Betrayed by Blood, Claimed by the Alpha-Chapter 106

Betrayed by Blood

Chapter 107

Gerald’s boots thudded against the tarred road as he walked, his daughter trailing behind him. Each step filled with resentment and anger.

"Ungrateful bastard," he thought, gritting his teeth. "Everything I did for him, and this is how he repays me?" His eyes narrowed as he glanced at his daughter, who had remained silent for the better part of the journey.

"I hope she ruins him," he muttered under his breath, the bitterness bubbling up once more. "I hope that little wench makes him weak and useless." ƒreewebɳovel.com

How could Cain do this to him? He literally brought him up, sacrificed his life for him, and he threw him out of Vehiron without hesitation. That too because of some servant.

"The servant is his mate, Father," Nora cut in, exhaustion clinging to her bones.

Gerald snapped his eyes at his daughter, a nasty bitter scowl on his face. "A mate he should’ve rejected! The girl has no wolf. What use is she to him anyway?"

Nora only shook her head, "His mate is his mate, father. And the mate bond goes as far as—"

"Oh, spare me the bullshit. I don’t need you lecturing me over some goddamn mate bond. I was once mated, so you know," he spat out angrily.

Nora sighed, knowing she couldn’t get a word through to her father. He was as adamant as he was stubborn.

The two walked for a bit more with Gerald cursing with each step they took. "Fucking bastard, throwing me out of the very same pack I slaved over. Vehiron would be nothing without me. I oversaw it while his useless father did nothing but terrorize the region. I brought that pack to what it is, and he dared to treat me this way? How dare him."

Nora let out a quiet sigh, adjusting the cloak draped over her shoulders. "Father, this anger won’t change anything. Let’s just—"

The low hum of an approaching car cut her off.

Gerald stopped in his tracks, his brows furrowing as a sleek black vehicle rolled onto the road ahead of them and then slowly stopped right in front of them.

Nora tensed up beside him.

The doors didn’t open immediately. The vehicle sat there, its tinted windows concealing whoever was inside.

Gerald’s hand twitched toward the dagger strapped at his waist. "Stay behind me," he murmured to his daughter.

Finally, the back door eased open, and a man stepped out.

He was dressed impeccably, in a black suit, polished shoes, not a wrinkle out of place. He looked as if he had just stepped out of a palace, which, judging by the insignia pinned to his suit, he likely had.

One of the King’s men.

Gerald stiffened.

The man offered a polite, almost amused smile before producing a crisp, folded letter from his pocket. He extended it toward Gerald.

"The King," he said smoothly, "wishes to have tea with you."

Gerald didn’t move, his gaze flickering to the letter in the man’s hands. He didn’t take the letter.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I don’t take orders from the King."

The man arched a brow, then chuckled. He glanced briefly at the letter before slipping it back into his coat. "Ah," he mused, "I think there’s been a misunderstanding."

He snapped his fingers.

The other doors of the vehicle swung open.

Two more men stepped out—bigger, heavier. Nora’s breath hitched, and she grabbed her father’s sleeve. "Father—"

Gerald turned to tell her to run, but it was too late. The moment he moved, the men seized him, their grip like iron, clamped around his arms.

He thrashed. "Let me go, you bastards—"

The suited man merely stepped back, watching, tucking the invitation back into his pocket.

The last thing Gerald saw before he was shoved into the car was his daughter standing frozen.

Gerald stumbled slightly as the car door was yanked open, the grip on his arm firm. The moment he was dragged out, the blindfold was ripped from his face, forcing him to squint against the sudden brightness of the palace’s grand entrance.

The same man who had so smoothly delivered the King’s "invitation" was there, standing in front of him. Without a word, he reached forward and adjusted the lapels of Gerald’s coat, smoothing out the wrinkles as if he were presenting an honored guest rather than a forcibly escorted prisoner.

"Straight ahead," the man said lightly, stepping back. "King Alaric awaits you."

Gerald glared at him before turning his eyes toward the wide staircase leading up to the palace doors.

The sight of them sent a bitter taste down his throat.

These steps.

He had walked up these very steps years ago—back when his presence in the palace was by duty, not force.

He had never had a cordial relationship with King Alaric. Never wanted one. The man was a mirror image of Cain’s father, Edward—cold, ruthless, and dripping with self-righteous arrogance.

Gerald had tolerated him only because the crown demanded it. Because back then, respect wasn’t a choice; it was an obligation.

Now, though?

Gerald clenched his fists.

There was no obligation anymore. No pack, no rank, no ties binding him to this place.

He exhaled sharply, then took his first step up the stairs. The palace doors ahead were guarded by guards who barely spared him a glance. As soon as he reached the top, one of them pushed the doors open, allowing him in.

Warm light spilled from the chandeliers, casting an almost ethereal glow over the place. It was as excessive, exactly as he remembered. The scent of spiced wine filled the air.

And there, at the center of it all, seated with ease at a long, polished table was...

King Alaric.

He was already waiting, a glass of deep red liquid in his hand, swirling it calmly as his eyes flicked up to meet Gerald’s.

A slow smile stretched across his lips. "Gerald," the King greeted, his voice smooth and rich with amusement. "It’s been a long time."

Gerald’s jaw tightened.

Not long enough.