Claimed by the scarred Alpha

CÉLINE

I made it important to wear white when I went to see my father. Always white. Depending on what part of his broken mind took the front wheel, I could shine as what he expected from an unmarried daughter. Purity and submission wrapped in nice fabric. Sometimes, I would appear as the spitting image of my dear mother, whom he could never decide whether he hated or loved.

If you asked me, though, I would agree with the former.

My fingers worked through my hair in practiced movements. The braid fell down my back in a neat plait that would stay perfect no matter how long the visit lasted. I’d learned years ago that appearing disheveled around Alpha Dorian was an invitation for criticism.

The hallway outside his chambers smelled like medicine and decay. Two Omegas waited near the door. Their eyes widened when they saw me approaching.

"Luna Céline." The older one stepped forward. Her hands twisted together in front of her apron. "Alpha Dorian is having a difficult morning. Perhaps we should be the ones to tend to him today."

I stopped in front of them. "He is my father. I can handle him."

"But he threw a pitcher at Helena yesterday." The younger Omega’s voice dropped to a whisper. "Cut her forehead open. She needed stitches."

"Then Helena should have ducked."

I moved past them before either could protest further. My hand closed around the door handle. The metal felt cold against my palm. I pushed it open and stepped inside.

The room was in chaos.

Books lay scattered across the floor. Pages torn from their bindings created a carpet of words that meant nothing anymore. A chair had been overturned near the fireplace. Broken glass glittered near the window where something had been thrown hard enough to shatter.

My father stood in the center of it all. His hair stuck up in wild directions. The nightshirt he wore hung crooked on his frame. He’d lost weight again. The healers kept saying he needed to eat more, but convincing him to take food was becoming harder with each passing day.

His eyes found me. Recognition didn’t register immediately.

"Get out!" He grabbed a book from the dresser and hurled it in my direction. "Filthy Omega. I didn’t call for you."

The book sailed past my head. I didn’t flinch. I’d spent too many years learning to stand still under his rage to let something as simple as a projectile shake me now.

"I am your family." I kept my voice steady and clear. "Not an Omega."

His expression shifted. The anger drained away, replaced by something that might have been warmth if you didn’t know better. If you hadn’t spent a lifetime learning to read the difference between genuine emotion and performance.

Even in his sickness, he still played between the two.

"My beautiful girl." He smiled. The expression looked wrong on his face. Too wide. Like he’d forgotten how the muscles were supposed to move. "You look so radiant."

Unmarried daughter, it was.

"I inherited the best genes from you and my mother."

I moved further into the room. My feet found paths between the debris without needing to look down. This wasn’t the first time I’d navigated his destruction.

The dresser sat against the far wall. His pills were arranged in neat rows. Someone had organized them by time of day and dosage. The healers were meticulous about that at least. A large jug of water sat beside them, along with a washed and dried cup.

My fingers went to work. I selected the pills he needed for the morning and dropped them into the cup one by one. Then I reached for the small pouch I kept hidden in the inner pocket of my dress. The herbs inside smelled faintly bitter. I added a pinch to the water and watched them dissolve.

Movement behind me made me pause.

I turned to find my father awkwardly bent over. He was trying to put on a slipper. The effort made him wobble. His balance had been getting worse. The healers said it was part of the progression. That his brain was losing the ability to tell his body what to do.

I crossed the room and knelt beside him. "Let me help."

My hands found the second slipper where it had fallen under the bed. I slipped it onto his foot gently. His skin felt papery thin under my fingers.

"What do you remember, Father?"

He straightened slowly. His hand came to rest on my shoulder for balance. "That it is almost breakfast. And that I get to see and talk to your brother Theodore’s new bride."

My throat tightened. I swallowed hard against the pressure building there. "But that is not Theo. We both know it."

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

His smile died. The warmth in his expression vanished so completely it was like watching a light get snuffed out. "What did you say?"

I forced my lips to curve upward. "I was thinking out loud."

I stood and returned to the dresser. The cup waited exactly where I’d left it. I picked it up and carried it to him. He took it without question. His hands shook slightly as he brought it to his lips. He drank deeply.

"Father." I waited until he’d swallowed. "Do you remember what we discussed a few days ago?"

His eyes found mine. Confusion flickered across his face.

"Now that Theodore is married, he should enjoy some free time." I kept my tone light and reasonable. "I am thinking I could be the one to follow you for political events that will be coming up. I can help hide your dementia onset just like Theodore does and pick up important tips and tricks."

His frown came slowly. Like his brain needed extra time to process what I’d said. Then his expression hardened.

"Céline." He set the cup down on the nearest surface. "That is not the place of a woman. You know that."

"What?"

He pointed at me. His finger stabbed the air between us with emphasis. "I have never liked the look in your eyes. It reminds me a lot of your mother. That twisted, rotten ambition."

The words landed like blows. I stood perfectly still while he continued.

"She could not even give me proper children." His voice rose. "The girl wants to rule over the boy and the boy..." He paused. His jaw worked like he was chewing something bitter. "The boy wanted to end this bloodline."

Tears burned behind my eyes. I fought to keep them from falling. Weakness wasn’t allowed. Not here. Not with him.

"I am trying to help us." My voice cracked despite my best efforts. "You. This pack. I just want to be a part of this, Father."