Alpha's STOLEN Mate Chapter 125

Kaius

"There's no other golden wolf that powerful," I said, the words feeling hollow even as they left my mouth. "No one else matches the description—"

"The witch," my father interrupted, his voice growing weaker with each word. "The witch... is more terrifying than you can imagine. She's created... so many copies... they're all at—"

But I couldn't focus on what he was saying.

My mind kept replaying the transformation. The way his body had shifted into that nightmare form—half man, half beast, radiating power that had made the very air tremble.

*Lycan.*

*My father is a Lycan. And he never told me.*

The realization connected to other memories like dominoes falling. Mother's scars. Her fear. The way she flinched at sudden movements even years later. Those wounds hadn't been random acts of cruelty.

They were inevitable.

*Lycans can't control themselves. Their mates always suffer. Always get hurt. Often get killed.*

My eyes found Elowen, and ice flooded my veins.

*Which means I—*

The thought was unbearable. Unacceptable. A future I refused to allow.

*No. No, I won't let that happen. I won't become him. I won't hurt her like he hurt Mother.*

My hand moved on its own, pushing the dagger deeper into Father's chest. As if by ending him, I could somehow sever the cursed bloodline. Stop the cycle before it consumed me too.

"FUCK, KAIUS!" Elowen's voice cut through my spiral. Her hands grabbed mine, trying to pull them away from the blade. "What the hell are you thinking?! At least your father is conscious now! Clear-minded! Didn't you notice he wasn't fighting back this entire time?"

Her words barely registered.

"If the real killer was him—with the terrifying power he just showed—he could have torn you apart easily. But he didn't. He held back. Protected you."

I looked down at Father's face. There was no anger there. No resentment. Just... acceptance. Peace, even.

*He's not fighting this. He's not trying to defend himself.*

Guilt crashed over me like a physical blow.

*Fuck. I was so scared of his power. So terrified of what it means for me. For us. That I stopped thinking. Stopped seeing.*

My hands released the dagger. It stayed lodged in his chest, a monument to my failure.

"Father," I whispered. "It really wasn't you? You didn't attack Elowen's pack?"

He shook his head weakly. Then his eyes—still lucid, thanks to the antidote—focused on me with an intensity that cut through all my fear.

His hand, slick with blood, grasped mine. "Don't be afraid, my proud son." His voice was fading but firm. "You will do better than I ever did. I know it."

Then he turned to Elowen, something like gratitude crossing his face. "You must act quickly now. Both of you. Morgath's plans are accelerating. Her threat grows with each passing day." A pained smile. "But to die free—truly free of that wretched witch's control—after all this time..." He laughed, the sound wet and gurgling. "I caused so much suffering. So much chaos. For an old Alpha King, this is fitting penance."

His hand moved toward the dagger, fingers wrapping around the hilt to pull it deeper—

"NO!" I caught his wrist, yanking the blade free and throwing it aside. "Father, don't!"

I looked at Elowen desperately. "I need to take him away from here. He needs to recover somewhere safe, somewhere he can rest." My voice cracked. "I'll find out the truth. I swear to you, Elowen—I'll get justice for your pack. I promise."

Elowen grabbed my arm before I could lift Father. "What? You think I'm still suspicious of your father?" Her tone was sharp but not angry. "And you want to move him in this condition? You'll kill him before you get halfway home!"

Father's expression softened into something almost paternal—an expression I hadn't seen in years.

Elowen transformed. Her white wolf form materialized in a cascade of light, and she began circling Father's broken body. Divine energy poured from her, washing over his wounds in waves of pure healing power.

The forest itself responded to her magic. Scorched earth began to green again. Burned trees regrew their leaves. Even the air felt cleaner, lighter, as if her presence was purging all the violence and corruption from this place.

Father watched in wonder, his eyes following the white wolf's graceful movements. "God," he breathed, catching my hand and squeezing it with what little strength he had left. "I had no idea the mate you found was so... sacred. So magnificent."

Despite everything, I smiled. "Neither did I. Not at first."

Elowen's healing continued for several minutes—longer than I'd ever seen her maintain it. When she finally stopped and shifted back to human form, Father's wounds had closed. Not completely healed, but stabilized. He wouldn't die from them.

"Take him," she said quietly. "Get him somewhere safe. Help him recover."

I nodded, carefully lifting Father onto my back. He was heavier than I remembered, or maybe I was just exhausted.

"I need to deal with my pack," Elowen continued. Her voice was steady, but I could see the weight in her eyes. "There's so much to do. So many people to help. So much to rebuild."

"I'll come back as soon as I can," I promised.

"I know you will."

---

After settling Father in one of the secure recovery chambers deep within the castle—heavily warded, protected, with trusted guards stationed outside—I immediately sought out Faelan.

I found him in his study, surrounded by the usual chaos of books and scrolls and bubbling potions. When I entered, he looked up sharply, clearly sensing my urgency.

I told him everything. The battle. Father's transformation. His claims of innocence. The hints about copies and Morgath's expanding plans.

Faelan listened in silence, his expression growing more troubled with each detail. When I finished, he pressed his palms against his temples.

"God," he muttered. "Our entire strategy was based on flawed assumptions."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you see?" Faelan looked at me with something close to pity. "This witch—Morgath—she's not just powerful. She's theatrical. She plays with her prey." He began pacing. "She deliberately had the real culprit leave before you arrived. Then, the moment you showed up, she sent your father—still under her control—to appear at the scene."

The implications made my stomach turn.

"She was setting you up," Faelan continued. "Engineering a scenario where you would kill your own father. And not just kill him—murder him in rage and confusion, while he was helpless to explain or defend himself." His voice dropped. "She wanted you to live with that guilt. To break you psychologically."

I sank into a chair, suddenly feeling hollowed out. "We almost did exactly what she wanted."

"Almost." Faelan's tone gentled slightly. "But you didn't. And that's what matters." He paused. "Though I suspect her psychological warfare is only one aspect of a much larger plan. Her real objective—the actual endgame—is still unclear."

"How do we stop her?" The question came out more desperate than I'd intended. "How do we fight someone who's always three steps ahead?"

"Actually," Faelan said slowly, "her arrogance might be our advantage. She's so confident in her manipulations, so certain she can control every variable..." He moved to his desk and began rifling through papers. "She's given us time. Time we can use to strike at her foundation."

"What foundation?"

Faelan pulled out an ancient tome, its pages yellowed and fragile. "Remember when I told you about the Flesh-Weavers' ancestral lair? The place where they draw power from enchanted gemstones that fuel their dark magic?"

I nodded, leaning forward. "You said you'd look for it."

"I did better than look." Faelan's eyes gleamed with scholarly triumph as he opened the book to a marked page. Spread across two pages was a map—hand-drawn, centuries old, but remarkably detailed. His finger traced a path through mountain ranges and forgotten territories until it stopped at a symbol: a twisted spiral surrounded by runes.

"I found it." His voice was barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might somehow alert Morgath to our discovery. "The location of their ancestral lair. The source of their power."