Chapter Three: Fourth Wife To A Pedophile.

Nyra

“Alpha Corrick?”

The name barely left my lips before my mother nodded. “Yes. Alpha Corrick of the Thornhart Pack.”

I stared at her, waiting for some sign that this was a joke, that any of this was a joke, but found none. He was sixty years old, and he already had three wives, and somehow, in the space of one conversation, my parents had decided I would make a perfect addition to that collection.

“You want me to marry a sixty-year-old man?” My voice came out incredulous, thin with disbelief.

“He is a respected Alpha,” my father said, like that answered anything.

“He has three wives already.”

“That is not your concern,” my mother said.

I looked between them, waiting for either of them to show 

even the faintest sign they understood how absurd this sounded, and found nothing there either. 

“Alpha Corrick is wealthy, powerful, and well respected within his territory,” she continued. “He has provided for every one of his wives.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to be his fourth.”

“You are not in a position to be making demands, Nyra.” Her eyes swept over me.

There it was again, my body and lack of a wolf, the one thing that handed every choice in my life to somebody else.

“He knows about your condition,” my mother continued. “And despite our shameful predicament, he’s still agreed to marry you.”

I didn't know whether to feel relieved or insulted, and somehow I managed both at once, the two feelings tangled so close together I couldn’t find the seam between them. “Can you hear yourselves?” I snapped. “You want me to spend the rest of my life married to that pedophile of an Alpha.”

“Watch your tongue. Do you know how difficult it was to find someone willing to accept you? You should consider yourself lucky.”

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat. My mother gave me the long, level look that had ended every argument I’d ever tried to win against her.

“You don’t have a choice, Nyra.”

Thirty-five minutes later, we stood in Alpha Corrick’s receiving hall, and I understood exactly how small my life was about to become.

He was worse than I’d imagined, thin grey strands combed over a balding scalp, his stomach straining against his shirt buttons.

His eyes fell on me. “This is her?”

“Alpha Corrick.” My father’s voice had gone thin, ingratiating. “This is Nyra, our daughter, and—”

“You told me she was wolfless.” His face twisted in disapproval. “You didn’t tell me she’d be fat.”

I felt my face go hot, the old familiar flinch happening behind my ribs.

“She’s not what you expected, I know,” my mother said, brittle. “But she’ll do just fine. She’s obedient.”

The Alpha hummed, circling me like a predator sizing up its next meal. His eyes dragged over me, inappropriate and slow. “Hmm, she looks healthy.” He tilted his head. “Turn around, girl. Let me see you properly.”

I looked at my mother, who was practically screaming at me with her eyes not to embarrass her. Ignoring the pain in my leg, I turned, his tongue sweeping over his lower lip, satisfaction curling deeper into his face with every inch of me he catalogued.

He was disgusting, and he wore it like something to be proud of.

“Tell me,” he said, closer now, close enough that I could smell his dinner on his breath. “Do you know how fortunate you are? A wolfless girl, taken in by a man of my standing?”

I looked at him. Then at my parents, waiting for me to say something grateful.

“I think you’re old enough to be my grandfather,” I said, “and I’d rather claw my own eyes out than answer that honestly.”

“Nyra!” My mother’s voice cracked. “Watch your tongue.”

“Watch my tongue?” I laughed. “You want me to respect him?” I looked back at Corrick, at the thin grey strands combed carefully over his scalp. “He’s a filthy old man. A pedophile in an Alpha’s coat. I’d rather stay wolfless and alone the rest of my life than spend one night in his bed.”

A sharp smack landed across my cheek before I could say anything else, my head snapping sideways, vision going white, a ringing rushing through my ear.

“You ungrateful bitch.” Corrick’s voice dropped low and furious. “I chose to marry you despite how useless you were, and that’s the thanks I get?”

“I’m so sorry, Alpha Corrick.” My mother stepped forward, her apology aimed entirely at him, never once at me. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her today.”

He didn’t look at her. His eyes stayed on me, gone flat and cold.

“That kind of disrespect will not be tolerated in my household. I think my wife needs some much-deserved training.” He turned to a guard along the wall. “Bring me the whip.”

My whole body went cold. “What? No—”

He grabbed my wrist, fingers crushing down. I twisted against it. “Dad. Mom. Please, do something—”

Neither of them moved.

The guard returned with something long and coiled, dark leather catching the torchlight.

“No, no, please—” All my earlier defiance burned away by pure animal fear. “I’m sorry, I won’t say it again, I promise—”

Corrick took the whip without hesitation, his grip tightening as he did, his face settled into the calm stillness of a man who’d done this before and felt nothing doing it.

He shoved me forward. I hit the floor hard, palms scraping raw against stone, my bad leg buckling beneath me.

Above me, I heard the whip uncoil, heard him take one slow, satisfied breath.

“Mom. Dad, please, help me, I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good—”

I heard him draw his arm back, but just before it could come down—

BOOM!

The iron doors exploded off their hinges, the sound swallowing every other noise in the room, freezing everyone in place.

Something warm splashed across my skin before I understood what was happening.

Corrick’s scream tore through the hall. When I opened my eyes, his whole wrist was gone, severed clean, the whip falling useless to the ground. He stumbled back, clutching the stump, blood streaming as he dropped to his knees.

Gasping, I forced my head up.

The same silver eyes from the forest stared back at me. But there was nothing drunk or disheveled about him now.

His gaze moved to me, gentling for half a second before hardening again, aimed past my shoulder at my mother, my father, everyone in that room who had stood there and let this happen

.

“If anyone else dares lay a finger on her,” he said, “a lost limb will be the least of your problems.”