Ruin Me, Alpha-Chapter 46: Graves, Loops and the Birth of Her Hate

DEVON

The engine hummed. Rain lashed against the tinted windows of the SUV, that blurred the world outside into streaks of grey and green.

I didn’t need to look out to know where the time loop had taken me. I didn’t need to check the date on the dashboard to know when we were. The universe, in its infinite sense of irony, had a twisted sense of humor.

I was back.

"We are here, Beta," the driver announced, his voice trembling slightly.

I didn’t answer. I just stared out the window.

We were parked on the outskirts of the Ironfang Pack’s cemetery. Rows of jagged headstones poked out of the earth. A small crowd had gathered under a cluster of black umbrellas near a fresh grave.

My eyes locked onto her instantly.

Irene.

She stood at the front, the rain soaking into her black dress, plastering it to her skin. She wasn’t holding an umbrella. She was holding a portrait.

It was Baron.

I felt a cold, sharp smirk threaten to pull at the corner of my mouth, but I held it back. I knew exactly whose funeral this was because I was the one who had put him in the ground. Or rather, I was the one who had ripped his throat out on the battlefield less than twenty-four hours ago in this timeline.

It was the perfect reset point. A fair punishment. A cruel joke.

The witch had said this was my prison, a form of punishment for interfering with Irene’s loop. My own loop. And of course, the loop began at the exact moment Irene’s hatred for me was born. I was staring at the genesis of my own misery. I was looking at the woman I would burn the world for, watching her mourn the brother I killed, knowing that in her heart, she was already swearing vengeance against the "monster".

I shifted in my seat, the leather creaking. Beside me, Gamma Zane cleared his throat. He looked younger. Less weary than the Zane I had known in the future. He was holding a manila folder, tapping it nervously against his knee.

I knew what was in the folder. I knew every word, every punctuation mark, every redacted line.

"This is the information about Baron’s sister, Beta," Zane said, his voice cutting through the silence of the car.

He extended the file toward me.

I stared at it for a long moment before reaching out. My fingers brushed the cardboard. It felt heavy. Heavier than the last time I held it.

"Irene Harvey," I murmured, testing the name on my tongue. It tasted like ash and sugar.

"Yes, sir," Zane replied, misunderstanding my tone for curiosity. "She is the only surviving heir to the Ironfang line now that Baron is... gone."

I took the file but didn’t open it. I didn’t need to. In the original timeline, I had opened it right then. I had scanned her picture, noted her age, her stats, her weaknesses. I had looked at her as a target. A pawn to be used to break her father, Alpha Theo. I remembered reading it while watching her fall to her knees in the mud, her fingers digging into the wet grass as she screamed her brother’s name.

I looked out the window again. She was doing it now. She collapsed, her shoulders shaking with violent sobs, the portrait of Baron clutching to her chest like a shield.

My chest tightened. Not with guilt—I didn’t do guilt—but with a dark, possessive hunger. This was where it started. This was where I broke her so I could rebuild her.

"Do you want me to arrange a meeting?" Zane asked, watching me watch her. "Or perhaps... eliminate the threat?"

I turned to look at him. Zane flinched. He wasn’t used to the look in my eyes yet. He was used to Devon the soldier, Devon the Beta who followed orders. He wasn’t ready for Devon the King, the man who had lived a thousand lives and killed a thousand men just to get back to this moment.

"Eliminate her?" I repeated, my voice low.

"She could be a rallying point for their soldiers," Zane reasoned, trying to sound pragmatic. "If she plans to take revenge for Baron... do you plan to kill her, too?"

I looked back at Irene. She was being helped up by Brielle now. She looked weak. Fragile. But I knew the fire that burned under that skin. I knew how she tasted when she was angry. I knew how she felt when she wrapped her legs around me and held a knife to my throat.

"Depends on the kind of death," I said, a smirk finally breaking onto my lips.

Zane blinked, confused. "Sir?"

"Drive," I ordered, tossing the unopened file onto the seat between us.

"But... the file, sir. You haven’t read it."

"I know enough," I said coldly. "Move the car. Now."

The driver scrambled to obey, the tires spinning in the mud before gripping the asphalt. We sped away, leaving the grieving girl and the fresh grave behind.

The drive back to the Silverclaw Pack territory was silent. I spent the time recalibrating.

I was a Beta again. Technically. But I carried the aura of an Alpha Prime. My father, Raymond, was still the Alpha in title, but everyone knew who held the real power. I had just returned from the Northern Front. I had slaughtered over a thousand soldiers from the North Pack in a single day.

When the SUV rolled through the iron gates of the Silverclaw estate, the atmosphere shifted. It wasn’t respect. It was terror.

I stepped out of the car, my boots hitting the pavement with a heavy thud. Guards who had known me since I was a pup couldn’t meet my eyes. They stared at the ground, their bodies rigid, trembling.

"Welcome back, Commander," one of them squeaked, bowing so low his nose almost touched his knees.

I ignored him. I strode toward the main wing, my coat billowing behind me. I could hear their heartbeats picking up as I passed. Thump-thump-thump. The rhythm of fear. They smelled the death on me. They knew what I was capable of.

Zane trotted to keep up, holding a tablet now.

"Sir, about the schedule," Zane stammered, scrolling through the screen. "Alpha Raymond has a debriefing set for 1400 hours, then the council wants a report on the casualties, and the logistics team needs your signature for the ammo resupply—"

I stopped abruptly at the door to my wing. Zane almost ran into my back.

"Cancel it," I said.

"Sir?"

"Cancel everything," I said, not turning around. "I’m not doing paperwork today, Zane. Clear the schedule."

"But... Alpha Raymond specifically requested—"

I turned my head, fixing Zane with a stare that froze the words in his throat. "Did I stutter?"

Zane swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "No. No, sir. Consider it canceled."

He bowed, stepping back quickly as if afraid I might bite him. I probably would have in another life.

I pushed the door to my room open and stepped inside.

The air in my quarters was stale. It smelled of old books and polish. But it wasn’t empty.

Sitting by the window, silhouetted against the grey light, was a man in a wheelchair.

Alpha Raymond Warner. My father.

I paused, my hand still on the doorknob. I had forgotten how small he looked in that chair. I had put him there, of course. Years ago. A necessary cruelty to secure my position, though the official story was a training accident.

I looked at him, memories of the original timeline flooding back. He was a spineless fool. A coward who hid behind titles and tradition while I did the dirty work. I remembered snapping his neck. I remembered the sound it made—like a dry branch breaking.

"You’re late," Raymond said, his voice raspy. He turned the wheelchair around to face me. His face was gaunt, his eyes sunken.

I shut the door behind me, the click of the lock echoing in the room.

"I was busy," I said, walking over to the liquor cabinet. I poured myself a glass of whiskey, neat. "Funerals to watch. People to scare."

"You think this is a joke?" Raymond snapped, gripping the armrests of his chair. "King Voltage sent an envoy an hour ago. He is demanding reparations for the massacre at the border."

I took a sip of the whiskey. It burned, grounding me. "Voltage is a loudmouthed idiot with a Napoleon complex."

"He is the King of the North Pack!" Raymond shouted, his face turning red. "And you disrespected him! He says you insulted his lineage during the negotiations before the battle."

I paused, the glass halfway to my mouth. I frowned, digging through the layers of my memory. The previous timeline was a blur of violence, but I vaguely recalled a meeting.

Ah. Yes.

We were in the conference room. Voltage had made a comment. Something about me being a selfish brute who didn’t understand the nuance of leadership. He had called me a "rabid dog on a leash."

I remembered breaking the heavy oak leg off the conference table. I remembered the look of surprise on Voltage’s face right before I drove the jagged wood through his chest. He barely made it out of that room alive.

"He wants an apology," Raymond hissed. "He demands that you come to the Northern Citadel and kneel."

I laughed. A dry, humorless sound that made Raymond flinch.

"Kneel?" I asked, turning to face him. "Is that what he wants?"

"You will go," Raymond commanded, trying to summon the authority he lost years ago. "You will apologize. I will not have my pack targeted because you can’t control your temper."

"You’re licking his ass," I observed, tilting my head. "Why? Does he have something on you? Or are you just that afraid of war?"

Raymond went still. His eyes darted away.

"It has nothing to do with fear," he muttered. "It’s about politics. Something you clearly don’t understand."

"I understand power," I said, setting the glass down. I started to unbuckle my watch. "And Voltage has none. He’s breathing borrowed air."

"What are you doing?" Raymond asked, watching me place the watch on the table.

"I’m thinking," I said. "In the previous timeline, I’ve already killed you for raising your voice at me. I’ve taken the Alpha title by force. I’ve gone to war with Voltage and wiped his bloodline off the map."

Raymond’s face drained of color. "You... you wouldn’t dare."

I walked toward him, slowly. Predator stalking prey.

"But," I continued, stopping inches from his knees. I leaned down, placing my hands on the arms of his wheelchair, trapping him. "I’m feeling generous. I want to change things this time."

"This... time?" Raymond whispered, shrinking back.

"Don’t piss me off, old man," I warned, my voice a low growl that vibrated in his bones. "Do not demand things of me. Do not tell me to kneel. If you push me, even a little, I will take your head. And this time, I won’t make it look like an accident."

Raymond trembled. He saw it then. The monster behind the human mask. He nodded, unable to speak.

I straightened up, brushing imaginary dust off my jacket.

"Good," I said. "Now get out of my room. I have plans to make."

Raymond didn’t need to be told twice. He wheeled himself out with frantic speed, not looking back.

I waited until the door closed, then walked to the window. I looked out toward the horizon, toward the Ironfang territory.

In the real world, I had waited. I had played the long game. I had framed Alpha Theo, sent him to prison, and waited for Irene to crumble. I had let her come to me at that party, desperate and broken.

I checked my reflection in the window. The scar above my eyebrow wasn’t there yet. My eyes were clear.

"No," I whispered to the glass.

I wasn’t waiting this time. I wasn’t going to let her suffer alone for months while I moved pieces on a board. I was ruthless, yes. But I was also impatient.

I grabbed my coat.

I was going to Ironfang tomorrow. I was going to walk right up to her. And I was going to start this game on my own terms.

Screw the timeline. I was going to get her back.