Claimed by the scarred Alpha

MARGAUX

I opened the door to find Chris on the threshold. My surprise must have been obvious, because his expression flickered, mirroring the shock I felt.

"Chris." I glanced past him into the empty corridor. "Are you here to say goodbye?"

"Something like that."

I glanced over his shoulder again, half-expecting to see Shanelle trailing after him as always. Since childhood, they were rarely apart. "Where is Shanelle? She would normally be right behind you."

There was also the worry that she was now avoiding me because I had been sort of mean to her the night before.

"Still sleeping, probably." He shifted his weight. "I could not sleep myself."

Well, that was good to know. I added another mental note to talk to Shanelle and ensure there was no bad blood between us. I was certain she knew that already. But I just wanted to make sure. The words I had said had been cruel to a degree.

But that made me wonder deeply about why Chris was here himself.

"If this is about last night," I said, "the dinner, what I said to you. You can let that go. I do not hold it against you. I understand why you said what you said, and I hope you understand why I was like that with you. Even if it hurt to hear."

"I know you were only protecting me.

He swallowed visibly.

"Can I come in?"

I stepped aside and waved him in, reminding myself this was Chris. I had known him for years, memorized his flaws, and learned how to steer around them.

He walked in and looked around the room briefly before his eyes settled back on me.

"Where is Alpha Theodore?"

"I do not know if you have heard, but—"

"I heard." He cut me off. "Some girl... His fiancée... She got hurt."

The way he said it made me wonder if he had a conversation to steer in that direction, and I hoped that was not the case. So I made an effort to ensure the conversation was not steered in that direction.

"You must be here for a reason," I said carefully.

"Yes."

He did not continue immediately. He stood there for a moment with his jaw working, and then something shifted in his posture, a kind of nervous energy building that I had not seen from him before, not even in the cell, not even at the dinner table when his temper had nearly gotten him killed.

"If I had just been braver," he said, "you would have married me instead. There is no way that cruel bastard would have ever gotten the chance to take you from us."

"Chris—"

"He disrespects you even now." His voice climbed slightly. "He even has a fucking fiancée while he is married to you. He treats you like garbage, Margo. That would never be me."

The realization landed with a sick, slow weight.

"I am sorry," I said, taking a step back instinctively. "I am flattered, Chris. Truly. But I... I... do not love you. Not like that."

He moved closer instead of stepping back.

His eyes had gone glassy in a way that did not look exactly like sadness. It looked like something further gone than sadness, something untethered.

"When Theodore sees that girl hurt," he said, "he is going to push the blame onto you. He should have been with her instead of you, and he knows it, and he is going to make you pay for it." His words came faster now, tumbling over each other. "This man hates you, Margo. He humiliated you in front of everyone. He has destabilized our entire pack just to do that. Do not tell me you actually love him?"

"What? Chris, you need to calm down."

"Is it because he is—"

He stopped mid-word.

His hand flew to his throat.

I watched something close around his neck that should not have been physically possible, a thin red marking flaring into existence like a brand made of light, twisting and tightening in the shape of something I could only describe as a chain. He made a strangled sound, and his eyes went wide with panic.

"What the fuck!" I rushed toward him.

The marking vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, and he gasped in a full breath, his hand still pressed against his throat where the mark had been.

"Chris." I reached for his shoulder. "What was that?"

He looked at me, breathing hard, something raw and desperate in his expression.

"Please." His voice cracked. "Don’t love him. Love me. I will treat you right. I will do everything right by you, I promise, just—"

I jerked away from him, sudden and sharp.

"Stop." I put real distance between us, my back nearly against the dresser. "You are scaring me, Chris."

"Why?" His voice rose. "Why would I scare you? I... Is it because of him? Because of the boy you loved? The one who died?"

"I do not know what you mean."

"You do know! If you stayed in this room with him the whole night, there is no way he could keep it a secret!" He stepped toward me again, and the mark flickered briefly across his throat before disappearing entirely, faster this time, like something fighting to keep him from saying more.

My eyes tracked from the mark to his face. I started to wonder. Was that magic? Had the warlock gotten to him, too? Was that why he was acting this way?

So I asked, "What do I know, Chris?"

"I cannot say it." His jaw tightened with visible frustration. "But you know. You have always known."

"Why can you not say it?"

"Ignore that." He shook his head hard, like he was trying to physically dislodge the thought. "I have loved you for so long, Margo. You know it. You have always known it. I am good, am I not? Tell me I am good."

"We should talk about this when you are back at Beaumont," I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could manage. "I do not think... You are not yourself right now."

"No!"

He closed the distance between us before I could react and gripped my arms, his hold too tight, too desperate.

"Why?" His voice broke entirely. "Why will you not love me? That boy is tormenting you, Margo. He is poison. I am not. I would never be poison to you."

I had never seen him like this. Not once, in all the years I had known him. The fear that moved through me was sharp and immediate, my heart hammering against the cage of my ribs.

"Get your hands off this pack’s Luna."

The voice came from the doorway, hard and immediate, and I turned to find Laurent standing there with a tablet still in his hand, his expression caught somewhere between alarm and fury.

Chris’s grip loosened enough for me to pull free.

"We are just talking," Chris said, turning toward him.

"I do not think she appreciates you being that close to her." Laurent stepped fully into the room, his eyes moving briefly to me, checking, before settling back on Chris with something considerably colder. "I would suggest you do not make an enemy of Valcourt today. Let her go! And fucking step back. If I have to repeat myself, it will be with violence."

"Your Luna?" Chris repeated, his voice carrying bitterness and disbelief.