Claimed by the scarred Alpha

SÉVERINE

He materialized in the center of my room without announcing himself, which was typical, and I looked up from where I had been sitting on the edge of the bed with my hands pressed together, trying to stop them from shaking.

"What is the news?"

"The healer is not finished with his analysis yet," he said. "I was considering interfering with his memory, something subtle enough not to raise suspicion given that Étienne was directly in the infirmary. But before I could make a move, Margaux came through the door and saw me."

"Fuck." The word left me before anything else could. "She is not supposed to be able to see you here anymore. Not after everything. How could you fuck this up? This is going to cause problems."

"I am aware of that," he said, something sharp underneath the words.

"Watch your tone."

He exhaled slowly and settled into something more controlled. "I apologize, Mistress."

My phone rang.

Céline.

I stared at her name on the screen for three long seconds before declining the call and dropping the phone face down on the nightstand. I had no patience for her brand of pretend solidarity today. I was already sinking in my own mess, and she could wait her turn.

The phone rang again.

I picked it up, pressed accept, and shaped my voice into something that approximated warmth.

"Hey, Celly."

"I see you are awake now." Her voice carried a lightness that immediately put every hair on the back of my neck on edge, because Céline was never light without a reason. "Why did you cut?"

"Sorry. My eyes are still fuzzy. I also thought you might come see me," I said. "Given everything."

"Why would I visit," she said pleasantly, "when I have a pack to run?"

I blinked. "No way."

"Father handed it over last night. One week, but a week is a week." A pause then followed. "How are you feeling? Physically?"

"I am managing." I shifted the phone against my ear, already calculating. "I know you are busy, so do not feel obligated to—"

"Séverine, where are you right now?"

"My room. Why?"

She laughed.

It was not a warm laugh. It was the kind that signaled you were about to hear something you would rather not.

"We need to get rid of that Beaumont girl," she said.

"We need to give Étienne what he wants so he stops being difficult," I said carefully. "That is the cleanest path forward for everyone, and I have no problem with her. He is clearly tormenting her."

Those were lies. Horrible lies I knew even she would not believe.

"Are we really friends, Séverine?" Her voice had gone quieter now, which was somehow worse than the laugh.

"Of course we are."

"Then you would be honest with me. And you have not been." A beat of silence followed. "In any other situation, I would leave you to burn and enjoy watching. But I cannot afford to be petty right now."

A tightness seized my chest.

"Why didn’t you finish the job the first time around?" she asked. "When you had the chance."

"I am not sure what you mean."

"Do not play dumb with me." Her voice sharpened. "I know now. I know exactly what you are, Séverine. My dead brother said it with his own lips." Another pause came, and it was longer this time, as if the goal was to let dread settle into my bones so whatever she said next landed properly. "And I am not the only one who knows. The little Luna was there. Margaux knows your secret."

The phone almost slipped from my grasp.

"I do not—"

"Do not bother denying it." Her voice had gone almost conversational, the way hers did when she had decided to enjoy something. "Are you afraid? You sound afraid."

She laughed again, and this time the sound was unhinged enough that I pulled the phone slightly away from my ear.

"At least you have magic to solve your problems," she said. "That bitch has been the source of everything going wrong for you. Even if you go down, take her out first. Do that one thing properly."

"No... No... No... If Étienne figures out what I am," I said slowly, "everything is over. Everything I have fought for!"

She made a sound of disgust so complete it was almost artistic. "Who cares? Genuinely, who gives a single fuck? Spell him if you have to. You are a witch. Use what you have. If I could trade places with you right now, I would do it without thinking twice."

The line went dead.

I sat for a long moment, clutching the phone, its blank screen reflecting my own ghostly image back at me.

"We are finished."

My familiar’s voice came from close beside me, and when I looked up, his expression was stripped of everything except the particular flatness of someone who had already run every calculation and did not like a single outcome.

"We have to run," he said.

"No."

"Séverine—"

I did not like when he said my name because it meant he had a point.

"I can go to Étienne," I said, the thought forming as I spoke it. "I can tell him the truth myself. Before Margaux does. If it comes from me directly, if I frame it correctly, there is a chance—"

He moved without warning.

His hand connected with the side of my face, not hard enough to leave a mark but firm enough to interrupt whatever spiral I had been building toward, and his hands closed around my shoulders, steadying me against the movement.

"Have you lost your mind completely?" His voice came out low and urgent, stripped of all its usual careful distance. "Listen to me. Think about what we have done inside this estate. The attacks on Margaux. Prim.... I did not spare her one bit." He shook me once, gently. "There is not enough magic in existence to wipe an entire pack’s memory cleanly. There are not enough Omega bodies to sacrifice for workings of that scale. If Margaux tells him, and she will tell him, there is nothing left to salvage here."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" My voice cracked on it. "I am terrified."

"We run," he said. "That is what we do. You let go of this obsession because there is no point to it anymore."

"No." I pulled away from him. "I am not running. I am not going to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder because of her. Losing Étienne to her! Never!"

"Then you are choosing to stay and be destroyed." His voice had gone flat again. "Is that your preference? Because if you will not run, you need to tell me right now whether you are prepared to strike everyone in this estate down. Including Étienne."

The question hung in the room between us.

I stared at him.

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