CHAPTER 70: CHAPTER 70: THE WITCH WHO KILLS ALPHAS

Selene’s POV~

Branches snapped under my boots as I darted through the dense forest, the cool night air burning in my lungs. Behind me, faint howls rolled through the trees...angry, frustrated, and far too close for comfort.

Tch. Idiots.

I could’ve stayed and crushed them all. Every single one of them. I’m more than capable, every werewolf in this cursed land knows it. They whisper my name like it’s a death sentence: the witch who can kill Alphas. I never asked for that title. They gave it to me because they know it’s true.

But tonight wasn’t about bloodshed. I didn’t come here to flex my power, I came for answers. And I have them now. If they learned it was me who slipped into their precious packhouse... well, that hornet’s nest wouldn’t stop buzzing until they’d bled for it.

So instead of fighting, I left a trail of illusions and silent traps behind me, scattering their patrols like blind pups chasing shadows. The sound of pursuit thinned, the howls faded, and eventually the forest went unnervingly quiet.

I slowed, finally letting myself breathe deep. Inhaling the scent of damp soil and pine in the air.

Good. I was clear.

I adjusted my cloak and turned toward human territory. Moonlight slipped between the canopy like silver threads, guiding my way.

And then...a sharp, merciless pain slammed into my chest.

I staggered, one hand clutching my heart as if I could hold the damn thing together. It pounded hard and erratically, like it wanted to tear free from my ribs. My knees almost gave out.

What the—?

This wasn’t a wound. Not magic backlash either. This was... something else.

My head spun, and before I could stop it, a face flashed in my mind. A scent I could still taste if I let myself. A voice that could unravel me no matter how many times I tried to bury it.

No. No, no, no. I shoved it all back into the icy vault where it belonged.

But my treacherous heart refused to listen.

My fingers dug into my hair, nails scraping my scalp. "Not now," I hissed through clenched teeth. "I don’t care—do you hear me? I. Don’t. Care."

The pain only grew sharper, blooming through my veins until my whole body trembled.

Are they in danger?

The thought hit me like a knife.

Did something happen to them?

I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to feel.

For a year, I’d drowned every spark the mate bond tried to ignite in me. Refused it. Fought it. Spat in its face. I am not some fragile wolf swayed by fate’s pathetic string.

And yet here I was...bent over in the middle of the woods, body screaming for someone I swore I’d never run to again.

I ground my teeth until my jaw ached. If I could just make it home, curl up in bed, and ride out the agony, maybe I’d wake up to blessed numbness.

But the pain clawed deeper, stealing my breath, making each step heavier than the last.

A rustle to my left yanked me back to reality. Instinct roared that it is full of danger.

The wolves might have been led astray, but they weren’t gone. And in this state... I wasn’t sure I could take them all.

"Move, damn you," I growled at my own legs. One step. Another. Every muscle screamed, every heartbeat was a blade.

But if fate thought I’d run into them tonight...

Fate could go straight to hell.

I turned away, my body begging for rest, when a sound slipped into the stillness.

A soft whimper.

It was faint, almost swallowed by the rustle of leaves, but my ears caught it. Weak and full of pain. The kind of sound that reached under your skin and pulled at something you didn’t want touched.

My first instinct? Keep walking. I didn’t have time. I didn’t have the strength.

But my feet... traitorous things... had already stopped. And slowly, they turned toward the sound.

"Idiot," I muttered under my breath—though I wasn’t sure if I meant the creature or myself.

The whimper came again, louder this time, pulling me deeper into the trees until I found it.

A small wolf.

So small it made no sense. I’ve seen omegas before, the weakest of the werewolves, but even they weren’t this tiny. This one couldn’t be more than a handful of moons old. Its fur was matted with dirt and blood, and its body curled in on itself like it wanted to vanish into the ground.

The worst of it was the wound, a deep, ugly slash across its stomach. Fresh blood dripped onto the moss, every drop a step closer to death.

I froze.

The stabbing pain in my chest, the one that had been crushing me moments ago—eased. My breathing evened out, the suffocating grip around my ribs loosening.

That was not comforting.

A cold weight settled in my gut. What was a wolf like this doing here? And why so... small?

Then another thought hit harder.

Is it... a normal wolf? Not a werewolf?

Because there was nothing of the usual hostility in its scent, its eyes, or its trembling posture.

Damn it. My heart softened despite myself.

It was just a wolf. An innocent one. Probably mauled by something bigger. The claw marks confirmed it.

I hate werewolves. Hate them enough to cut down an Alpha without blinking. But wolves? I don’t hate wolves. And I can’t walk away from one so young, bleeding out in the dirt.

I crouched beside him, keeping my movements slow. "Hey, stupid wolf," I murmured, low enough not to scare him. "Are you planning to just lie here and die?"

He didn’t answer, of course. Just flinched when I reached toward him, curling tighter into himself, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Tch." I narrowed my gaze. "Really a stupid wolf."

With a sigh, I pressed my hand over the wound. Pale light bled from my fingertips, seeping into the torn flesh. The glow wrapped around his small body, sinking deeper until the bleeding slowed... then stopped. The gash closed as if it had never been there, leaving smooth fur behind.

The little wolf blinked down at his stomach, then up at me.

A second later, he leaned forward and licked my hand. Once. Twice. Like a grateful pup.

I almost smiled. "So... I finally got your attention."

I studied his face, wide-eyed, trusting, and unguarded, and knew I’d been right. He wasn’t one of them. His innocence said more than any scent or magic could.

Still... something about this was wrong. Wolves this young don’t wander here alone. And that claw mark—it wasn’t from any forest predator I know.

My fingers lingered in his fur, unease creeping back up my spine.

"Where did you come from, little one?" I murmured.