Claimed by the scarred Alpha

ÉTIENNE

The knock on my bedroom door pulled me from sleep at an hour when darkness, albeit the tame version of it, still pressed against the windows.

I didn’t move immediately. My body felt heavy with exhaustion. The silk sheets tangled around my legs. My mouth tasted like stale wine.

The knock came again. Sharper this time.

"What?" I called out.

The door opened. Laurent stood in the doorway with a candle in one hand and a broken wax seal in the other. My Beta had the decency to look apologetic about the early wake-up call, but his expression told me this wasn’t social.

"There’s a meeting." Laurent crossed to my bedside. "One you weren’t informed about."

I sat up. The room spun for half a second before my vision cleared. "Explain."

"The elders requested an audience with your father, Alpha Dorian, this morning." He held up the broken seal. "I intercepted the messenger. Thought you’d want to know before they convened without you."

Smart man. I swung my legs out of bed and took the letter from his hand. The wax had been red originally, broken now into fragments that clung to the parchment. I unfolded the paper and scanned the contents.

A scoff escaped my throat before I could stop it. "These elders."

"All up in your business, it seems."

"For what?" I tossed the letter onto my nightstand. "What do they think they’ll accomplish?"

Laurent’s jaw tightened. "I think Alpha Armand has started pulling strings with people he can trust here. But Luna Séverine’s grandfather signed this, too. So it is clear most of them hope to achieve different goals with this meeting."

That made me pause. I looked at the letter again, studying the signatures at the bottom. Sure enough, Gérard Montclair’s name sat among the others in his precise, careful script.

"I guess this isn’t just about lobbying." I stood and moved toward my wardrobe. The floor felt cold against my bare feet. "He’s worried about his granddaughter."

"He’s not wrong to be." Laurent followed me across the room. "She’s your fiancée, and you’re about to marry another woman."

I turned and fixed him with a glare that would have made lesser wolves step back. Laurent held his ground. He’d been my Beta long enough to know when my anger was real and when it was performance.

"Séverine is well aware of what I’m doing," I said. Each word came out clipped and precise. "In fact, she supports me."

"I’m sure." Laurent’s tone suggested he believed me but wanted to make his skepticism known anyway.

I pulled a shirt from the wardrobe and shrugged it on. The fabric felt cool against my skin.

"What mask would we be wearing today?" Laurent moved to the dedicated drawer where I kept my collection. He ran his fingers across the surfaces, feeling for the right one in the dim candlelight. "Which do you prefer?"

"The red one." I fastened the buttons at my wrists with steady hands. "This is war."

He found it without difficulty. The dragon-like mask gleamed crimson in the flickering light, its surface carved to resemble scales and fury. Laurent brought it over and waited while I finished dressing.

I took the mask from him and positioned it over my face. The inside pressed against scarred tissue and unmarked skin with equal pressure. The world narrowed to what I could see through the eye holes. Everything sharpened.

"Let’s go."

The war room sat in the oldest part of the estate, a stone chamber that had witnessed centuries of pack decisions. Our footsteps echoed down the corridor as we approached. Voices filtered through the heavy wooden door. At least six of them, maybe more.

I pushed the door open without knocking.

The conversation died immediately. Eight elders sat around the long table, their faces turning toward me with varying degrees of surprise. They’d expected my father. They’d prepared arguments for Alpha Dorian’s temperament and decision-making style.

They got me instead.

"Gentlemen." I moved to the head of the table and remained standing. Laurent took up position at my shoulder. "What an unexpected gathering."

Gérard Montclair recovered first. He’d always been quick on his feet, a trait I’d admired right up until the moment it became a problem. "Théodore. We requested a meeting with your father."

"I’m aware." I pulled the broken letter from my pocket and tossed it onto the table. "But I’m afraid my father will not be coming today. So you deal with me." I let the silence stretch for three heartbeats. "Or has the cat got your tongues now?"

Several elders shifted in their seats. One cleared his throat. Another studied the table surface with sudden fascination.

Gérard straightened his shoulders. "Of course not. We’re here because of this war."

"Which war?" I pulled out the chair at the head of the table but didn’t sit. "Be specific."

"The expansion." This came from Elder Rousseau, a grey-haired wolf who’d served on the council since before Theodore was even born. "We don’t understand why Beaumont is treated differently. We’ve been brutal with expansion and offered nothing of this sort to any of the other packs. Why Beaumont? What’s special about them?"

I smiled behind the mask. The expression felt cruel even though no one could see it. "They’re big. A war with them would have significant casualties."

Some of the elders exchanged glances. The looks carried weight, suggestion, the slow realization that their goals had been misaligned from the beginning. Elder Rousseau opened his mouth to respond, then seemed to think better of it.

Elder Baptiste took over instead. "That’s precisely our concern. Other big packs will start to fear they’ll be hunted next. They might band together against us."

"Against us?" I leaned forward, bracing my hands on the table. "Or are you already on Beaumont’s payroll?"

The accusation landed like a stone in still water. Ripples spread across faces. Mouths opened in protest.

"That’s outrageous," Elder Rousseau snapped.

"We would never—"

"How dare you suggest—"