< 268 The Only Choice
268 The Only Choice
Lucian
Pots
I was relieved Alaric had finally responded. At least now, the waiting was over. As much as I wanted to be the one to face him-to be the one who ended this-I knew it wasn’t my fight to take.
This was personal for my father. Deeper than revenge. It was about reclaiming everything Alaric had tried
to destroy.
I watched from the corner of the lounge as my father stood by the window, seething in silence, fists clenched. Martha had calmed down, though her eyes were still red. She moved toward him slowly and wrapped her arms around him from behind, resting her head against his back.
“Don’t risk your life for me, Vander,” she whispered, her voice tight with fear. “Please.
Reconsider. You’ve already been through too much.”
His body tensed, but his voice was soft. “Do you have so little faith in me?”
“It’s not you I don’t believe in,” she said, holding him tighter. “It’s him. Alaric doesn’t fight fair. You might go into that battleground with honour-but he won’t. He’s planning something in Neev. He always plans something. He has people there. Influence. Control. I don’t know where the Alpha of Neev stands, but I
know Alaric. He will not play by the rules.”
She stepped back, voice rising with urgency. “Let our sons handle it. Let the next generation carry the fight.
”
But my father shook his head, firm. Unyielding.
Her warning only seemed to fuel him more.
I knew then that he wouldn’t back down.
So I stepped in-not to change his mind, but to help Martha understand.
“Martha,” I said gently, “this isn’t just about the war. It’s about him. My father lost his mate-my mother-to
Alaric’s violence. Then Alaric tried to kill you. He sent you here as a weapon, not a woman. You were
supposed to infiltrate this family, seduce my father, and destroy us from the inside.”
She flinched. I didn’t sugarcoat it. She needed to hear it plain.
“But you didn’t destroy us,” I said. “You became one of us. You chose to stay. You gave my father another son, and you gave me a brother. That wasn’t part of Alaric’s plan. You are not his mate anymore, Martha. You’re a Nighthorn. And this fight? It’s about sending that message-clearly, finally.”
Martha’s lip trembled slightly, but she didn’t speak.
That’s when Mara added the final blow of truth.
“Alaric didn’t just accept the challenge,” she said calmly. “He made it personal. By publicly claiming Martha
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as hiswoman, he’s calling Darian a bastard. A product of stolen affection.”
The words hit hard.
Mara looked Martha straight in the eye. “If Lucian or Darian fights and kills him, you’ll be remembered as his widow. Still tied to him by blood and shame. But if Vander kills him, the claim dies with him. Permanently. Darian is legitimized, and you’re freed. Publicly.
Symbolically. Legally.”
And suddenly, I saw it.
Alaric had backed us into a corner. Pretending to offer choice. Pretending to allow a champion. But by naming Martha as his, he made sure there was only one man who could answer the challenge.
My father.
He knew it.
“We’ll match his press release,” I said, my voice low but firm. “Accept his venue. Then name Father as our
champion.”
The words tasted bitter on my tongue. It was calculated cruelty for him to choose our champion, and of all people, my father. I didn’t yet understand the full extent of his scheme, but it had the stench of personal vengeance. He loathed my father that much was clear. I needed to unravel his plan before it bled us dry-
and fast.
Mara and I left the lounge in silence, the tension between us almost tactile. As we walked back toward our wing, I noticed again how bare it was-no softness, no personality, no warmth. It hadn’t been touched by
her. Not yet.
This place was meant to be our home now. We wouldn’t be going back to the other house; not while peace held in the mansion. And as Alpha and Luna, we were expected to remain. But these walls didn’t yet feel
like hers. Or ours.
I reached for her, drawing her close as we approached our hallway. Her presence steadied me, even as
everything else threatened to spin out of control.
“When will you make this place yours?” I whispered into her ear.
I wasn’t sure she’d answer. My question stirred something raw in her. Her breath caught-and then she
moaned.
I didn’t think. I pinned her against the wall, my lips crashing into hers, desperate and hungry. She kissed me back with equal fire, no hesitation, no fear-just need.
“Let’s get to the room,” I linked her, but she didn’t budge. Her hands gripped me, her body already molding into mine, reckless and wanting.
My will shattered. She had that effect on me. One touch from her, and I became hers all over again.
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Helpless. Eager. Devoted.
I lifted her with ease, her legs wrapping around me. My hand slipped beneath the fabric of her panties,
fingers searching, teasing. She was already wet-already aching for me. A growl escaped my throat, primal and rough, as I pressed my forehead to hers.
“We shouldn’t-someone could see…”
But my voice was already trembling, my restraint evaporating.
She tugged at my belt with urgency, nails grazing my skin, and I knew-I was lost to her.
The bedroom door was just five doors away.
But it might as well have been miles.
She unfastened my belt with a quiet confidence that undid me faster than her hands ever could. I freed myself and thrust into her in one breathless motion.
She gasped-no, moaned-her body arching into mine with a fervor that set me on fire. That sound… it fed something primal in me. I held her tighter, my hips moving with purpose, each stroke deep and consuming. The intensity pulled everything else into silence-no war, no betrayal, no looming threats. Just us. Just
this.
Her nails raked down my back, hard enough to sting, but it only spurred me on. Her pleasure built until she trembled around me, crying out as she climaxed, her teeth sinking into my shoulder to muffle the sound. I growled against her neck, the sensation sending me over the edge. My release surged through me, hot and heavy, and I stayed buried in her as I spilled into that shared high.
For a few moments, neither of us moved. Her legs clung to me, her forehead pressed to mine. Breathing. Laughing softly. Drunk on each other.
Eventually, I let her down gently. She giggled as she adjusted her skirt, still flushed, still glowing. I refastened my belt, smirking, then pinned her against the wall again, this time with a teasing kiss to her
jaw.
“I never knew you could be this wild, Mara,” I whispered, nibbling at her ear.
She met my gaze with that familiar spark that always lit something inside me. “You better take all you can now,” she murmured, trailing her fingers down my chest. “Because when this bump gets any bigger, we’ll be
grounded.”
Her words stirred a hunger in me all over again. I kissed her-slow this time, deliberate. But just as I deepened it, my phone buzzed.
I didn’t stop.
She did.
Mara pulled away with a smirk, leaving me breathless and slightly frustrated. “These are volatile times,
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Points
Lucian,” she said, smoothing down her skirt. “Every call could mean war or peace.”
She turned and walked ahead, her hips swaying with such sinful grace it made me groan. That skirt was a weapon. She knew exactly what she was doing.
Raking my fingers through my hair, I reached for my phone. The screen read: Denis.
I answered immediately. “Hello?”
“I’m on my way to you,” his voice came through, taut with urgency. “Keisha’s with me.”
My breath caught. “You’re supposed to be on vacation.”
He sighed-long, heavy. “Not anymore. Not when my Alpha-and best friend-is about to face a bastard like Alaric Moongrove,” Denis said.
The name hit me like a jolt.
I shouldn’t have been surprised the broadcast wasn’t private. His arrogance was loud, and so was his face. Word would’ve spread fast among those who knew him. Still, hearing Denis say it out loud made the
situation feel more real.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “You don’t need to be involved in this, Denis. It’s a duel. Mine.”
He scoffed. “You actually believe that bastard intends to fight you one-on-one?” he said, voice laced with disbelief. “He doesn’t want to fight you, Lucian. He wants your father. Said he stole his wife and child-and worse, he called Darian a bastard.”
My stomach turned.
“He’s not just picking a fight. He’s making a spectacle of your family,” Denis added, his tone dark. “And I don’t think he plans to fight fair.”
I closed my eyes, exhaling hard. My worst fears, spoken out loud. This wasn’t just about power-it was about shame, legacy, and vengeance. If Alaric got what he wanted, Darian’s name would be dragged through blood-soaked dirt. My father had to win. Not just to survive, but to restore what had been taken
from all of us.
“Meet me at my wing,” I said quietly, then ended the call.
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