Marked by The Alpha Mated to His Brother

Winter's POV:

“Winter…” she cries out. “Your father… he's been arrested.” 

Phone calls from my mother have never been a good thing.

There's this thing we witches have. Humans call it intuition. This feeling that something horribly wrong is about to happen. We call it insight. It's part of our powers, we sense trouble in the air before it even arrives.

The first sign of trouble is the weather. It's pouring on a Wednesday afternoon so badly it looks like it's nightfall. My old house wasn't built for heavy storms, and the roof tumbles loudly above me.

I blink twice when her words sink in. Like a good daughter, I do not shout, do not scream or cry. I blink twice, asking to confirm if what I heard is true and not the telephone acting up. “Excuse me?”

She cries into the phone. “Your father. He stole them. The relics. He was caught. He's with the wolves now. He's going to die.” 

My jaw nearly falls out of place. Even with my insight. Nothing could've prepared me for this. The relics? The one from the war? I thought no one knew where they were? How could he possibly have found them if it's been hidden for centuries? 

I inhale deeply. Mother has always been emotional, and it is my job as the first daughter to take charge in times like these. “Okay mom, stop crying and talk to me. Where is he now?”

“He's with them. The wolves from Stonefield Pack.”

Of course he is. My fingers tighten around the coffee mug in my arm. 

Stonefield. A large pack that runs on the blood of their enemies. Highly traditional. Wild creatures at best. They're the kind of people that hang the body of their enemies on stakes on their borders as a lesson. 

Mother continues. “They're calling it treason. They want restitution. A public one.”

I blink. “What does that mean?”

She doesn't say anything. “Mom?” 

Her voice is quiet, probably tired from all the crying. “They want a mating.”

The mug falls from my hand, hot coffee pouring on my toes. I can't even feel the heat of it, still in shock. For the first time throughout our call I can't keep my cool. I know where this is going, and I won't allow it. “No. No. No. I'm not doing this. I won't–”

“You have to. You're going to.” Her voice has lost the softness from a second ago, her familiar tone coming back. 

My worn slippers flap about as I pace the room. My heart is pounding in my chest. “You're talking like i don't have a choice. Like my fate is already decided.”

Some of her empathy shows here. “I'm sorry Winter but you really don't have a choice. It's been decided. It's either that or your father's head gets returned on a stake."

Father is the high wizard of the coven. If he dies, they'll be war, no doubt about it. The coven will be in disarray without someone to lead them. Lives will be lost. And if we lose, they'll probably take over our land and force us to be slaves. 

My feet come to a halt. Father's face is in my head. The stupid way he would smile at everyone like they were his to use, to toy with, to own. He taught me that emotions are weakness to be exploited. 

I sigh in resignation. “Who is it?” Who am I to call mate for what may be the rest of my life?”

I can feel the apology in her tone. “Their Alpha's younger brother. Derrick Blackbird.”

A cool breeze makes me shudder. Every supernatural knows about the Blackbirds. Old money and even older power. Everyone knows about them. Especially to stay away from them. 

“I don't even know him.” I say in annoyance.

“It doesn't matter anyways. It's purely political.”

As expected.

I laugh, but it's hollow, like my terrible roofing. “So this is it. This is how it happens.”

“Winter…” 

“I train my whole life. Obey you and father's every instruction. I've done everything expected of me and given up myself for this coven. Now I have to give up my body for some brute wolves because father got greedy?”

“Winter. Please don't make this harder than it already is.” 

I bite down on my lips. Tasting stale blue blood. In some stories, blue blood is given to a brave, strong person. In my world. Blue blood is for the weakest of the weak. Witches barely bleed, and when they do, it's light gray. I guess that's the price for being as weak as me. The powerful make moves and the weak suffer for it. 

“When?” I ask finally.

The silence on her end does nothing but make me more afraid. “Today in a week. This time next week.”

I hold on to the wall so I don't fall. “What?” I repeat just to be sure. “A week. As in seven days.” 

“I'm so sorry Winter. I tried–”

I cut the call before she has the chance to day anything else.

One week. This time next week I won't be Winter, I'll be Derrick's mate. Mrs. Blackbird. 

The room won't stop spinning. I'm taking several breaths but my chest won't stop hurting. 

One week till my life isn't mine anymore.

I stare outside my window. The century old tree out back is shaking, branches hanging on for dear life. My eye zooms in on one, and it seems to stand the storm, until it gets swept up by the strong winds. 

Just like me. Completely hopeless and lost to fate. 

I stare at the dark clouds like it's the cause of my problems. It rains back at me, relentless.

Well fuck.