Stealing the Alpha’s Heritage

Chapter 12

"Please, Rowena. You're the only person who can make him listen."

My hands shake as I press the phone against my ear, pacing Evander's guest room like a caged animal.

"Aria." Rowena's voice carries exhaustion that wasn't there three years ago. "My son has systematically stripped me of every ounce of influence I once held."

"But you're his mother—"

"After I helped you escape, he removed me from all pack councils." Her laugh cracks like dried leather. "He froze my accounts. Posted guards who report my every breath."

"He can't just—"

"He's Alpha of the most powerful pack in three territories. He can do whatever he wants." Papers rustle on her end. "I tried accessing the trust funds I set aside for the twins. He's already seized them."

My legs give out. I sink onto the bed's edge. "So there's nothing? No leverage, no allies who might help?"

"Every ally I cultivated over forty years now answers to him." Her voice drops. "He's thorough when he wants something, Aria. I'm sorry."

"They're not things to want!" The words tear from my throat.

Rowena pauses, and when she speaks again, her voice carries the weight of old secrets. "The curse has started manifesting in the boys."

"What are you talking about?" My blood turns cold.

"The Blackwood twin curse." She doesn't wait for my confusion to clear. "I've been watching them closely since they arrived. The signs are unmistakable."

"Rowena, they're fine. They're just—"

"Kael threw a guard across the room yesterday." Her interruption cuts like glass. "A grown wolf, Aria. Thrown like a rag doll by a toddler."

"That's impossible—"

"And Finn?" She continues relentlessly. "He's been having conversations with shadows in the corners of his room."

My chest constricts. "You're trying to manipulate me with fairy tales."

"Every third generation, Blackwood Alphas produce twins. The universe demands balance." Her voice drops lower. "One twin gets overwhelming strength, the other carries a different kind of power. They're drawn to conflict with each other from birth."

"Stop." My voice shakes. "They love each other."

"For now. But I've seen how Kael watches when Finn gets attention." She lets that sink in. "Thorne's grandfather had a twin. Dead at four from scarlet fever while his brother didn't even catch it. My husband's great-uncle had a twin. Drowned at six while his brother watched from shore, somehow unable to move to help."

"Those are coincidences—"

But even as I say it, I remember small moments—Kael pushing too hard during play, Finn's peculiar stillness when angry.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" My voice cracks.

"Would it have changed anything?" Her voice softens. "I thought you rejecting Thorne might break the pattern. But he's brought them home."

"There has to be a way to break it."

"Countless Blackwoods have tried. Separation, blessing ceremonies, even dark magic. The curse wants what it wants."

"Which is?"

"A sacrifice." The word hangs between us like a blade. "One twin for the other. Always."

My hand drifts to my throat, imagining Evander's mark burning there. "What if I bound myself to another Alpha? Would that dilute their blood claim?"

"You're considering Evander's mark." It's not a question.

"He says it would give me legal standing to challenge Thorne."

"It would start a war." Rowena's voice hardens. "The moment Evander marks you, Thorne will see it as theft of the highest order."

"Then what do you suggest? Because I'm running out of options and my boys are running out of time."

Silence stretches long enough that I check if the call dropped.

"Submit to the inevitable," she finally says. "Thorne won't hurt them. They're his legacy—"

I hang up before she can finish. My hands shake as I throw the phone against the wall, watching it shatter into pieces that match my composure.

Submit to the inevitable.

The doorknob turns under my grip before I consciously decide to leave. The hallway stretches ahead, moonlight painting silver paths across the floor. My feet know where they're going even if my mind pretends otherwise.

Evander's door stands partially open, warm light spilling into the corridor.

"Couldn't sleep either?" He doesn't look up as I enter.

"Rowena says marking me would start a war."

"Rowena's right." He sets down his pen, finally meeting my eyes. "It would also give me cause to fight one."

"You'd risk your entire pack for—"

"For you?" He rises, moving around the desk with predatory grace. "I've been risking them for three years just by keeping you here."

"That's not the same—"

"Isn't it?" He stops just outside my personal space, close enough that his scent floods my senses. "Every day you've been here is a day I've chosen you over complete safety."

"You chose debt repayment to Rowena."

"I chose you." His hand reaches for my face but stops millimeters from contact. "The debt was an excuse. Just like your resistance is an excuse."

"My resistance is—"

"Fear." His fingers finally make contact, trailing fire down my jaw. "You're terrified that wanting me makes you weak. That needing my mark makes you exactly what Thorne said—a woman who requires an Alpha's protection."

"Doesn't it?"

"It makes you a mother who'll do anything for her children." His thumb traces my lower lip. "There's no weakness in that."

The space between us evaporates. I don't know who moves first—maybe him, maybe me, maybe gravity itself conspires. His mouth crashes into mine with three years of pent-up hunger.

The kiss is not gentle, not sweet. It's a clash of teeth and tongues and hands that grip like they're trying to leave bruises. My fingers twist into his hair, yanking hard enough to make him grunt, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he growls into my mouth and drives me backward until my back slams against the wall.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps. His teeth graze the sensitive curve of my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Tell me you don't want this.”

“I want my boys back,” I gasp. “If this gets them back—”

“Not good enough.” He jerks back, his eyes blazing like coals. “I won't be your fucking bargaining chip.”

“Then what do you want?” I snap, my chest heaving.

“You.” His hands frame my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. “All of you. You want my mark? You take all of me.”

My defenses crumble like shattered glass. “I can't afford to love someone else who might leave.”

“I'm not going anywhere.” He lifts me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, my core pressing against the hard ridge of his arousal. “Three years I've waited. I'll wait forever if I have to.”

“My boys can't wait forever.”

“Then stop making them.”

The bedroom door slams shut behind us, and suddenly clothes are flying off. His hands are everywhere—gripping, kneading, demanding—while my nails rake down his back, leaving angry red welts.

“You are mine,” he growls, the word tearing from his throat as he thrusts into me, deep and unrelenting. “Say it.”

“Yours,” I choke out, the lie bitter on my tongue, but my body doesn't care about honesty. It arches into him, craving every inch, every thrust, every searing moment of connection.

When his teeth sink into my neck, I scream. The mark burns like every wrong choice I've ever made crystallized into one unforgivable moment.

He doesn't stop. His hips grind against mine. My hands claw at his shoulders, my thighs tighten around his waist, and I'm losing myself in the feel of him, in the overwhelming intensity of it all.

“Again,” he demands, his voice rough and commanding. “Say it.”

“Yours,” I moan, the word slipping out in surrender.