TERMS AND CONDITIONS

Alpha Hayden's POV

"The bond will be severed," I said. "That is not a discussion."

Claire Thorne uncrossed and recrossed her legs in the chair across from my desk. The silk she had chosen to wear to a business meeting shifted with the movement and I looked away because the woman had the dress sense of a clown sometimes

I picked up my pen.

"Alpha Hayden." Her voice had turned soft. "Yes, something has to be done. My daughters are suffering…”

“Tell them not to worry,” I picked up a pen and scribbled something. “No son of mine would be mate with an omega.”

She went quiet for a while. She let out a worried sigh, then she spoke. “But severing a triple bond forcibly, the damage it would do to your boys…"

"My boys will recover. They are strong."

"They won't." She leaned forward slightly. "I have seen what that thing does to wolves. Oh Moon Goddess, Selene,” she shook her head slowly as she spoke. “You know the literature on forced bond severance. The psychological damage alone. Zade, Rook, Cal, they are your heirs. You need them to be functional. You need them whole."

I set the pen down. Where does she stand? She wanted the betrothal or not?

She was not wrong about the literature. That was the irritating part. Forced severance on a triple bond of this strength had a success rate that made me want to throw the council's research documents across the room every time I read them. The boys would survive it technically. Whether they came out the other side as anything useful was the part nobody could promise me.

"So what," I said flatly. "I leave the bond intact and watch my sons hand IronPeak's political future to an omega? Never,” my wolf made my jaw set.

"No." Claire smiled. "You marry me."

What?,

I looked at her.

She held the smile steady, wide blue eyes calm, like she had just suggested something obvious. “That is the solution…”

"I beg your pardon," I was already cutting her.

"Think about it." She shifted forward in the chair, smoothing her dress over her knee. The movement was slow. I noticed she had undone the top button of the dress at some point between sitting down and now. I had no idea when. "The Thorne alliance is what you actually need. Not three marriages. One marriage is enough; you and me. Luna of IronPeak,” smiled in glorifying foolery. “The pack connection your council wants stays intact. Your boys keep their bond without danger. Everyone gets what they need."

I stared at her.

“I am the perfect woman for you, Alpha Hayden,” she half threw her hands in the air. “I cook, I clean,” her voice took on a particular rhythm, steady and building, the kind of rhythm like she had a rehearsal before coming. “ I am loyal. Dedicated. Traditional. I understand what a Luna's role requires.” She rolled her shoulders and I felt a headache building from the back of my head as she kept talking. “I am dutiful. Structured and deeply committed to the man I chose.”

Was she reading from a list?

She shifted. Adjusted her silk. Her chin dropped slightly and she looked up at me from under her lashes.

I watched her for a moment.

She was writhing. That was the only word for it. She was sitting still and somehow writhing at the same time, like an earthworm that had crawled onto salt.  

I had always found Claire Thorne strange. Not in an interesting way. In the way a misaligned door was strange, technically functional, always slightly wrong, making a sound every time you moved through it.

I had never once understood what she was doing. She always had a weird face, body and tongue movement whenever she was around me. It made me uncomfortable.

I leaned back in my chair.

"Claire."

"Yes?"

"What you have just described," I said, "is the single most architecturally unsound proposal I have heard in my life. Only a servant has all the qualities you mentioned. Are you applying to be a servant in the pack house?"

She blinked.

"The Thorne betrothals were useful because they produced three political bonds simultaneously. One marriage to the mother produces nothing except a Luna I did not select through any process that holds weight with the council and three daughters who are now legally my stepdaughters, which means I have three extra burdens, no four; plus you. Which also means my sons are now legally their step-siblings, which means the original arrangement does not survive contact with basic family law.”

She opened her mouth.

“Additionally, have you ever thought, what if they have had sex? If I get married to you, it means the siblings once had sex with themselves. A gross taboo!”

“I… I…” she rambled like a thing without head

Her mouth closed.

She smiled. Just barely.

Her fingers pressed flat against her knee.

"My ideas are solid," she said. A bit steady. "You need an ally on the LakeDale side with the betrothals collapsing. You need someone who understands what your pack needs from the inside. I am practical. I am discreet. I do not panic." She met my eyes directly. "And I will give you a son."

“Oh please, Claire,” my irritation rose to the roof. How could an oldie be of any child bearing use?

There was a knock at the door and it cut me short.

It opened before I answered it because the only people who opened my door before I answered it were my sons and the cleaning staff, and this was not the cleaning staff.

Cal walked in.

He stopped when he saw Claire. He seemed to hold back from rolling his eyes.

I gestured to the chair beside Claire's.

"Sit down," I said.

He sat.

I moved around the desk and stood in front of him.

"The council has been informed about the corridor," I said. "Witnesses and cameras. You were seen."

Cal didn't reply.

"You have a betrothal. You have a responsibility to this pack and to an arrangement that existed before you had an opinion about it." I let that land. "If you cannot manage yourself then I will make the decision for you. I will remove you from succession."

“Isn't that too much of a threat to your own children…” Claire’s raised pitch came uninvited 

“I would appreciate it if you mind your business!” I shot her icy stare. Damn goody two shoes. Everyone knows how she treats her daughters, but we pretend to be oblivious.

I turned back to Cal, planning to keep threatening him with the one thing he feared the most.

Cal looked at me. Then past me at Claire. Then back at me.

He smiled. Small. Controlled. In times like these, he reminds me of his mother. 

“Name your price, son. The omega

or your birthright. I am not a patient man…”

"Then I suggest," he said quietly, "you don't make me choose.”