Page 116 of Alpha's Rejected Warrior
We’re hunting.
I peer around the pillar’s edge, scanning the salt hexagon and its pulsing crystals. Holden’s gaze snaps to me instantly. He moves forward.
Branson.
On it.
Branson charges at him, every step rattling the stones of the temple. Holden whips around, power gathering between his hands.
A blast of green energy hurls toward Branson, and he throws himself sideways. Akila uses the distraction to close in on Holden’s left flank, and I watch his eyes flit between threats.
Keep him distracted so Ethan can observe the ritual,Rhiannon instructs.
The pack adjusts, adapts. Moves as one organism with a human riding shotgun.
Xander steps into Holden’s direct line of sight, and the air itself seems to thicken. He’s not attacking, but domineering. Every inch of him radiates Alpha sovereignty: his stance wide, chin lifted, eyes locked onto Holden with absolute certitude.
“You want a war with my pack?” Xander’s voice carries through the temple like thunder. “Then face me. Not my guards.Me.”
Holden’s attention snaps to him, instinct overpowering his will. Some part of him — maybe the part that spent his whole life under his father’s shadow — responds to the command of his superiors whether he wants to or not.
Holden doesn’t retreat toward the entrance. He holds his ground by the hexagon.
Perfect.
I have my window.
My eyes sweep across the salt formation, tracking the pattern of pulsing magic. The hexagon stretches maybe twenty feet across, each edge formed by a neat line of crystalline salt that catches the green light and holds it like a fiber optic cable. What must be sixty-something candles outline the perimeter, their flames burning with that same unnatural emerald color — they’re not flickering like normal fire, but throbbing in perfect synchronization.
There’s a circuit that connects everything. I can see it now — the way the lines aren’t just boundaries, but conductors. There are channels carved into the stone floor that are filled with the salt. Energy flows through them like blood through veins.
Six crystals. Six points. But the light doesn’t flow evenly between them.
I watch the next pulse travel through the circuit, and there it is — the asymmetry I almost missed. The surge doesn’t hit all six points simultaneously. It passes through a particular one first, which acts as a multi-faceted prism at the northern point, catching each wave of energy and refracting it outward to the others. The thing is maybe the size of my fist, cut with more angles than I can count, and it splits the incoming power like a lens splits white light into a rainbow.
It’s the cornerstone.
The next pulse builds. I count the rhythm in my chest.
Rhiannon.I push the image through our bond: the prism, its position, the timing.Northern crystal. Break it on the next surge. Three seconds.
Copy.
As Xander, Akila, and Branson keep Holden’s attention, Rhiannon moves like liquid shadow, stalking the prism like prey.
Now!
She leaps forward with explosive speed. Her blade arcs through the air and crashes down onto the prism in a clean, killing stroke.
The air shivers.
A translucent sheen ripples across the crystal’s surface, iridescent like oil on water. The temple groans with a deep vibration that resonates through the stone beneath my feet into my very bones.
Then there’s a backdraft followed by a detonation.
Rhiannon staggers back, her arm jarring, blade ringing. The forceful wave expands outward in a visible ripple, bending the candlelight as it passes before washing over the pillars and me.
In my head, the pack-bond fuzzes like static.
