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He's The Ruthless Alpha My Heart Wants

He's The Ruthless Alpha My Heart Wants


Last update: 1970-01-01

Chapter 1

  • The sky was overcast. Little droplets of rain splashed against my face as I stood in the windswept forest. The rumble of thunder and the flashes of lightning in the cloudy sky resonated like a pounding drum in my ears, gearing me up before I delivered the final blow to the wooden dummy positioned 10 meters away.
  • "Now!" a voice exclaimed from my right.
  • I skillfully flipped the knife upward, observing as it rotates in the air before catching it by the edge with the tips of my fingers. Adopting a stance with my right leg positioned backwards, I forcefully flung the knife at my target.
  • "Bullseye!" my wolf, Zion exclaimed with joy as the knife struck the wooden dummy squarely in the head.
  • Soft claps emanated from my right, drawing my attention in that direction. It was my father, the strong warrior chief of the Lycan kingdom. Surprisingly, he applauded my performance during training today, and I could spot a beam of smile from his lips, just below his manly moustache, in the stormy weather
  • My father, a formidable Lycan warrior, Alpha of the Midnight Moon Pack, had endured a solitary existence in the wilderness during his early years, hunting down beasts and otherworldly creatures. This was his way of life for many years until one day fate led him to discover the Lycan kingdom, where he sought refuge.
  • In no time, the other werewolves and Lycans recognized his immense potential strength and urged him to join the ranks of the kingdom's warriors. Through relentless effort and skill, he steadily ascended the hierarchy, eventually attaining the position of chief in command.
  • "Well done, my boy; soon you'll surpass even your father," he exclaimed joyfully, drawing nearer to playfully tousle my hair.
  • "Do you really mean that, father?" I asked, brimming with joy as I heard him say those words to me.
  • "Of course, you are the son of the Lycan warrior chief," he replied, sweeping thirteen-year-old me onto his back.
  • Together, we laughed our way back home, rain pouring down upon us as I clung to his back.
  • The following morning, I bid my father farewell as I watched him lead the vibrant warriors of the Lycan kingdom on a mission beyond its borders. As dusk settled, they returned to the kingdom, only this time be around, I spotted my father being carried on the backs of his fellow warriors.
  • My heart skipped a beat, and my mouth fell open in shock as they dropped my father's lifeless body before me. Lycans and neighboring werewolves gathered around, their faces filled with disbelief as they looked upon my father's lifeless body lying on the ground, marked with deep wounds.
  • His body now cold, I tremblingly held it in my hands. Desperately, I tried to open his eyes, hoping they would remain open, but my efforts were futile. They lost their balance and shut down entirely
  • "No, no, no, no!" My wolf cried out in agony within my mind. I sniffed my father's lifeless body, but his scent was no longer as strong as before. It was vanishing into the air.
  • "The chief warrior was slain by an unworldly beast beyond the kingdom's borders, deep within the innermost forest," one of the warriors informed me.
  • "But that can't be true! He grew up outside this kingdom, in the heart of the forest, and slay every beast in his path!" My wolf's voice resonated within me as I used a trembling hand to wipe away the tear that escaped my eye.
  • "Did the rest of you manage to kill the beast?" I yelled in agony at the warrior who spoke.
  • A chilling silence enveloped the atmosphere. The warrior averted his gaze, refusing to meet my tear-filled eyes, before finally answering.
  • "No, it escaped."
  • My wolf howled within me, consumed by anguish. I sensed a wave of pity in the air from the werewolves watching, pointing in my direction from all sides. Lycans from other packs were also among the onlookers, witnessing the tragedy unfold.
  • Using my Lycan senses, I could perceive that the warriors' cloths held less of the stench of beasts compared to that of my father's. I watched them walk away, leaving my father's lifeless body in the hands of his thirteen-year-old son.
  • Now, I had become an orphan, with nothing but the courageous words and years of training bestowed upon me by my father. I never knew my mother; she had passed away during childbirth. I was now alone in this world, driven by a single purpose in my heart: "Vengeance!"