Claimed by the scarred Alpha

ISABELLE

I ran the moment my legs would carry me, half stumbling down the corridor toward the infirmary, my mind still reeling from everything Étienne had just torn out of me by force.

But underneath the panic, something else had loosened in my chest.

I thought of Vivianne. My sister, my twin, the woman I’d spent a decade, maybe even longer, pretending to be so completely that I’d nearly forgotten how to answer to my own name. But now, someone other than Lucian finally knew. The secret I’d carried alone for so long, the one that had eaten quietly at me every single day since I buried her, no longer belonged only to me.

It felt obscene, how free that made me feel, given everything it had cost to get here.

I slowed as I reached the infirmary door, and something in me shifted one final time.

I did not have to be Vivianne anymore.

I could be Isabelle again.

I pushed the infirmary door open and stepped inside.

A woman stood near one of the cots, and beside her hovered something I genuinely did not have a word for. It was a tiny winged creature no bigger than my hand, and both of them turned toward me with the sharp, coiled readiness of people bracing for a fight.

"What are you doing here?" the woman said.

"I am obviously here for my daughter," I said, and I didn’t wait for permission before crossing the room toward the cot where Margaux lay.

She looked wrong. Too still, her face slack in a way I’d never once seen on her, not even as an infant. I pressed a hand to my mouth and stared down at her, horror climbing through my chest.

A man joined us a moment later, and something in his expression shifted the second he recognized me.

"Luna Vivianne," he said, bowing slightly.

"Just call me Isabelle," I said.

He blinked, clearly startled by that, but didn’t press.

"What exactly is wrong with her?" I asked, my eyes still fixed on my daughter.

The tiny winged creature flew closer, hovering near my shoulder.

"She’s under the influence of a demon now," she said. "Becoming a witch. Losing her shade in the process. I put her under so she wouldn’t hurt anyone before she’s fixed."

Fixed...

I clung to that word like a rope thrown into open water.

"Fixed how?" I asked. "What does that mean? How will she be fixed?"

All three of them exchanged a look, quick and loaded, the kind that told me immediately they were hiding something from me.

"It has been discussed with her mate," the woman replied carefully.

"I am here," I snapped, my voice rising despite myself. "I am standing right here, goddammit. Tell me."

The man who I now has assume was the head healer of the space, stepped forward, his expression apologetic, though there was no room for negotiation in his eyes.

"We are sadly not at liberty to disclose that information to you," he explained. "It falls under Valcourt’s protected matters now, given that she is one of us too."

I scoffed, disbelief twisting bitterly in my stomach.

"Even if she is my daughter."

"Regardless of whether she is your daughter or not." His tone softened, but his answer remained immovable.

I looked back down at Margaux, at the impossible stillness of her body, and felt something inside my chest cave in completely.

"I am so sorry, Margo," I whispered. "I didn’t know it would lead to this. I never thought it would lead to any of this."

I couldn’t stay upright any longer, not without them seeing just how badly I was unraveling, so I pushed myself to my feet and walked out. I needed air. Somewhere private enough that I could finally fall apart without an audience.

"Excuse me," I managed, before the door swung shut behind me.

I made it perhaps ten feet down the corridor before the tears came, hot and relentless. I pressed my back against the wall and let myself cry in a way I hadn’t allowed myself to in longer than I could remember.

Then I heard the faint flutter of wings.

I turned to find the small creature from before hovering in front of me, her expression noticeably softer than it had been inside.

"Sorry for interrupting your moment," she murmured. "But can we talk?"

"It didn’t exactly seem like anyone wanted to talk to me in there." I wiped roughly at my face.

"They were being careful," she explained. "They knew what the cost of fixing your daughter would actually be. They didn’t want to say it in front of someone like you. From my time with Ophelia, I have come to learn about some unwritten rules among your people. Like how some things are easier to discuss away from the people they’ll hurt most."

She reached for my hands, her attention settling on them with such intensity that I instinctively wanted to pull away. "Lucky for me. I am not mortal."

"What does that mean?"

"Your life threads are very complicated," she observed. "The one connecting you to your daughter is among the most unique I’ve seen in a very long while."

"My sister used to say things like that." I swallowed, remembering the journals she’d left behind. "She was a whisperer, though she never got the chance to fully understand what she was before..." I trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

I looked at the creature again.

"What threads connect me and my daughter?"

"It is three, woven into one," she replied. "A thread of gold, a thread of black and a thread of blue."

She studied me carefully before continuing.

"You are destined to have a short relationship with her. You are also an obstacle to her happiness for as long as you live. Even if you are loyal to her beyond almost anything else in your life."

"I cannot be an obstacle to Margaux." The words tore out of me. "I have spent my entire life trying to protect her."

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