Chapter 169: Fractured Control
Thorne
The scent of burnt herbs lingered faintly in the corridor — sharp, metallic, unsettling. It was one of those smells that got under my skin and made my wolf uneasy, the kind that whispered something’s wrong. And for once, I agreed with him. There was nothing right about that woman Josie had taken in. Carolyn. Even her name sat bitter on my tongue.
I’d been pacing my office, trying to shake off the gnawing disquiet, but the feeling only grew heavier, pressing on my chest until I couldn’t take it anymore. My wolf rumbled a low warning — don’t do this, Thorne. But I ignored him. I needed answers, and if no one else was going to dig them out, I damn well would.
I made my way to the kitchen, boots thudding against the polished floor, each step echoing the irritation clawing through me. The head maid jumped when she saw me, fumbling the tray she’d been carrying.
"Alpha Thorne!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide.
"Where’s the new maid?" I asked sharply.
"The rogue? She—uh—she’s cleaning the storeroom, Alpha. Said she wanted to be useful."
I gave a curt nod and turned on my heel, my jaw tight. The storeroom was at the far end of the hall, tucked behind the servants’ quarters — a quiet place where no one ever went unless they had to. As I approached, I heard the faint scrape of something being dragged across the floor.
I opened the door without knocking.
Carolyn was there, her back turned to me, a long, dark scarf hanging loosely around her shoulders. Her movements were slow, deliberate — too deliberate. Something about her posture prickled at the back of my mind. Her head tilted ever so slightly, as if she already knew I was there.
When she turned, she did it quickly, snatching the scarf over her head so that her face was hidden once more.
"You startled me," she said, her voice trembling faintly, though I couldn’t tell if it was fear or something else.
"You shouldn’t be startled by your Alpha," I replied coldly. "I wanted to ask you a few questions."
Her fingers twisted the edge of the scarf. "I’ve already answered your questions, Alpha. I told you everything I know."
Her tone wasn’t defiant, but it wasn’t submissive either. It was calm — too calm. The kind of calm that came from someone used to lying. My wolf growled low inside me, unsettled.
I took a step closer. "You expect me to believe that nonsense about a curse from the Moon Goddess?"
She hesitated. "It’s not nonsense. Anyone who sees my face will die. I’ve lived with this curse since my mate rejected me. The Goddess punished me for it."
Her words dripped with tragedy, but something in the way she said them... it was rehearsed. Like she’d told this story too many times before. I’d heard pity tales before — rogues desperate for shelter, spinning sob stories to squeeze sympathy out of soft-hearted wolves. But this? This felt different.
"I don’t believe in coincidences," I said, stepping closer still. "A rogue just happens to wander into my pack the same week our borders are under threat? No. You’re hiding something, Carolyn."
She backed away until her spine hit the shelf behind her. "Please, Alpha—don’t. I don’t want you to die."
"Then tell me the truth," I growled, reaching for the edge of her scarf.
She tried to dodge, her hands flying up to stop me, but I was faster. I caught her wrist, and for a moment our eyes met through the fabric. I couldn’t see her face, but her gaze — what little of it I caught — sent a jolt through me. Something about it felt... familiar.
My heart thudded once, hard. My wolf snarled, restless.
"Who are you really?" I demanded.
She struggled, her voice rising. "Let me go! You’ll die if you see me, Alpha! Please!"
I ignored her pleas, tightening my grip on the scarf. Every instinct screamed at me to pull it off, to see. And yet, somewhere deep down, another instinct — the one that had always saved my life — whispered, Don’t.
Before I could decide which voice to obey, my Beta’s voice cut sharply into my mind.
Alpha, urgent matter at the border. You need to come. Now.
I released Carolyn instantly, stepping back with a curse. She gasped, clutching her scarf to her face like a lifeline.
"This isn’t over," I told her, my voice low and dangerous. "We’ll finish this later."
She said nothing. Just stood there, trembling faintly, as I turned and left.
But even as I stalked down the hall, I couldn’t shake the sound of her voice. That soft, trembling tone... gods, it was the same. The same as Michelle’s.
It was impossible. Michelle was gone. Dead. I’d seen the blood, the lifeless eyes. And yet the similarity gnawed at me, festering like a wound I couldn’t close.
By the time I reached the training field, my temper was already on a short leash. And the sight that greeted me didn’t help.
Josie looked like she’d rolled through a damn haystack — hair wild, cheeks flushed, dirt smudged across her arms. Varen stood beside her, half-covered in dust, while Kiel looked like he’d wrestled a storm and lost.
I blinked, scanning the area. The ground was uneven, patches of grass torn out by the roots, and a faint shimmer of residual power clung to the air like static.
"What the hell happened here?" I demanded.
Kiel tried to grin, but it came out weak. "Uh... you could say Josie’s training session got a little out of hand."
I shot him a look that made the grin vanish.
Varen smirked faintly, brushing dirt from his shoulder. "She was doing well until the wind decided to join the party."
"Wind?" I echoed sharply.
My Beta stepped forward, looking uneasy. "Alpha, there was... a surge. From the Luna. It uprooted half the grass in the area. We thought it might cause erosion if it continued. We managed to stop it before it spread, but—"
"But it could’ve killed half the damn pack," I cut in, my voice rising. "Do you have any idea what you’re playing with?"
Josie stiffened, turning toward me. Her blue eyes glistened with hurt, but I didn’t care. Not right now.
"I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone," she said quietly. "I just wanted to control it."
"Control it?" I snapped. "You call this control? Look around you, Josie. You nearly ripped the ground apart."
Her lips trembled, but she lifted her chin stubbornly. "I’m trying, Thorne. You don’t understand how hard it is—"
"I don’t want to understand," I interrupted. "What I understand is that your powers are unstable and dangerous. And one day, they’ll get someone killed."
"Thorne—"
"Don’t," I warned, stepping closer. "Don’t try to defend yourself. I told you to be careful, to take things slow, but you don’t listen. You never do."
Her voice broke when she spoke again. "You think I want this? You think I enjoy losing control?"
I should’ve stopped. I should’ve taken a breath. But anger was already coiling tight in my chest, choking reason out of me.
"All I know," I said, my tone sharp enough to cut, "is that ever since you came into our lives, chaos has followed. If it’s not enemies at our borders, it’s you nearly blowing up the training field. I’m done pretending everything’s fine just because you’re our mate."
Kiel’s expression darkened. "She’s not at fault, Thorne. You know that."
I turned on him. "I don’t care. I don’t care whose fault it is. Her powers are a threat, and I’m not letting anyone get killed because of her."
Varen crossed his arms, his voice low but firm. "That’s enough."
"No, it’s not," I growled, glaring at them both. "You two want to keep defending her? Fine. Then you deal with the consequences when her powers spiral again."
Josie’s eyes filled with tears she tried to blink away. I didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. If I did, I’d start to feel that guilt clawing up again — and I couldn’t afford that right now. Not when everything inside me felt like it was coming apart.
"Fix it," I said harshly, my voice cold. "Since you’re all so eager to play protector, fix this before she kills us all."
Then I turned and walked away before the guilt could catch up with me.
But as I left them standing there — Josie’s soft sob echoing faintly behind me, my wolf growling in protest — I couldn’t ignore the truth gnawing at the back of my mind.
I wasn’t angry because she’d lost control.
I was angry because I had.
And beneath the fury and fear, buried deep where no one could see, there was something far more dangerous than either.
Regret.