Into the Alpha’s Keep Chapter 40: 39

POV Savannah Bowen

My hands were slick with sweat, the dampness clinging to my palms as I lifted a trembling foot onto the first step of the imposing stone castle. The journey here had been a blur of Anton’s voice droning in my ear, his endless stream of advice looping through my mind—what to say, what to avoid, how to hold myself in front of those who waited within.

The castle loomed above me, its jagged silhouette clawing at the sky, blotting out the silver moonlight that had guided my path until this moment. My shadow vanished beneath its bulk, swallowed by the oppressive weight of the structure, and a shiver crawled up my spine despite the clammy heat radiating from my skin.

I tilted my head back, my gaze drawn to the flickering flames of the torches flanking the entrance. Mounted in iron sconces on either side of the massive double doors, they danced nervously in the night breeze, their golden light wavering as if they, too, felt the same unease churning in my gut.

The air carried the faint tang of burning pitch, mingling with the earthy musk of the surrounding forest, and I clenched my fists tighter, trying to steady the tremor in my hands. Each gust of wind sent the flames stuttering, casting fleeting shadows that played across the weathered stone, making the castle seem alive—watching, waiting.

I stopped just before the dark wood of the doors, their surface scarred and ancient, etched with faint carvings I couldn’t decipher in the dim light. My arm lifted, fist clenched, poised to knock, the motion an instinct born of habit.

But before my knuckles could graze the wood, the doors groaned open with a slow, deliberate scrape, the sound reverberating through the stillness like a warning.

A figure emerged from the shadowed interior, blocking my path—a male draped in a black robe that shrouded him in mystery

. The hood hung low, casting his face into deep shadow, revealing only the barest glimpse of a pale, angular chin, stark white against the darkness. He was tall and lean, his frame wiry beneath the heavy fabric, but that was all I could discern.

The rest of him remained an enigma, a void where features should have been.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat bobbing painfully as my mouth went dry.

I wished Anton were here, his steady presence a shield at my side, his calm voice cutting through the panic rising in my chest. But he’d stayed behind, bound by the invisible laws he’d explained with a grim frown—laws that barred him from crossing into Fenrir’s territory, keeping pack boundaries sacrosanct.

I was alone now, facing this moment without him, and the realization made my pulse thunder in my ears, a relentless drumbeat that left me dizzy. I wasn’t scared—not exactly—but the nervousness was a living thing, coiling tight in my stomach, threatening to spill out in a wave of nausea or send me crumpling to the ground in a faint.

I pressed my lips together, willing my body to hold steady, to not betray me in front of whoever—or whatever—waited inside.

“Follow me,” the male commanded, his voice low and clipped.

I strained to place him, drawing a deep breath through my nose to catch his scent.

Beneath the faint musk of the robe’s fabric—wool, maybe, tinged with smoke—I picked up subtle notes: a hint of cedar, a trace of something earthy and subdued.

Beta, I realized, the scent lacking the sharp, dominant edge of an alpha or the softer undertones of an omega. It grounded me, giving me something concrete to cling to amidst the unknown.

I nodded faintly, the motion jerky, and forced my legs to move, stepping forward to follow him.

The smell of ashes and old paper was overwhelming, as if it was part of the place. The same old stones that rose on the street formed the walls inside. Golden candelabras lit the vast hallway he was leading me through.

With the number of candles burning, I doubted they had electricity.

I knew some packs refused to adapt to modernity, living like our ancestors, rejecting technology. And these elders, whatever they were, were part of those people.

I rubbed my palms again on the black dress I was wearing, drying the sweat caused by my nervousness and the heat spreading from the many lit candles.

I observed the uneven floor, lined with chunks of stone. The entire castle was made of stone, looking old enough to carry centuries of a past history.

The smell of fresh meat wafted to me as we turned down a corridor, and the light became stronger. I heard the murmur of male voices, one rising above the others.

My breath caught, forcing me to inhale deeper and stronger.

The beta halted beside a heavy oak door, his hands folding neatly in front of his robe, the black fabric rustling faintly as he stood motionless.

I trailed behind him, my footsteps tentative on the stone floor, and blinked rapidly as we stepped into the room, my eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden flood of light after the dimness of the corridor.

The air shifted, growing warmer and thick with the mingled scents of roasted meat, spiced wine, and the faint tang of polished wood—a stark contrast to the cool, earthy musk of the castle’s outer halls.

Before me sprawled a vast dining hall, its high ceiling lost in shadows, the walls adorned with faded tapestries that swayed faintly in the draft.

At the center stood a long, polished wooden table, its surface gleaming under the glow of wrought-iron chandeliers suspended above, their candles dripping wax in slow, silent tears.

The table was a feast for the senses—laden with an array of dishes and snacks: platters of glistening meats, bowls of vibrant fruits, loaves of crusty bread, and silver goblets brimming with dark liquid.

The richness of it all made my stomach twist, not with hunger but with unease, as if the abundance were a lure masking something darker.

Around the table sat several males, their presence filling the room with an almost tangible weight.

I pressed my arms tightly against my body, tucking my trembling hands beneath my elbows, desperate to hide the shivers that betrayed my nerves.

My breath caught as my gaze landed on Fenrir, seated at the head of the table. His eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that pinned me in place, his pupils dilated until the silver and blue of his irises swirled together like storm clouds bleeding into a twilight sky.

He was worried, I knew that, not because I was feeling what he felt, but by the way his eye colors merged. His jaw tightened, a muscle flickering beneath the skin, and for a moment, I wondered what he saw when he looked at me.

Beside him sat a male with tousled brown hair, a light beard dusting his strong jaw, and pale eyes that glinted like frost in the candlelight. He was handsome, his frame broad and solid, exuding a quiet strength that drew the eye. His lips twitched, hinting at a smile, and I couldn’t tell if it was kindness or calculation behind it.

Across from him loomed an alpha with long brown hair cascading over his shoulders, the strands catching the light in a cascade of chestnut hues. He was massive, his muscular build straining against the fabric of his tunic, and his green eyes sparkled with a subtle glint of irony, as if he found my presence—or perhaps the entire situation—amusing.

Next to him sat a slimmer male, his blonde hair cropped close to his scalp, pale eyes sharp and assessing. Of all the figures at the table, he was the only one whose look carried a clear edge of condescension, his lips pursing faintly as he tilted his head, sizing me up with a disdain that made my skin prickle.

Yet, despite the commanding presence of these males—their scents, their stares, the sheer force of their collective attention—it wasn’t they who seized my focus and held it captive.

My eyes slid to the far end of the table, and a gasp tore from my throat, my breath freezing in my lungs as if the air itself had turned to ice.

Three figures sat there, their stillness unnerving, their forms draped in black robes identical to the beta’s. Their skin was pale as freshly fallen snow, stretched taut over bones and wrinkled with age or something more unnatural.

One had no eyes, just smooth, empty hollows where sockets should have been; another lacked a mouth, his face a blank expanse below a sharp nose; the third had no ears, the sides of his head eerily flat.

They were identical in their pallor and frailty, distinguished only by these grotesque anomalies, and the sight of them sent a shudder racing down my spine.

Heavens, this was too much. Far too much for someone who’d come here seeking nothing more than safety, a refuge from the chaos that had chased me across borders. The price of this sanctuary felt suddenly, suffocatingly high—a toll paid in the currency of dread and the unknown.

"Oh, here she is," said one of the elders, the one with no eyes, rising from his seat and extending his hand to me. "Finally, we have the pleasure of meeting our son Fenrir's companion. It is an honor, my dear." His voice was melodious.

A trembling smile appeared on my lips.

"Thank you," I murmured, half out of breath from the heavy air.

The last time I felt as nervous as I did at that moment was on the day of my wedding, just before the disaster happened.

I blinked, pushing the memories away.

"Please, sit. Take your place next to Fenrir," instructed the other one, the one with no ears.

Giving them a small nod, I walked deliberately to the empty chair next to the alpha of the Dăneşti pack.

I pulled the chair and sat, all under the scrutiny of their gazes.

I placed my hands in my lap and straightened my posture, sitting up as I waited.

"Would you like some wine?" asked the elder without eyes. I nodded, forgetting his lack of sight. A heat rose up my neck, concentrating on my face. I opened my mouth to respond, but he was quicker. "Please, Salazar, serve our honored guest," he added, turning to the beta.

I looked at him, unable to control myself. How could he see, when he had no eyes?

As soon as my glass was full, I took it with my trembling hand and brought it to my lips, sipping the red wine eagerly. The alcohol had a limit, before it became shameful; it gave a dose of courage, and that’s what I needed.

"Mm... you smell like... Fenrir," commented the alpha sitting next to Fenrir, flaring his nostrils.

"Yes, I feel that too," agreed the alpha with blonde hair on the other side. "Although the scent is weaker than I imagined. It’s hard to even identify your species, because his scent predominates over yours."

The heat of embarrassment burned my face, knowing they were smelling me so blatantly.

"Then, Savannah, tell us how your beast reacted to the mating?" asked the elder with no ears, changing the subject. And I almost thanked him for it.