ALPHA THORNE

I hear female shouts from a distance and sigh, knowing it will be a long day.

I walk away from the portrait of my forefather that I had been studying. I've always been told I'm a carbon copy of my grandfather, but I never saw the resemblance until now.

He died a miserable man, and now that my life is just as tragic, I recognize that we do, indeed, look like split images of each other.

Misery changes perception. It makes it clearer.

"Alpha, it's the Luna!" Cries my young cousin, Lysandra.

"What of her?" I reply.

What has Maeve done this time? It's always something with her. That woman, my mate, is the basis of my misery. Our skin sparks when it touches, but my soul crumbles with disgust every time. I want nothing to do with her.

"She fell off her balcony!"

Oh, no. Is the grass alright?

I wonder if she fell off the same balcony she tossed her puppy from, killing it, because the young thing bit her. She alleges the fall was an accident, but I saw her chuck the puppy myself. She's a cruel bitch, but she's an utter devil to pretty young females that she seems a threat.

I can't bring myself to care for a greedy, unfaithful mate that's as fake as the moon is round. If karma exists, she broke her neck and left this world, freeing us from her. I pity the moon goddess for having to face her.

I sigh again and make my way to my mate. She must be clawing the eyes of some poor servant girl, blaming her for the fall.

I'm in no particular rush to reach her. Maeve has been in other suspicious accidents, like her bedroom going up in flames. I wouldn't be surprised if this was another antic of her to garner my pity and attention.

She is desperate to consummate our relationship, but I wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole. When she transferred into my pack and ran into me for the first time, she was so drunk that she didn't register I was her Alpha. She proceeded to have one last hoorah and shoved another man's cock down her throat–a mistake much regretted when she later realized that I'm no lowly-ranking male. I'm at the top of the pyramid.

She might have had more males down her throat, but I don't care to find out. She has done enough to disgrace herself.

I see through all her teary apologies. She only regrets her infidelity because my displeasure has denied her luxuries. My mother's coffers are off-limits to her. Jewels, as ancient as this house, that have passed down from Luna to Luna. Maeve will never taint the precious metals worn by my foremothers. I will never travel the world with her. I will never shower her with love.

I run a hand through my hair as I step outside and approach the crowd. Pack members part, making space for me.

I find Maeve on the grass, clutching an awkwardly twisted arm. Her eyes shift to me, revealing the same horror I saw when I found her pleasuring another male that fateful night.

I kneel before her, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her close to my chest. I extend my fangs, intending on placing a temporary mark on her neck to speed her healing and put her out of her misery.

I have no interest in entertaining these theatrics. I have more important things to do.

"Get–get off me!"

A hand slams against my chest–bouncing off harmlessly but offending me nonetheless.

I scowl at her, my blood boiling. What is this insolence? Is she trying to humiliate me before my pack? Is this another sick manipulation effort to garner sympathy?

I lose control, my wolf erupting to the surface as I shift.

Pack members scramble with panicked cries. My wolf growls at Maeve, ordering her to submit. The human part of me fights for control. As much as I hate the female, I recognize she is injured, and now isn't the time for a show of dominance. I am not cruel; I would never steal her thunder.

"D...dog. Dog..." she rambles under her breath, her eyes hooding as if she's about to faint.

Now she's calling me a lesser breed. Another insult.

I shift back to my human form, and Maeve's eyes fall to my cock. One she has seen many times, and fuels her desperation for me.

There is no usual look of approval or longing in her eyes today. There is only fear.

"Oh, Jesus. Jesus..."

Now she rambling human deities? She must have hurt her head in the fall. That's the only explanation for her absurdity.

She palms her forehead with her uninjured hand and wipes her face. Then she stares at her hand as if it were alien to her.

"Maeve," I call her name. "Let me mark you."

"No!" she yells. "I–I'm not into that."

"Into what?"

"Marking? Pissing?"

She thinks I'm going to piss on her to mark my territory like dogs do? She's definitely concussed.

"Can you shift?" I ask. Healing slightly speeds in wolf form. If she doesn't want me to mark her, this is the only option left. I already know that she hates needles and will reject any injections from the doctors.

"What the fuck is happening?" she mumbles to herself.

"I need you to shift. Now."

She looks at me and bites her trembling lip. I lean backward, giving her space, and wait for her to shift.

She sits up, groaning as she does. Then she looks at me from under her lashes.

"Shift," I repeat.

"But–but I just did," she whispers.

She shifted positions, yes, but this is clearly not what I meant. Shifting should be like second nature to her. She has done it a thousand times. It's muscle memory.

I exhale, giving up on the notion.

"I'll take you to your chambers and let you rest."

She licks her lips and cradles her injured arm against her chest. "Listen, man, I think there has been a misunderstanding. Alright? I don't want any trouble, bro. Just point me to the hospital."

I frown. Man? Bro? This is not how Maeve usually speaks. She tries her best to be charismatic, always using honorifics. Always trying to swoon the people's favor by acting like a princess.

She wouldn't be caught dead speaking like this.

"Very well. I'll take you to the hospital."

Her shoulders sag with relief, but she tenses again when I sweep her into my arms.

"H–hey, dude. I can walk."

I frown at her. This is the first time I've had her in my embrace. And instead of fawning and sighing like an actress, she's trying to escape.

Her concussion must be pretty bad.

"Maeve, my name is Thorne. Not dude, bro, or man. You will do well to address me as such."

She flinches at my tone. Glancing around at the pack members surrounding us with lowered heads, she mumbles, "Forgive me, Your Majesty."

Your majesty? What are we, humans?

I grunt as I head for the clinic. The sooner I drop her off, the sooner I get rid of her and this strange situation.

A/N: Maeve the princess is goneee and Victoria from the Trenches is here to show them how it's done 😂