The Alpha's Fated Outcast Rise Of The Moonsinger novel Chapter 297

Lyla

I sat in my small office in the underground prison, a history book open on my lap. The baby Feral—I'd named him Shadow—curled up against me, his strange blue-gray fur warm against my skin. Most of the Ferals had responded to my singing, regaining some of their sanity, but they still showed violent traits whenever someone other than me approached or when someone approached me.

One very funny trait I've noticed about them is how they become overprotective towards me as soon as they are restored to normal. They growl whenever someone is close to me and go berserk if they think the person is trying to attack me.

By attacking me, it could just be simple actions like hugging, shaking hands or any other thing. That was when I realized that changing them back to normal would mean filling them up with things they ought to learn. They were like empty storage disks ready to be filled.

So, I took it upon myself to train them daily for three hours in the morning and three hours in the evening. As expected, they were fast learners and mainly learned by copying and adapting. They were brilliant creatures.

"There must be another way," I muttered, flipping through the ancient text.

I was searching for alternatives to defeating the Dark One that didn't involve me "stepping into the fire," as my father instructed in his last letter to me. So far, I've found nothing promising.

"What are you reading?"

I jumped, nearly sending Shadow tumbling from my lap. I hadn't heard Ramsey approach, which was unusual—my senses were typically sharp.

"Goddess! You scared me!" I slapped his arm playfully. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Ramsey grabbed both my hands, pinning them above my head as he leaned down to kiss me deeply. His scent—pine and mountain air—enveloped me, making my heart race.

Shadow whined loudly, pawing at Ramsey's chest, clearly jealous of the attention I was giving someone else.

We broke apart, laughing. "Your new pet doesn't like to share," Ramsey observed, stroking Shadow's head cautiously.

"He's protective," I agreed, surprised that Shadow allowed Ramsey's touch. Usually, he snapped at anyone who came near me. "What brings you down to my dungeon?"

"Just checking how you're doing," Ramsey said, taking a seat beside me. "You've been down here for hours."

I closed the book quickly, sliding it under some papers. "I'm starving, actually. Haven't eaten since breakfast."

Ramsey glanced at the hidden book but didn't comment. "Let's go out, then. There's a new place in the Pack square."

I carefully placed Shadow back in his special enclosure—more comfortable than the others, with blankets and toys. "Be good," I told him. "I'll be back later."

We made our way through the prison level, past cages holding the other Ferals. They watched us with intelligent eyes—not fully werewolves, but no longer mindless beasts either. My singing had brought them back from the edge, but they still needed the full ritual to complete their transformation.

"It's amazing what you've accomplished," Ramsey said as we climbed the stairs to the main level. "No one's ever rehabilitated Ferals before. I read in some history books that other Moonsingers before you could only weaken them with their voices to kill them but not to change them into normal werewolves."

"They're not fully healed yet," I reminded him. "The full moon ritual is their best chance."

Outside, the evening air felt wonderful after hours in the underground cells. We walked hand in hand to the pack square, where strings of lights illuminated outdoor tables.

"Let's eat here," I suggested, pointing to a small restaurant with delicious smells wafting from its doors.

Once seated, I ordered the largest steak they offered, along with potatoes and vegetables. When the food arrived, I dug in immediately, hoping to delay Ramsey's inevitable questions. I could tell something was on his mind.

"Hungry, I see," he commented, smiling as I devoured my meal.

I nodded, mouth too full to speak. Ramsey ate more slowly, his eyes occasionally scanning our surroundings—the habit of an Alpha always on alert.

When we'd finished eating, he finally asked, "What were you reading about so intently earlier?"

I hesitated, then lied. "Just research for the ritual. Ancient texts on the process of the ritual and just so you know, there's absolutely no research on how to heal a Feral, so I would be using all my sense practically to heal them"

Ramsey nodded, accepting my answer without further questions, which was strange. Usually, he'd probe deeper, especially when I was being evasive.

That's when I noticed the tension in his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes. Something was wrong.

I reached for his hand across the table. "What's the problem? You're wound tighter than a spring."

Ramsey sighed heavily. "Scouts spotted Nathan and his armies. They're heading toward White Mountain."

My blood ran cold. "When?"

"They should be here in three days. He's moving slower than expected, stopping at packs along the way to collect more soldiers." Ramsey's eyes met mine. "But knowing Nathan, the attack could come anytime. He's never been predictable."