton stepped forward, his charm ever-present even in dire times. "Come, let us discuss your needs," he encouraged, a welcoming smile upon his lips.

Malcolm, silent and observant, stood beside me, ready to assist. One by one, the shifters approached, their voices weaving a tapestry of concerns and desires.

"Water’s grown scarce in the eastern quarter," an elder wolf voiced, his fur peppered with gray.

"We’ll see to it," Malcolm assured him, jotting notes onto a scrap of parchment.

A young she-wolf, her eyes bright with unshed tears, spoke next. "My brother... didn’t make it out."

I met her gaze, offering a solemn nod. "His bravery won’t be forgotten. You have our protection now."

As the night wore on, each story etched itself into my memory, a reminder of the lives entrusted to my care. My resolve hardened like steel tempered in the forge. I would stand for these people for Saoirse.

"Thank you, Prince Rhys," a gruff voice said, breaking through the swell of conversation. I glanced up to find Alpha Patrick Strider standing before me, his presence commanding even in weariness.

"Alpha Patrick," I greeted him with a respectful incline of my head. "Rest now. Tomorrow brings a new day, and with it, a new plan of action."

He nodded. As he walked away, I turned once more to listen to the hopes and fears of my newfound charges.

When I sent for Alpha Patrick the next morning, the sun had yet to crest the horizon. The man deserved a reprieve after what he’d been through, and I granted him that much.

"Alpha Patrick," I began as he entered my temporary quarters, his hair still damp from what I presumed was his first proper wash in days, perhaps weeks. "I hope you’ve found some measure of rest."

"Aye, Prince Rhys," he replied. His voice was rough like gravel, but his eyes were sharp and alert. "Rest and a clean slate is all a man can ask for after... well, you know." He didn’t need to finish. We both carried the weight of recent events heavy on our shoulders.

"Indeed. But now, I have questions." I gestured for him to take the seat opposite me. "Alpha Aleric—may he find peace beyond—spoke often of prophecies and dragons. It’s time I understood exactly what he meant."

Patrick’s weathered hands clenched into fists before relaxing. He exhaled slowly as if preparing to unburden himself of secrets long held close.

"The prophecies are as old as the stones beneath our feet," he began, his tone shifting to one of reverence. "Spoken by seers who dreamed with eyes wide open, they told of an age when dragons would rise to defend or to destroy."

"Defend or destroy..." I echoed, trying to grasp the full implications. "And Saoirse? How does she fit into this?"

"Her spirit," Patrick said with a steadiness that belied his troubled gaze, "is entwined with something ancient, something mighty enough to tip the scales. Alpha Aleric believed she was key to fulfilling the prophecy, but..." His voice trailed off, uncertainty clouding his features.

"But what?" I pressed, leaning forward, my hands gripping the arms of my chair.

"Rhys, there’s more at play than mere destiny," he admitted, locking eyes with me. "Aleric spoke of a balance, a force that binds us all. If that balance tips too far, it could bring about an era of chaos, the likes of which we’ve never seen."

"Balance..." My mind raced, piecing together fragments of lore I’d heard whispered in the halls of Egoren. "We must ensure it doesn’t come to that. What else did Aleric foresee?"

Patrick leaned back, his gaze distant. "He saw a union of bloodlines as the key, a bond strong enough to withstand the flames."

"Union of bloodlines..." I murmured, the words resonating within me. The thought of Saoirse, her fiery essence now mingled with something formidable and unknown, caused a pang of fear—and determination—to stir within my chest.

"Thank you, Patrick," I said finally, rising to stand. "Your words have given me much to consider."

He nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of our conversation. As he left, I remained standing by the window, watching the dawn break over Hunters Glen, the light chasing away shadows that seemed reluctant to leave. There was much to do, many to protect, and a prophecy looming over us all.