Chapter 104

[ 1,101 words ]

The ritual required the direct, uncorrupted bloodline of Nelma Abernathy—the Primordial Witch whose coven had forged the original pact three millennia ago.

But somewhere during the dark centuries following the Great Purge, Nelma’s surviving descendants had shed their ancestral name, abandoning their grand covens and scattering across the globe under assumed human identities. Gerald’s intelligence networks had hit a absolute dead end.

Gerald lowered his eyes, staring down at his polished leather shoes. He had spent years searching dusty monastic archives. He had followed obscure genealogical fragments across three continents. He had paid dark witches astronomical sums to translate manuscripts that had been sealed in lead containers for centuries.

He had even approached high coven matrons who claimed to possess knowledge of Nelma’s line, only to execute them when their information proved to be fraudulent. Every single trail had eventually gone cold. And now Alexander had confirmed why… the bloodline had deliberately erased its own footprint.

Gerald’s entire motive for raising the turning of Iris Carter tonight had been a carefully calculated gambit: he had hoped that if Alexander agreed to transform his mate, the Lycan king would deploy his vast, unmatched global intelligence network to locate Nelma’s hidden descendants—unknowingly handing Gerald the final key he needed for his own ascension.

“Without a witch of Nelma’s true bloodline to weave the binding spell,” Alexander explained coldly, “injecting Lycan blood into a mortal frame will not turn her into a wolf. It will simply burn her human heart to ash from the inside out. Therefore, turning her is entirely out of the question.”

Gage Vance stroked his silvered chin thoughtfully, his sharp eyes reflecting the dim lighting of the chamber. “Lord Alexander… if the ultimate preservation of your mate requires such an anchor, then perhaps the High Council should consolidate our international intelligence networks. If Nelma’s bloodline still walks the earth, a unified effort across all regional territories could unearth her descendants.”

Alexander’s gaze flicked to Gage, his expression entirely unreadable. “I will take it under advisement.”

Before the discussion could pivot, a woman seated at the far left end of the High Council table cleared her throat. Ophelia Carson was an imposing figure with a sleek, short black bob streaked with striking shock-white hair. Though she possessed immense corporate influence in the Northwest shipping sector, she did not belong to Alexander’s direct bloodline.

“Lord Alexander,” Ophelia began, her voice carrying a sharp, aristocratic precision. “I understand the necessity of gathering your regional leaders tonight to formally announce the arrival of your mate. However… I must raise an obvious omission. Where are your brothers?”

A fresh wave of restless whispering swept through the chamber.

“What of them?” Alexander asked, his tone remaining flat and indifferent.

“For an event of this magnitude—a moment that fundamentally redefines the political landscape of our world—it is imperative that Lord Lucien and Lord Damien be present,” Ophelia asserted, resting her manicured hands over her leather folio.

“The High Council does not represent your bloodline alone. Councilor Albert and I answer to Lucien’s line. Viola and James belong to Damien’s. By morning, every shadow coven and pack network on this continent will carry the news that the Ultimate Alpha has marked a human mate. I find it deeply concerning that your own brothers have not been brought into this fold.”

Before Alexander could respond, Derrick Williams stepped forward from the shadows near the base of the dais. The tech billionaire adjusted his dark suit jacket, speaking with the smooth, immovable authority of an Alpha’s Gamma.

“Every attempt was made to contact Lord Lucien and Lord Damien prior to this assembly,” Derrick informed the council calmly. “However, as representatives of their respective bloodlines, you should be well aware that neither of your progenitors is currently residing within the borders of the United States. Lord Lucien is occupied in Eastern Europe, and Lord Damien is conducting private affairs in the southern territories. The moment they cross back into our airspace, they will be thoroughly briefed on all developments.”

Alexander stood up smoothly from his dark leather seat, placing his left hand into his trousers pocket. The simple, fluid action immediately silenced the entire Conclave, drawing every eye back to his towering, lethal frame.

“The purpose for which I convened this meeting has been fulfilled,” Alexander announced, his low voice echoing with absolute finality off the damp stone architecture. “The High Council will proceed with setting the formal date for the ancient Acceptance Rituals. I leave the administrative details in your hands.”

As one, every member of the council and every regional Alpha rose to their feet, bowing their heads in deep, synchronized reverence.

Ophelia inclined her head respectfully toward the dais. “It shall be carried out to your exact specifications, Lord Alexander.”

Without another word, Alexander turned on his heel and strode toward the heavy double doors. Oliver and Derrick fell into flawless, silent formation behind him as the elevator doors hissed open, leaving the Conclave to rumble with the quiet, dangerous storm he had left in his wake.

For several seconds after the doors sealed shut, no one spoke. The air remained heavy, everyone still trying to digest the monumental revelations of the evening.

Then, in the middle tier, Gerald Montgomery slowly leaned back in his leather chair.

His long fingers tapped once against the armrest. Then again, in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. His dark eyes remained fixed on the double doors through which the monarch had just departed. A faint, razor-thin smile eventually appeared at the corner of his lips.

Alexander had refused to change Iris Carter. He had refused to let anyone interfere with his mortal mate. But he had agreed to consider searching for Nelma’s descendants.

And that was more than enough.

Gerald’s eyes darkened with a cold, predatory light. Somewhere out there in the human world, the bloodline of the most powerful witch who had ever walked beside the original Lycans was still alive—hidden behind assumed names and ordinary lives.

And if Gerald could track them down first—if he could secure even a single drop of Nelma’s true bloodline before Alexander’s network closed in—he would finally obtain the one thing he had spent centuries searching for.

Not mere authority granted by an Alpha mark, but the primordial power of the progenitors themselves. And with it, the means to become something the world believed could never exist again.

A Lycan born from an Alpha line.

Gerald’s smile widened into a silent, sinister curve. For the first time in three hundred years, the impossible no longer seemed quite so impossible.

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