The Alpha's Unwanted Bride novel Chapter 461

Chapter 461: HIS RETURN

The cold wind bit at Xaden’s skin as he staggered through the underbrush, every breath he took shallow and ragged. His shirt was torn, caked with dried blood, and his side throbbed violently with every movement.

Each step was a battle, and each breath reminded him how close he was to the edge.

He didn’t know how long he’d been running.

Branches clawed at his arms. Stones dug into his feet. His legs trembled beneath him like they no longer remembered how to carry his weight. But he couldn’t stop—not now. Not with freedom within reach. Somewhere beyond this forest, beyond the darkness, lay his people.

He had to reach them.

He didn’t remember exactly how he escaped. One moment he was lying on the cold floor of the dungeon, slipping in and out of unconsciousness, and the next he was lunging at a careless guard with the last burst of adrenaline in his veins. He remembered biting down—hard—and grabbing a set of keys as the man screamed. Then came the frantic dash through corridors, the chaos of alarm bells, the growling of wolves chasing his scent.

And then he was in the forest, running.

Running until the trees blurred, and his lungs burned.

A low growl echoed behind him. He spun around, swaying. Nothing. Just shadows dancing between trunks. The wind was no friend tonight. It whispered illusions and threats with every gust.

He pressed forward. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

The pain in his side grew sharper. He could feel the blood again—fresh, warm, soaking through his shirt. His wound had reopened. He gritted his teeth and kept going.

Just a little more.

His thoughts were scattered fragments of survival. Jasmine’s face. The pack’s gates. His warriors. Jasmine—again and again.

Her voice in his head, soft and fierce.

He blinked against the blood trickling into his eye. Something glimmered ahead.

A light.

A lantern?

The pack.

Xaden stumbled, his foot catching a root. He fell hard, scraping his palms against the dirt. But when he lifted his head, he saw it clearly this time—torches. A wall. A shape in the distance that could only be the towering gates of the northern entrance to his territory.

A sob broke from his throat.

He was home.

He used the last of his strength to crawl. His knees bled. His hands left smears on the gravel path. But still he crawled—until he reached the gate and slammed his fist against the wood with a weak thud.

And then the world tilted.

Shouts. Footsteps.

Someone was screaming his name.

Then, nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Torches were lit. Guards rushed down the ramparts, leaping the stairs two at a time. Beta Ronan, one of the head guards who watched the outskirts of the

"Hold formation!" he barked. "Stay alert!"

But as they neared the collapsed body, the air shifted—something primal, something known. Ronan slowed. The other warriors fell into a stunned silence as the flickering light of their torches fell on the man before them.

Blood. Dirt. Torn flesh. The scent of iron and fire.

But beneath it... that unmistakable aura.

"Spirits," one of the warriors whispered. "Is that..."

Ronan dropped to his knees.

"Alpha Xaden?"

There was no reply. The man didn’t move. His body was a ruin of bruises, deep slashes, and dried blood.

His once-regal dark hair was matted and tangled with leaves and ash. His chest rose—barely. But it rose.

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