Chapter 9 – The Alpha’s Denial
1166 Words
Lucien’s POV
THE MOMENT I left her room, the scent of the Beta still clung to my skin like a taunt.
I stalked down the hallway, each step deliberate, each breath controlled. Control—that was the key. It was what separated me from the rest of the pack, what kept the wolves in line and the Council’s vultures from circling too close.
I wasn’t jealous.
I told myself that twice before I even reached my office.
By the time I stepped inside, the urge to break something had dulled to a low, persistent burn in my chest. I went straight to my desk, flipping open my laptop. My fingers moved without thought, pulling up the security feed for the west wing.
The cameras were everywhere. I’d designed it that way—not for paranoia, but for efficiency. I knew every door that opened, every shadow that passed my thresholds. My pack called it ruthless. I called it foresight.
I switched to the feed five minutes ago.
There they were.
Celina and Rhys stood in the hallway outside her door, the air between them heavy in a way I didn’t like. Rhys had that look again—soft eyes, shoulders bent toward her like he was making himself smaller, safer. Like he was someone she could lean on.
My jaw flexed.
Not jealousy. Just…awareness. The Beta had always been loyal to me. But lately, it was clear his loyalty had shifted. And I didn’t like disloyal wolves sniffing around what was mine.
And she was mine.
Not as a mate. Not as a lover. Mine because she carried my heir, and no one—no Council, no pack member, no traitor Beta—would take that from me.
On the screen, she said something I couldn’t hear. Rhys leaned closer, his hand braced on the wall beside her head. My fingers tightened on the desk.
Then she touched his arm. Just a farewell. A light brush of her hand.
It might as well have been a knife to the gut.
The ashtray was in my hand before I realized it. The heavy glass whistled through the air and shattered against the far wall, scattering shards across the floor. The sharp scent of cold ash filled the room.
I sat back, forcing my breathing to slow. That wasn’t about jealousy. It was about boundaries. Respect. The Beta should know better. She should know better.
A knock came at the door. Not tentative—measured. Someone who understood my temper but didn’t fear it enough to stay away.
“Enter,” I said.
Eryk stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Broad shoulders, dark hair, eyes the color of wet stone—Eryk had been at my side since before I’d taken the Alpha’s seat. Trusted. Deadly. Honest to the point of irritation.
“You’re in a mood,” he said, glancing at the glass on the floor.
“I’m in control,” I replied, leaning back in my chair. “What do you want?”
“I came to ask what you’re going to do with the woman when she’s done carrying your heir.”
I let a thin smile curl my mouth. “I’ll keep the child. Obviously.”
“And her?”
“She’s irrelevant.”
Eryk’s brow lifted slightly. “Irrelevant? She’s the mother of your firstborn.”
“She’s a means to an end,” I said, making the words sound as final as possible. “Her job ends when the child is born. Then she’s free to go—or stay, if she prefers. It doesn’t matter to me.”
The lie tasted like iron, but I kept my tone smooth.
Eryk stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’re aware the child will be a hybrid.”
My gaze snapped to his. “You think I haven’t considered that?”
“I think you’re pretending it won’t matter,” he said flatly. “The Council will. The elders will. Hybrids aren’t easily accepted, Lucien. Not here. And the woman—”
“Celina,” I said before I could stop myself.
He caught it. I saw the flicker in his eyes.
“She can’t be Luna,” Eryk continued, as if I hadn’t interrupted. “The pack will never accept her. Too human. Too… unbound.”
I leaned back, the leather chair creaking. “Celina will never be my Luna.”
The laugh that followed was low, sharp, meant to dismiss the thought entirely.
And yet the image came anyway—her standing beside me in the Council hall, head high, defying every one of them. The sound of her voice cut through their judgment.
I crushed the thought before it could root.
Eryk studied me for a beat too long, but he didn’t push. “Then I’ll make preparations for the child’s arrival,” he said, turning to go.
The door opened again before Eryk could reach it.
Celina stepped inside.
Her eyes found mine immediately, and the breath I’d just steadied caught in my throat. She looked… wrecked. Eyes bright with unshed tears, mouth pressed tight like she was holding back words that might shatter her.
Eryk glanced between us, then slipped out without a word, closing the door behind him.
And for the first time all day, I felt my control slip.
“What is it?” I asked, keeping my voice level, businesslike.
“You tell me,” she said, her voice low but steady. “You watch everything, don’t you? You probably already know why I’m here.”
My jaw tightened. “If you’re here to defend your Beta, don’t. He can speak for himself.”
Her lips curved into something almost like a scoff. “This isn’t about Rhys. This is about you.”
“Everything is about me, Celina,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Because the only reason you’re still breathing is because of what you carry.”
Her hands clenched at her sides. “You keep saying that, like the child is the only thing that matters. Like I’m nothing.”
I met her gaze, let the weight of my authority settle between us. “You’re not nothing. You’re necessary. There’s a difference.”
For a second, I thought she might cry. Instead, she took one step closer, and that wild, stubborn fire I knew too well sparked in her eyes. “You can lie to yourself, Lucien. But don’t lie to me.”
I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “Get to your point.”
She inhaled sharply, like she was about to say something that would cut deep, then stopped. Her throat worked as she swallowed whatever words she’d been holding.
And then she just… looked at me. A look that said more than any insult could have. A look that dared me to admit what I wouldn’t.
It was almost a relief when she turned away, because I wasn’t sure what I might have said if she hadn’t.
- Writer
