Stealing the Alpha’s Heritage

Chapter 22

The ancient journal falls open to a page marked with dried blood. My fingers trace the cramped handwriting, each word burning into my mind.

"The sin of Matthias Blackwood shall echo through generations until the debt is paid in full."

I lean closer, straining to decipher the faded ink.

"Matthias murdered his twin brother, Elias, on their eighteenth birthday," I read aloud. "Elias trusted him, and Matthias drove a silver blade through his heart for supreme power."

My hands shake.

"The Moon Goddess cursed him. Every third generation would produce twins compelled to repeat his betrayal. Brother killing brother, the stronger consuming the weaker."

The next page shows the pattern—every third generation, one twin dead.

"The curse can only be broken when those who rule choose love over power, when the Alpha and Luna abandon their titles willingly."

The journal slips from my fingers. We'd have to give up everything—Thorne abandoning his Alpha status, me renouncing Luna. But our boys would live.

My feet carry me through the pack house. Thorne's door stands slightly open, amber light spilling into the hallway.

"I wondered when you'd come," he says without turning from the window. "The challenge is at dawn. Are you here to say goodbye?"

"I'm here to save our sons." I step into his room, closing the door behind me. "I found the answer."

"Another miracle cure? We've been through dozens—"

"This one requires us to do the one thing neither of us wants." I set the journal on his desk. "Read it."

His expression shifts from skepticism to shock, jaw tightening, knuckles white.

"Give up being Alpha. That's your solution?"

"Our solution. We both do it, Thorne. You give up Alpha, I renounce Luna. We become ordinary wolves, and our boys live."

"Do you understand what you're asking?" He slams the desk. "I've spent my entire life building this empire for our sons!"

"An empire built on what?" My voice rises to match his. "On the bones of our child? Because that's what's coming—one of our boys murdering the other!"

"So we destroy everything?" He backs me against the wall. "Because some old book says it might work?"

"Yes!" I shove against his chest, but he doesn't budge. "If it saves them, yes! A thousand times yes!"

"Easy for you to say." His hands hit the wall beside my head. "You already walked away. I'm the one who'd be losing everything."

"You'd be losing a title. I lost my mate, my home, my entire life because you couldn't keep your hands off Serena!"

"Don't throw her in my face when you're wearing another Alpha's mark."

"You want to talk about marks?" I yank my collar aside, showing the still-burning brand on my neck. "This mark was the price to save our boys. What have you sacrificed?"

"Three years of pretending I didn't die the night you left."

"You seemed pretty alive with Serena on your lap."

"Serena was nothing!" The words tear from his throat. "A warm body to fill the space you left. Do you know what it's like to reach for someone who isn't there?"

"Yes." The admission escapes. "I know exactly what that's like."

Something shifts in the air between us. His green eyes search mine, finding something that makes his breath catch.

"You missed me." It's not a question.

"I missed who you used to be. The man who brought me wildflowers."

"That man never left." His hand cups my face with unexpected gentleness. "He just got buried under the Alpha who thought power mattered more than love."

"Then dig him out." I lean into his touch despite myself.

"Aria..." His voice rasps out my name like a sinner begging for redemption.

I feel the way it rolls off his tongue, rough and possessive. My skin prickles, every nerve ending alive and screaming for him.

His lips crash into mine, and I taste him—coffee and whiskey and the bitter edge of regret. I moan into him, my fingers tangling in his hair, yanking hard enough to make him growl.

"Fuck," he groans against my mouth. "You’re still so fucking perfect."

"Shut up," I hiss. "You don’t get to talk."

He laughs, dark and rough, and lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and I feel the bulge of his cock straining against his jeans, pressing into my clit through the thin fabric of my panties. I grind against him, shameless, needing the friction, needing him to feel how wet I already am for him.

"I hate you," I gasp, but his mouth moves to my throat, his teeth scraping over my skin, careful to avoid Evander’s mark. The bastard.

"I know," he growls, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. "I hate myself too."

Our hands are frantic. His shirt hits the floor first. My fingers claw at his belt, and he helps me, his hands shaking as he unzips his jeans and kicks them off.

My dress follows, ripped off me like it’s disposable, and I’m left in nothing but a lace bra and panties that are already soaked through. He strips them off me with his teeth, growling as he licks a hot stripe up my thigh.

"Fuck, Aria," he moans, his breath hot against my folds. "You’re dripping for me."

"Don’t tease," I snarl, my hips bucking against his face. "Put your fucking tongue in me."

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His mouth crashes into my cunt, his tongue fucking me with ruthless precision, and I scream, my hands fisting in his hair. He laps at me like a man starving, slurping up every drop of my wetness, his tongue flicking my clit in quick, brutal strokes that have me seeing stars.

"Thorne," I gasp, my thighs trembling around his head. "Fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop—"

He growls against me, the vibrations sending shockwaves through my body, and I come undone, my orgasm ripping through me like a fucking earthquake. He doesn’t let up, licking me through it, fucking me with his tongue until I’m shaking.

"Enough," I pant, pushing his head away. "I need you inside me. Now."

He stands, his cock thick and heavy, weeping precum, and I sink back against the wall, my legs spreading wider for him. He steps between them, and I feel the blunt head of his cock press against my entrance, teasing me, driving me insane.

"Thorne," I warn, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Don’t fucking play with me."

"Beg," he growls, his eyes dark with lust. "Beg me to fuck you."

"Go to hell," I snap, but I’m already grinding against him, my wetness making it impossible for him to resist.

He slams into me, stretching me wide, filling me completely, and we both cry out—me from the sheer fucking pleasure of it, him from the way my tight cunt grips his cock like a vice.

"Mine," he breathes against my ear, his hips pistoning into me with brutal force. "You’re still fucking mine."

Our bodies move together with three years of muscle memory, fucking like we were made for each other, like we’re trying to erase every mistake we’ve ever made.

When my second orgasm hits, it’s brutal, tearing through me like a fucking storm, and I bite his shoulder to muffle my scream. He follows me over the edge, his cum flooding my cunt, his hands gripping me like he’s afraid to let go.

Afterward, we collapse onto the floor, sweat and cum dripping between us. His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, his heartbeat steady and strong, and I close my eyes, letting the scent of him—musky and raw and unmistakably Thorne—wash over me.

"I hate you," I murmur, my lips brushing his skin.

"Right," he says, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back. "Me too."

But we both know it’s a lie.