Claimed by the scarred Alpha

ÉTIENNE

The nickname slipped out before I could stop myself.

Margotine.

I sensed her change right away. Her body tensed under my hands—the tension sharp, almost fearful—and she tried to hide a sharp breath. Her pulse jumped beneath my palm at her waist, and through the bond I’d kept tightly closed, I felt a fierce surge of vulnerability slip free. For a moment, I felt both her anxiety and the way her guard flared in response to the nickname.

The bond had formed the moment our lips met, which wasn’t supposed to happen. I’d hidden my scent and changed everything about myself that could be recognized. A second chance bond with the same party was even more rare than a second chance bond itself. The goddess should have stayed out of it, but she clearly had other plans. She wanted to make things interesting.

Keeping the shield up was harder than I’d anticipated. Margaux kept pushing at it, poking and prodding like she could force her way through sheer determination. Each attempt sent a jolt through my concentration, made it harder to maintain the wall between us.

But now she was mine. We were married. The active bond only made my revenge feel sweeter, more complete. When I finally broke her, when I made her feel even a bit of what she and her family had done to me, it would hurt more because of this connection.

She was feeling everything. I could sense it even through my shields. The deja vu hit her in waves, pulling at memories she couldn’t quite place. Did it finally click for her? Did she recognize something in my voice, my movements, the way I held her?

I watched her try to figure it out, saw her thoughts racing behind the eyes I once loved more than my own life.

"Come," I said, extending my hand again. "Introduce me to your family."

To my surprise, she didn’t resist. Her slender fingers slipped into mine, trembling a little, and I led her toward the Beaumont side of the hall. The crowd parted for us, whispers trailing behind. I could feel their eyes on us, watching every move, taking in every detail of this union between the conquered and the conqueror.

My gaze found Alpha Armand first.

He sat in the front row with his wife. Both of them dressed in formal attire. Armand’s expression was carefully neutral, the kind of mask politicians wore when they needed everyone to believe they were in control.

Our eyes met and held.

The hatred that surged through me was immediate and visceral. This man had orchestrated my parents’ deaths. He’d been the one to say the words that sent my brother and my parents to their early graves and left me orphaned.

I wanted to tear his throat out with my bare hands. Watch the light leave his eyes as he choked on his own blood. I wanted him to suffer as I had. Like my parents had in their last moments.

The urge was so strong that my hand tightened around Margaux’s without me even thinking about it, and I felt a flash of both guilt and possessiveness, the violent need churning against the worry that I might hurt her in my rage.

I cleared my throat and smiled behind the mask. "Father and mother-in-law. I can call you both that now, right?"

Armand stayed calm, but Vivianne’s hands clenched into fists so tight her nails broke the skin. Little red marks appeared on her palms. She was barely keeping it together, and for some reason, that gave me a strange sense of satisfaction.

"Of course," Armand said smoothly. "We’re family now, aren’t we? Family should be close."

Hearing him say ’family’ made my skin crawl.

"Perhaps we’ll keep our daggers front and center instead of in each other’s backs now."

My words had the effect I wanted. A few nearby wolves shifted uncomfortably. Vivianne started breathing faster. Armand’s smile grew tighter at the corners, just enough to show I’d hit a nerve.

"Yes," he said carefully. "Loyalty within family is paramount."

"Funny you should mention loyalty." My grip on Margaux’s hand tightened further. "Given your track record with alliances."

Armand’s eyes narrowed fractionally. "I’m not sure what you’re implying."

"I think you know exactly what I mean." My words came out harsher than I meant. I was losing control, anger breaking through the mask I’d built and the one on my face. "Tell me, do you sleep well at night? Or do the ghosts of those you betrayed keep you awake?"

It felt like the temperature dropped. Wolves around us stepped back. They sensed the danger.

"Alpha Théodore." Armand’s voice carried a warning. "This is a wedding. Perhaps we should save business discussions for another time."

"Business?" I laughed, but it sounded off—too sharp, almost breaking. "Is that what you call it now? Business?"

My grip on Margaux’s hand tightened. I could feel her bones move under my fingers and sense her pain rising through the bond.

War. I could start it right now. I could rip out Armand’s throat in front of everyone and deal with the fallout later. Wasn’t that what I’d always wanted? His head on a platter? His blood on my hands?

The pain from Margaux intensified, sharp and insistent.

I looked down and saw how hard I was holding her. My grip was hard enough to leave bruises, and as I realized it, guilt mingled with the urge to lash out. The conflict inside me grew overwhelming, threatening to snap.

I let go of her slowly, forcing my fingers to relax even though every part of me wanted to hold on, to hurt someone, to make someone pay.

Vivianne noticed. Her eyes moved from my hand to her daughter’s face, and she started breathing more heavily. She looked like she wanted to say something, maybe demand an explanation or threaten me, but she stayed quiet. But for just a moment.

When she did gather a spine, she spoke carefully, choosing her words with visible effort. "This union might have been born differently than most. But I do hope you’ll care for my daughter, Alpha Théodore." Her voice wavered slightly. "She is the apple of our eyes."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with all she couldn’t say. The forced nature of our marriage, her daughter’s public humiliation because of me, and her dread at knowing she faced a monster instead of a true son-in-law—her fear, grief, and silent accusation radiated toward me, unspoken but raw.

Before I could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

"Compose yourself, Vivianne. It’s a marriage. Surely you aren’t so weak to worry it will end badly."

I felt cold inside.

That voice. I knew that voice.

No.

Not here.

The crowd parted and a man stepped forward. He was tall, with gray at his temples that made him look important instead of old. He moved with the confidence of someone who never had to fight for his place or struggle to survive.

Lucian Moreau.

Margaux’s uncle.

My pulse slammed hard once, then again, too loud, too fast. For a moment, the room tilted. Nausea and dread crashed over me, the voices around me blurring into nothing, swallowed up by the sickening rush in my ears. Panic and recognition collided in my gut.

I did not move.

I could not.

He walked straight toward me, not bothered at all by the tension in the room. His smile was warm and welcoming, the kind politicians use when they want something.

"So this is the famed Alpha Théodore Valcourt." He extended his hand. "I’m Margaux’s uncle, Lucian."

I stared at his hand as if it were a snake about to strike. It was.

After all, I knew the kind of man he was.

"Nice to meet you," he said when I didn’t immediately take his hand.

My vision went white.