Taking What I've Wanted

Magnus

People called me brutal, merciless, ruthless, and hopelessly obsessed with control, and I had never wasted my breath correcting them. Control was necessary when thousands depended upon my decisions, while loyalty was the only thing I valued above power. Those who gave me their loyalty received my protection and rarely had reason to fear me. Those who broke that trust learned why my name was spoken in lowered voices.

I had become Alpha Lord at ten years old, after poison stole both my parents and left a grieving kingdom in the hands of a boy. Childhood had ended before I truly understood what childhood was, but then again, I had never been permitted to have one. My father had trained me from my earliest memories to understand the title I carried and the bloodshed that often accompanied it. While other boys learned games and mischief, I learned strategy, combat, discipline, and the cost of hesitation.

Abel Mashwood had learned something about desperation when he arrived at the palace after greed and gambling stripped him of his fortune. Once a respected crop lord, Abel had wasted wealth that should have sustained his family for generations, then come begging me for a chance to rebuild. He wanted fertile land where he could farm again and recover everything he had lost. In return, I had asked for something valuable enough to justify the favor.

That was when I had met Lydia Mashwood.

The market had been crowded, noisy, and alive with the familiar chaos of merchants competing for customers. I had noticed her beside a vegetable stall, dressed more plainly than the women who usually caught my attention. Her clothes were worn and her appearance slightly unkempt, yet her beauty had stopped me all the same. More interestingly, she had been arguing with a seller who attempted to charge her an unfair price.

She had answered every complaint with quick, clever banter, and I had watched nearby merchants struggle to hide their amusement. She was small and unmistakably an omega, yet she held her own among stronger wolves as though she had forgotten she was expected to be timid. There had been boldness in her voice and an unexpected fire behind her eyes. By the time I left the market that evening, her sweet floral scent had lodged itself stubbornly in my memory.

A complete year passed, and Lydia Mashwood still returned to my thoughts when she had no right to occupy them. I remembered the shape of her smile, the sound of her voice, and the way her presence had seemed brighter than the noisy market around her. I had known women far more polished, wealthier, and better suited to my station, yet none had managed to linger as she did. When Abel finally arrived desperate enough to bargain away anything, I recognized the opportunity immediately and seized it without hesitation whatsoever then.

In exchange, I offered Abel two fertile plots of land and a heavy sack of gold coins, enough to restore the man's prospects if he possessed enough sense not to destroy them again. I considered the price more than generous, although Abel's eagerness to accept disgusted me. A man should not look relieved when surrendering his own niece. Still, I had not withdrawn the offer because Lydia was the one thing Abel possessed that I genuinely wanted.

I needed to have her near me, to discover whether memory had exaggerated the fascination that had followed me for twelve long months. I wanted her beside me, in my rooms, and eventually in my bed, where I could finally satisfy the desire that had become increasingly inconvenient. I had never built my life around permanence, and I did not intend to begin now. Lydia would be mine for as long as I wanted her, and afterward, I would decide what became of the arrangement.

The next day, I knew Abel had returned before anyone announced him. Abel's scent reached my office first, stale and unpleasant, but beneath it drifted something that immediately sharpened every instinct within me. Lydia's fragrance was soft, sweet, and unmistakably floral, although fear threaded through it strongly enough to alter its warmth. I gave permission to enter and waited with considerably less patience than I intended to reveal.

When the doors opened, there she was.

For one brief moment, satisfaction settled heavily in my chest as Lydia stepped inside and lifted her eyes toward me. Her scent shifted almost immediately, and I caught the first spark of startled appreciation before fear replaced it. My chest expanded with instinctive pleasure at the realization that she liked what she saw. Then the appreciation disappeared completely, drowned beneath alarm, anger, and something that felt remarkably like defiance.

Her emotions contradicted one another in ways I found deeply interesting. Her body trembled with fear, but her wolf was more offended than frightened, bristling beneath her skin as though the entire situation were a personal insult. Abel, meanwhile, looked eager to leave and barely spared Lydia another glance. I dismissed him with a curt gesture, and the man departed so quickly that disgust tightened my jaw.

What a filthy man.

I had plans for Abel Mashwood, particularly after witnessing how readily he abandoned the young woman he had brought to the palace. But Abel could wait, because I had more important things to focus upon. I turned my full attention toward Lydia and watched her gather whatever courage remained inside her. When she finally spoke, her voice shook, but her words were unexpectedly sharp.

“I will not be your sex slave.”

I stared at her for a heartbeat before laughter escaped me. The fierce determination in her expression was almost amusing beside the fear that rolled from her scent. Was that what Abel had told her? Considering the bargain I had made and the impression I had allowed Abel to carry away, I could hardly blame her for assuming the worst.

Lydia's anger sharpened at my laughter, and her wolf pushed closer to the surface. Most omegas would have been too overwhelmed by an Alpha Lord's presence to speak so boldly, yet Lydia seemed determined to resist me despite every instinct warning her otherwise. I found that fascinating. I released my pheromones slowly, careful not to overwhelm her, but allowing enough of my Alpha presence to fill the room.

Her eyes flashed blue.

For several seconds, her wolf resisted, and I watched with growing curiosity as Lydia's small body stiffened. Then instinct finally won the battle, and her wolf submitted beneath the weight of my command. Lydia lowered her head, staring at her feet, and I hummed approvingly. Yet the tightness in her shoulders told me submission did not come naturally to her.

I crossed the distance between us and lifted her chin with two fingers. Her eyes had returned to their deep brown color, though her wolf remained close enough for me to sense her anger simmering beneath the surface. I allowed my gray gaze to trace every inch of Lydia's face, taking in the delicate curve of her features and the exhaustion shadowing her eyes. She was stunning, far too stunning for her own good, if anyone asked me.

“You are beautiful,” I told her.

Her eyes widened so dramatically that I almost smiled again. The shock was genuine, making me wonder whether anyone had ever bothered to tell her what was plainly obvious. The possibility irritated me more than it should have, especially when I remembered Abel's eagerness to be rid of her. Lydia continued staring at me as though the compliment had confused her more than anything else that had happened.

I summoned two servants without looking away from her. They entered quietly and bowed, while Lydia's gaze shifted briefly toward them before returning to me. “Take her away,” I ordered. “See that she is fed, bathed, and properly prepared.” Lydia's brows drew together, and uncertainty once again threaded through her scent.

“What do I have to get ready for?” she asked in a small, shaky voice.

I smiled broadly, enjoying the way her expression tightened as she waited for my answer. “Tonight, Lydia Mashwood, you will be the one to warm my bed.” A snarl tore from her throat before she could stop it, and her wolf surged forward with renewed fury. I turned away with a quiet laugh as my pheromones strengthened, just enough to subdue her before she did something foolish.

As attractive as I found her, I reminded myself why I had brought Lydia to Bridgevine. I wanted one thing from her, and pleasure was not a complicated bargain. When I eventually grew tired of her, I would do what I had always done with women who no longer held my interest. I would discard her and continue with the life I had carefully built around power, duty, and control.

At least, that was what I believed as Lydia was led from my office. I did not yet know that the stubborn omega whose scent had haunted me for a year would soon become the one person capable of challenging every certainty I possessed. For now, however, night was approaching, and anticipation settled beneath my skin with an unfamiliar intensity. I returned to my desk, entirely unaware that wanting Lydia would prove far easier than ever letting her go.