The Alpha's Unwanted Bride novel Chapter 410

Chapter 410: THE AMBUSH

The moon was a thin sliver in the ink-black sky, offering little light as Xaden sat by the fire, sharpening his blade with slow, deliberate strokes.

He had his men had decided that it was time for them to make camp after traveling non stop for hours.

He cleaned his sword absent mindedly as he thought of Jasmine and their unborn baby.

He had hated to see how she looked at him when it was time for him to leave.

Like she felt something was wrong.

He shook his head off it.

He wanted to talk to Erik about it and then relieved Erik was not with him but rather back home in the pack.

So Xaden sighed and sat back down.

His men who had accompanied him sat in a loose circle around the fire, they were laughing together and discussing their days and times they had had together.

Then they felt a chill and they went quiet.

The night was too quiet. No distant howls, no rustling of small creatures in the underbrush. It was unnatural.

Owen who was always making jokes about everyone became quiet.

Something was coming.

Xaden felt it in his bones.

He lifted his gaze to the forest beyond their camp, watching as the wind stirred the trees. The rival pack had been a thorn in his side for too long, striking from the shadows, stealing, killing.

But this time, it would end. He had ridden out to break them, to crush them so they would never threaten his pack again.

And yet, something about tonight felt wrong.

"Alpha Xaden."

Caleb’s low voice broke the silence. He was one of Xaden’s most trusted warriors, a seasoned fighter with more scars than men twice his age.

He crouched beside Xaden, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness.

"We should double the watch," he murmured. "The air is thick with something... off."

Xaden nodded. "Do it."

Caleb rose and moved off to wake the other guards. Xaden continued sharpening his sword, but his grip had tightened. He trusted his instincts, and right now, they screamed at him.

Then it hit. freēwēbnovel.com

A faint scent on the wind.

Blood.

Not fresh—old, but strong.

Xaden froze. His pulse thundered in his ears as he stood, gripping his weapon. A moment later, the first arrow sliced through the night.

It struck one of his men in the throat.

The warrior jerked, his mouth opening in shock as he clutched at the shaft protruding from his neck. A strangled sound escaped his lips before he collapsed, unmoving.

Silence.

Then chaos.

Another arrow. Then another. The air was alive with the sharp whistle of death.

Xaden’s men scrambled to their feet, shouting warnings, drawing weapons. The forest erupted as figures burst from the shadows—warriors from the rival pack, their faces painted with ash and blood.

Xaden moved like lightning. He dodged an incoming strike and slashed his blade across the attacker’s chest. Blood sprayed as the man crumpled, but another was already lunging at him.

Clang.

Xaden blocked the strike, twisting to drive his dagger into the enemy’s ribs. A wet gasp. The man sagged. Xaden shoved him away and turned, searching for his warriors.

They were falling.

One by one, cut down by overwhelming numbers. The night rang with the clash of steel, the screams of dying men.

Caleb fought like a demon, his axe carving through enemies with brutal efficiency. Another warrior, barely twenty, was skewered from behind.

Xaden’s heart pounded as he saw them dying around him. His men. His pack.

Then, pain.

A sharp agony lanced through his side. He staggered, glancing down to see the deep gash left by a curved blade.

A second blow—a club to the back of his head.

His vision exploded in white-hot pain. He hit the ground hard, his breath leaving him in a rush. The world blurred, tilting as darkness crept at the edges of his sight.

Around him, the battle raged.

His warriors—were gone.

Dead.

The rival pack closed in, searching for survivors.

Xaden forced himself to move. His fingers dug into the dirt as he dragged himself toward the tree line. His limbs felt heavy, his body sluggish from blood loss, but he clenched his jaw and pushed forward.

A voice—deep, triumphant—cut through the night.

"Find him."

Xaden gritted his teeth. He would not die tonight.

Not here.

Not like this.

He staggered into the trees, biting back a groan as pain lanced through his ribs. He had to keep going. If they found him, he was dead.

The forest was his only salvation.

Branches whipped against his skin as he stumbled forward, his breath ragged. The enemy’s voices faded, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.