267 The Broadcast
Lucian
Breakfast was unusually quiet the next morning. Everyone looked worn down-eyes heavy, movements sluggish-but Mara and I felt rested. A small blessing in the chaos.
“Have you sorted out the bunkers?” Mara asked, turning to Tiffany.
She nodded. “Children and women are being directed there in case of an attack. The nursery in the mansion’s underground wing is ready too.”
glanced at her, genuinely impressed. That was the Luna’s role, but as Beta’s mate, Mara had delegated the task to Tiffany-and she had delivered. Efficient. Steady. Reliable. I just hoped she and Darian would finally work things out. I knew he’d hurt her-badly. And I wouldn’t blame her for staying mad. He’d been an arsehole. But they needed to move forward, one way or another.
“Master Lucian,” Austin’s voice broke into my thoughts through the link, “turn on the lounge television. There’s a broadcast you need to see.”
I stood up immediately and crossed the room to switch on the screen.
The second it came to life, Martha gagged and rushed out of her seat, vomiting into a nearby waste bin.
I didn’t need to ask. We all saw his face.
Alaric.
Mara was at Martha’s side in an instant, rubbing her back, whispering calming words. The rest of us sat frozen. The damage that man had done to her… it was beyond physical. He had scarred her soul.
I hoped Mara’s father could help her. She needed more than time. She needed healing.
The broadcast played on.
It wasn’t live. That much was clear. The lighting, the cuts-this was pre-recorded. Polished. Controlled.
“…Four days from now. On the battleground,” Alaric’s voice declared, calm and cold. “If you do not show up… I win.”
The footage ended. We had missed a chunk of the broadcast. It must have been on for a while, and we
only caught the last part.
We sat in stunned silence until the station looped the broadcast again.
“Vander Nighthorn,” Alaric’s voice rang from the screen, calm but seething beneath the surface. “You stole my wife and daughter simply because you could. I had nothing… and still, you took the only things that
were mine.”
His eyes stared into the camera, dark and empty.
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“Martha, I hope you’re proud of what you did. For twenty-three years, I slept alone. Worked myself to the bone-alone. All because of your betrayal.”
He paused. Just enough to make it seem like he was choking on emotion, but we knew better. It was all
performance.
“I was an Alpha with no name. No territory. No wealth. But I loved you. I still do.”
Martha trembled, and Mara tightened her grip around her.
“If Vander is holding you against your will, know this: you’re free to return to me after the fight.”
My fists clenched.
He looked straight into the lens now, voice dropping an octave.
“Vander locked my daughter away because she wanted to come home. Because she chose me. That is who the Nighthorns really are. An overprivileged bloodline, feeding off the people of this island like parasites-holding power through fear and manipulation.”
My father’s growl vibrated in his chest like thunder. Darian’s hand was on his shoulder, trying to calm him.
Alaric kept going.
“Look at Rockville. Look at what your Alpha did when they dared to revolt. Women. Children. Slaughtered.
And he-he didn’t care.”
He leaned forward, eyes blazing with false conviction.
“I can no longer stand by and watch the Nighthorns oppress us. This is our island. Our future. And I refuse to let the privileged few keep choking the rest of us. The liberation movement is just the beginning.”
A pause. A cold breath.
“To those who stand with me-I thank you. Your sacrifices will not be in vain.”
The screen froze on his face. Stern. Self-righteous. Manipulative to the very end.
I could barely breathe through the rage boiling in my chest. Every lie. Every twist of the truth. He had the
gall to make himself the victim.
“I swear,” I muttered, jaw tight, “I’m going to kill that bastard.”
Not quickly. Not cleanly.
He didn’t deserve quick or clean.
I looked over at Martha. Her face was pale. Haunted. Mara held her as if keeping her from breaking into pieces.
Darian still had a firm grip on our father, who was shaking with fury.
Alaric had hurt all of us.
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The first
But this was the last time he’d ever get to speak without consequence.
1 accept the challenge,” Alaric said, voice calm and rehearsed, like a man reciting lines from a script he’d written a hundred times in his head.
“I will fight for my people’s freedom and equality. I agree-it’s time to end the bloodshed once and for all.”
I leaned in slightly, watching every twitch of his smug face.
“You took everything from me, Alpha Vander. My wife. My daughter. My name. I’ll fight the Nighthorns-for them, and for the people who have suffered under your rule.”
He straightened, eyes fixed coldly on the camera.
“The Nighthorns may choose their champion. I choose Neev as our battleground. Four days from now. If you do not show… I win.”
The broadcast cut out.
The station repeated it again, but I didn’t need to hear it twice. I reached for the remote and hit mute.
“That bastard,” my father growled, voice thick with fury. “He deliberately chose Neev. That’s where it all began. That land is stained with history-our history.”
He pushed away from the table, pacing like a caged wolf.
“There’s no way we’re missing it,” he snapped. “T’ll be there if I have to crawl.”
I was silent for a moment, heart steady, eyes still on the muted screen.
Honestly? I was relieved he’d accepted. This was the best-case scenario. One clean fight to end it all-no drawn-out bloodshed, no chasing shadows.
Still, Alaric wasn’t just accepting. He was campaigning. He knew exactly what he was doing-framing himself as a man of the people, playing the oppressed victim while painting us as tyrants. His voice, his tone, even the way he looked into the camera-it was all calculated. Smooth. Manipulative.
And I hated him for it.
“So…” Darian broke the silence. “Who’s going to fight him in Neev?
I looked at him, then smiled faintly. “I will.”
He nodded, but before anyone could speak again-
“No.” My father’s voice cut through the room like a blade.
He stepped forward, eyes burning with restrained rage.
“No, Lucian. Alaric is my problem. He killed my wife. He tried to kill Martha. He hunted our family and stole from us because of his own twisted greed. He’s a sociopath. A liar. A murderer.”
He paused, chest heaving.
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267 The Broadcast
“I’ve hunted that bastard for years. And now that he’s finally shown his face, you think I’ll stand back and let someone else end him? No. I’ll fight him. And when I’m done-he won’t just die. He’ll suffer.”
His voice dropped to a low growl.
“I want to feel it when I break him.”
The room fell silent.
We all knew better than to argue with him when he was like this. He was dead set. Nothing we said would change his mind. This wasn’t just duty or strategy for him-this was personal. It always had been.
Four days.
And then it would be over.
One way or another.
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