Claimed by the scarred Alpha

MARGAUX

I watched him leave with the woman. The broad, tense line of his back vanished through the exit like he couldn’t escape me quickly enough. My hand still pulsed where his grip had been brutal. The pain dug deep into my bones, making me want to scream or collapse in nausea.

My mother stood abruptly, the motion sharp enough to draw all eyes. Her chair scraped across the floor. She seized my wrist, her grip gentle but urgent, and pulled my hand into view. Her face drained of color as she stared at the red marks, already turning to bruises. Her lips parted, but no sound came; her eyes were wide with shock and concern.

"That barbarian." The words came out low and venomous. "Trying to incite violence on a day that is supposed to be auspicious."

My father barely glanced up from where he sat, still perfectly composed despite the tension that had nearly erupted moments ago. "This is the reaction he wants."

He turned toward the Valcourt side of the hall, his expression unreadable. I followed his gaze and spotted an older man in the front row. He had to be the current ruling Alpha, the one who’d handed administrative power to Théo. The man’s eyes met mine; then he smiled. Not warm, exactly, but acknowledging.

I smiled back. That was what you did at weddings—even the ones that felt more like funeral rites than celebrations.

The girl beside him caught my attention next. She had to be Théo’s sister—the one he’d mentioned when he dismissed my question about why he hadn’t married her off instead. She stood without ceremony and walked off somewhere.

My uncle’s voice cut through my observations. "It does not change that he is so rude." Lucian’s tone carried the perfect blend of indignation and disappointment. "The foul bastard did not even take my hand. Does he think we are beneath him now because of your choice not to fight?"

My father turned to look at him, something careful settling into his features. "Is that shade?"

Lucian spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I could never. There is a reason you are an Alpha ruling a pack, and I am just a Gamma. You know better than I ever could."

He turned then, his attention landing on me with the kind of focus that made my skin prickle. The smile shifted into something softer and more familiar. He crossed the space between us and pulled me into a hug that smelled like expensive cologne.

"Forgive my dramatics on your special day." His voice was warm against my ear. "Congratulations, Margo."

I caught my mother’s expression over his shoulder. She glared at him, the kind of look that could cut glass if given the chance.

Lucian noticed. He pulled back from the hug, his eyebrows lifting. "What? It is a marriage at the end of the day."

"Let us not make her feel bad," my mother said tightly.

"I am fine." The words came automatically. "I swear I am fine."

Lucian’s smile widened. "See? She is just like you. She knows how to make it work."

He turned back to me, his hands settling on my shoulders in a gesture that probably looked paternal to anyone watching. "Advice from your uncle. Bed him. Men like that are suckers for kids. Same thing I told your mother when she married, and look at her and Armand now. Lovebirds."

The words hit me sideways, jarring in their casualness. I looked at my mother, trying to reconcile what I’d still always believed about my parents with what Lucian had just implied. So, my mother had not been bullshitting me. So their marriage had been an arrangement, too? Had my mother stood where I stood now, wearing a dress she didn’t choose, marrying a man she didn’t love?

My mother swallowed visibly. Her hand closed around mine, the one Théo had nearly crushed, and she pulled me away from Lucian’s grip.

"Follow me," she said. "Your bruise needs tending."

She led me through the hall toward the restrooms, her pace quick enough that I had to work to keep up. The bathroom was mercifully empty when we arrived. My mother guided me to the sink, turned on the water, adjusted the temperature, then pulled my hand under the stream.

The cool water stung at first, then soothed. I watched the angry red marks on my skin. They stood out against my pale complexion like accusations.

"I am good," I said. "I am fine."

My mother didn’t respond. She kept my hand under the water, her fingers gentle where they held my wrist. The marks began to fade as my wolf worked to heal the damage. Red turned pink, then lighter still. The bruising receded faster than it would on a human.

"I am so sorry, sweetheart." My mother’s voice fractured, raw, and trembling on the last word. "I thought I could harden my heart, but watching you as this shreds me apart."

She turned away, her shoulders shaking. A strained cough escaped her, the kind people made when they were trying not to cry in public, her hand quickly rising to hide her face.

"But seeing you in this dress..." Another cough came, but this one failed to cover the sob that followed. "I am so sorry."

I moved without thinking and wrapped my arms around her from behind. She felt smaller than I remembered. More fragile. It was like grief had worn her down to something less than she used to be.

"I know," I said quietly. "It is not your fault. This is just how things have to happen sometimes."

I tightened my hold, resting my chin on her shoulder. "If it happened with you and Father, then I can do it too. How hard can a man’s heart be?"

My mother turned in my arms, her makeup smudged where tears had tracked through it. She wiped at her face with trembling fingers, trying to compose herself.

"Yeah." The word came out shaky. "Yeah."

She took a breath, then another, fighting for control. "But this is not what I wanted for you. I imagined this happening so differently."

The confession settled between us, heavy with dreams she’d had that would never come true now. She must have pictured her wedding differently: a white dress, not a red one; love, not politics; choice, not obligation. I imagined all of this as I watched her.

"About you and Father," I started carefully. "Did you two grow to love each other truly? Or was Uncle just trying to soften my pain?"

My mother’s expression shifted, something wistful crossing her features. "It worked. Sometimes proximity can work a lot of wonders." She paused, seeming to choose her words. "We did not have the fated bond either. But somehow we worked."

The mention of the fated bond made my chest tighten. I thought about the connection that had snapped into place during the ceremony, the way it hummed under my skin even now. It reached for someone who’d locked himself away behind shields I couldn’t penetrate. My mother didn’t need to know about that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"Mother," I said. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

I hesitated, the question sitting on my tongue like something dangerous. "What happened to Étienne after that night?"

The color drained from my mother’s face so quickly that I thought she might faint. Her hands gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles whitening, and her breath grew shallow as she stared at me, eyes wide with shock.