Claimed by the scarred Alpha

MARGAUX

The bond hit me like a live wire, flooding every nerve in my body with recognition I didn’t want and couldn’t explain. My breath hitched against his mouth. My pulse stuttered and then raced. The kiss should have been nothing more than a ceremony, a formality performed in front of witnesses who expected tradition to play out exactly as it always had.

But this wasn’t that.

This was something else entirely, something ancient and absolute that had nothing to do with politics or territory or the red dress I wore like a branded claim.

This was the bond.

The mate bond.

I pulled back just enough to look at him, searching those dark grey eyes for any sign that he felt it too, that he understood what had just shifted between us. The connection thrummed under my skin, insistent and impossible to ignore, demanding acknowledgment from both sides.

His expression was unreadable, giving no hint of what he felt.

There was no shock on his face. In fact, he looked completely unbothered, almost bored, like kissing me had been as interesting as taking a piss.

My chest tightened. Confusion spiraled through the bond, or what I thought was the bond, because suddenly I wasn’t sure if this thing worked the way it was supposed to. I reached for his emotions through that new connection, trying to get a read on what he was feeling, but I hit a wall so solid it might as well have been steel.

There was nothing. Emptiness pressed in, stark and absolute.

His mind was locked down tight and impenetrable. The more I pushed, the clearer it became that I wasn’t getting in. Either he had shields that made Fort Knox look welcoming, or this bond wasn’t working properly. Maybe it only went one way.

My stomach dropped cold and hard at the realization. It was possible. It happened.

He broke the kiss fully then, stepping back just enough to create space between us while still keeping one hand at my waist to steady me. A sound escaped him, low and almost amused, as he’d just witnessed something entertaining.

"The look in your eyes... Am I that good a kisser?"

The question jolted through me unexpectedly. I stared at him, caught in a sudden mix of disbelief and confusion. Was he joking, or mocking me? His tone suggested the latter, but since his face was masked and unreadable, it only deepened my uncertainty.

"You didn’t feel it?" The words came out before I could stop them, too desperate and all too revealing.

He helped me straighten fully, his grip firm and impersonal as he adjusted my position, as if I were a piece of furniture that needed realigning. Then he fixed his mask, pulling it back into place with practiced ease.

"Feel what?" he said.

My mouth opened. Then closed. Heat flooded my face, embarrassment tangling with rising confusion and a sting of hurt. The realization that he might not have felt the bond created a swirl of doubt. Was I losing my mind? Had the stress finally broken something fundamental in me?

"Oh," I managed. "Nothing."

The music started then, saving me from having to explain something I didn’t understand much myself. The opening notes filled the hall, elegant and formal, exactly the kind of score that belonged at a wedding that wasn’t really a wedding at all.

The officiant turned to us, his voice carrying over the melody. "You may have the first dance."

Théo Valcourt’s hand found mine before I could react. He led me toward the center of the hall, his movements confident as the proud Alpha that he was. It looked like he’d done this a thousand times before. The crowd parted around us. I felt their eyes tracking every step, every breath, waiting to see how the Beaumont girl would handle being danced with by the beast she’d been sold to.

His hand settled at my waist. Mine went to his shoulder because there was nowhere else to put it. We began to move, falling into rhythm with the music, and suddenly, I wasn’t here anymore.

I was somewhere else. With someone else.

The hall blurred and shifted in my mind, transforming into another space and time. The music softened, and the hand at my waist belonged to someone who had held me like I mattered, not a political tool.

Étienne had loved to dance.

He’d been terrible at it initially, with his dumb, stiff movements and careful counting, but he’d tried because I’d asked him to. We’d spent hours in the empty ballroom of the estate, just the two of us, learning steps that didn’t matter because no one was watching. He’d laugh when he stepped on my feet. I’d tease him when he lost count. And eventually, we’d gotten good enough that it felt less like practice and more like flying.

The memory crashed over me with enough force to steal my breath.

I shoved it down, forced myself back to the present, back to the man who held me now. This wasn’t Étienne. This was Théo Valcourt. Alpha of a pack that had threatened mine. The man who had demanded this marriage and chosen the red dress I wore as a deliberate statement.

I needed to ground myself. The pull of memory was dizzying, but reality pressed in—the man in front of me was not the one from my past. I fought to steady my emotions, reminding myself that drowning in old feelings wouldn’t help me now.

But why was the memory of Étienne haunting me worse now?

"Why did you want to marry me?" The question came out steadier than I expected, cutting through the space between us.

He didn’t miss a beat in our dance. "Because I didn’t want my pack to lose soldiers by going headfirst with a pack as big as your family."

I almost laughed at the bluntness, my jaw tightening against the urge.

"Mixing bloodlines is safer. More efficient than war," he said.

I looked up at him, disbelief written across every feature I couldn’t quite hide. He caught the expression and smiled. I could just tell, even though he had the mask on.

"Did you think I’d say I fell in love at first sight?"

"No." The word came out flat. "I’m not delusional enough to believe that, despite whatever you might have heard about me. But... You have a sister. Wouldn’t marrying her to my elder brother work better?"

He chuckled.

The sound hit me wrong. Not because it was cruel or mocking, but because something about it felt familiar in a way I couldn’t place. It tugged at something in the back of my mind, pulling at threads I couldn’t quite grasp.

"So what exactly do you think my intentions are?" he asked. "I’m sure your father has thought about it. He still gave you to me."

"Because you threatened our people." My voice came out sharper than I’d intended. "The people who make the pack a pack. The Sentinel families. The Omegas."

"Wow." His tone shifted, carrying an almost impressed tone. "You sound like you care."

"If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be here being humiliated by you right now."

The words hung between us for a moment, heavy with truth I hadn’t meant to give him.

"I’m inclined to believe your father forced you here," he said, his voice dropping lower, more intimate in a way that made my skin prickle. "Ensured you didn’t cause an all-out war. You know how women can be, don’t you, Margotine?"

Everything froze. My breath caught mid-step, heart thudding painfully hard.

The music swelled to a climax, notes building and building until they reached their peak. He spun me, the movement fluid and practiced, lifting me slightly off the ground before setting me back down as the score ended.

But the swirl of conflicting emotions left me numb to the spectacle. I struggled to make sense of what I was feeling, unable to process the moment as it happened.

Margotine?

The nickname echoed in my head, bouncing around like it was trying to find somewhere to land. No one called me that. No one except...

He lifted me back up to standing position, his hands steadying me as the last notes faded into silence.

"What did you call me?" My voice came out too sharp, too urgent.

"Your name," he said, completely unbothered. "What did you think I said?"

I stared at him, trying to see past the mask, past the carefully constructed neutrality he wore like armor. The bond pulsed under my skin, insistent and demanding, but his mind still somehow remained closed off and impenetrable.

He couldn’t be.

He wasn’t.

There was no possible way.

But that voice. Those eyes. That nickname. The way he’d said it, so casual, as if it belonged to him.

My heart slammed in my chest. My hands shook on his shoulders, betraying me.

"Margaux," he said again, perfectly enunciated. "You look like you’ve just seen a ghost."

I let out a quiet breath, something close to a laugh but without any real humor behind it. "Maybe I have."

His head tilted just slightly, like that answer interested him more than it should have.

"Should I be worried?"

I met his gaze, or what I could see of it behind the mask, and held it this time. "That depends. Are you hiding anything I should know about?"

"Everyone is hiding something, Margaux."

"Some secrets are heavier than others," I said carefully, watching his reaction. "Wouldn’t you agree?"

His thumb moved against my waist, just once, a small gesture that could have meant anything or nothing. "I suppose that depends on who’s carrying them."

The answer told me exactly nothing, which was probably the point.

He stepped back then, finally releasing me from the hold that had kept me locked in place throughout our dance. The sudden absence of his touch left me feeling strangely unmoored, like the bond itself was protesting the distance even as my mind screamed at me to get space, to think, to figure out what the hell was happening.

But before I could move or speak or do anything productive with the chaos spinning through my head, he extended his hand again. Not a demand this time, but an invitation.

"Come," he said. "Let me introduce you to my family."

I blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

"And you can introduce me to yours," he added, something that might have been amusement threading through his tone. "I believe that’s how these things work, isn’t it?

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