The Alpha King's Contracted Luna (Ava and Grayson) novel Chapter 134

Chapter 134 

-Grayson’s POV- 

Alaric’s words hit me like a punch to the gut, the weight of them sinking deep into my chest. The chamber seemed colder now, the glow of the carvings along the walls dimming as if the room itself was reacting to the tension in the air. 

“What are you talking about?” My voice was quieter now, though no less sharp. “What does Ava have to do with this?” 

Alaric’s ever–present smile remained, his dark eyes glinting with knowing light. “Everything.” 

That single word sent a chill down my spine, the kind that no amount of fire or fury could warm away. Whatever calm I had left dissolved in an instant. 

“What do you mean, everything?” I snapped. “If you know something, say it. Stop speaking in riddles.” 

Alaric tilted his head slightly, an infuriating gesture of patience that only stoked my frustration. Then he took a step closer, his gaze locking onto mine. “Let me show you how it all began. Come.” 

I hesitated, glancing at Rickon, who lay unconscious on the cold stone floor. The steady rise and fall of his chest reassured me that he was merely asleep. Somehow, Alaric sensed my hesitation. 

“Do not worry,” he said smoothly, gesturing to the shadows. “I will have him moved to a place of comfort and safety. Focus on what you are about to learn. It is the reason you are here.” 

The subtle command in his tone made my wolf bristle, but I nodded, following him as he moved deeper into the chamber. The carvings on the walls grew more intricate, glowing faintly in hues of gold and silver. Then we stopped in front of a wall where the carvings formed an enormous mural, etched with stunning precision. Alaric gestured to the first image. 

“This is where it begins,” he said, his voice low and reverent. 

The mural depicted a lush, sprawling forest under the light of a full moon. Wolves ran freely, their bodies blending seamlessly with the natural world around them. 

“Just as my people live now, the realm once existed in peace,” Alaric began, his tone steady and rhythmic, drawing me in. “It was a time before leaders, before titles, before ambition. Werewolves lived as one great pack, bound by the unity of the moon’s blessing. For centuries, perhaps longer, they roamed together without conflict. Every wolf had a place, and no wolf sought more than they needed.” 

I could almost see it–the harmony, the ease of a world without struggle for dominance. But I could also feel the faint undercurrent of inevitability in his words, like the calm before a storm. 

“What changed?” I asked, my voice quieter now, curiosity overpowering my irritation. 

Alaric’s lips curved into a grim smile as he gestured to the next part of the mural. Here, the wolves seemed smaller, scattered, as if something had splintered their unity. 

“It began,” he said, “with the first division. A single act that sowed the seed of distrust among the wolves.” 

The carving showed two wolves, one large and one smaller, fighting over the carcass of a deer. The larger wolf’s teeth were bared in a snarl, the smaller one’s ears flattened in submission. 

“There was a famine,” Alaric continued. “Food became scarce, and for the first time, wolves turned on one another. They fought for survival, for resources, for dominance. The harmony they had known began to crumble, and with it, the sense of unity that had bound them together. They no longer saw themselves as one pack but as individuals, each wolf fighting for their own interests.” 

I could feel the weight of his words settling over me like a heavy cloak. The mural shifted again, showing groups of wolves 

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13:13 Tue, Jan 7 o 

Chapter 134 

turning away from one another, their backs to the moon. 

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“In time, these fights grew into divisions,” Alaric said, his voice taking on a harder edge. “Wolves began to form smaller groups—what we now call packs. Each pack chose its strongest, its smartest, its most cunning to lead them. And so the first Alphas were born.” 

The next part of the mural was a stark contrast to the first. It showed wolves standing tall and proud, their heads held high, each surrounded by others who knelt in deference. But there was no unity here, only separation, as the packs turned their backs on one another. 

“Peace became a fleeting memory,” Alaric continued, his tone laced with sorrow. “Ambition grew in the hearts of these new Alphas. They sought to prove their superiority, to claim territory power, and dominance. Wars broke out, battles that left the land soaked in blood and the air thick with hatred.” 

I could see it so clearly in my mind’s eye–the chaos, the violence, the endless struggle for control. 

“And my ancestors?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Where were they in all of this?” 

Alaric’s eyes gleamed as he gestured to the next carving. It was a scene of a wolf larger than any other, its fur as dark as the night sky, standing atop a hill. Below it, other wolves bowed their heads, their forms outlined in the faint glow of moonlight. 

“Your ancestor was not like the others,” Alaric said. “He was not born into ambition, nor did he seek power for its own sake. His name was Caelan. Just Caelan with no name attached. He was a wolf of unparalleled strength, but also of great wisdom and compassion. He saw the destruction that these divisions had wrought and sought a way to unite the wolves once more.” 

I stared at the image, the weight of it sinking in. 

“How did he do it?” I asked. 

Alaric’s smile returned, softer this time. “Caelan understood that to unite the wolves, he had to rise above them. He had to prove that he was not just an Alpha, but something greater. And so he challenged the Alphas of every pack, one by one, to 

combat.” 

The mural shifted again, showing Caelan locked in battle with wolves of all sizes, his form always dominant, always 

victorious. 

“He fought not for power, but for peace,” Alaric smiled. “And in each battle, he proved himself worthy. The Alphas who fell to him pledged their loyalty, and their packs followed. Slowly, the divisions began to heal.” 

The title hung in the air like a weighty truth, and I felt a strange sense of pride and awe. 

“But the name Blackwood,” I pressed, “where does it come from 

Alaric’s gaze darkened as he moved to the final part of the mural. It showed Caelan standing beneath a massive tree, its branches twisted and blackened, its roots stretching deep into the earth. 

“The Blackwood tree,” Alaric said, his voice lower now, almost a whisper. “It was the heart of the forest, the place where the first wolves were said to have been blessed by the moon. When Chelan united the packs, he chose this place to mark the birth of a new era. He claimed the name Blackwood to honor the tree’s significance, and it became the symbol of his reign.” 

I stepped closer to the mural, my fingers brushing over the intricate carvings of the branches.