My Alpha Tried to Steal My Daughter

The silence shattered the moment we began to walk. It wasn't a sudden noise, but a creeping, rustling sound, like dry leaves skittering across pavement. The pack members who had been bowing in submission were now sneaking glances, their eyes wide and disbelief etched into every line of their faces.

"Is that... no, it can't be," a woman whispered near the front. I recognized her—Martha, the old cook who used to sneak me extra bread when Derek cut my rations. Her hand flew to her mouth as our eyes met. I gave her the faintest nod, and she nearly collapsed.

"It’s Malia," a warrior muttered, his voice trembling. "The Alpha said she drowned. He said she went rogue."

"Look at her," another hissed. "That’s no rogue. That’s a Luna. No... that’s a Queen."

I walked with my head held high, Thatcher’s solid presence at my side anchoring me to the earth. Lilyana was perched happily on his hip, oblivious to the shockwaves she was sending through the crowd just by existing. Her little hand played with the lapel of Thatcher’s suit, completely at ease in the arms of the most feared predator on the continent.

Derek was still frozen at the top of the stairs. He looked like a statue carved from grey stone, his face drained of all color. He wasn't breathing. I could see his chest, still and tight, as if his lungs had forgotten how to work. Beside him, Briar was the picture of panic. Her perfectly manicured claws were digging into the sleeve of Derek’s ceremonial jacket. I saw the dark bloom of blood staining the white fabric.

"Do something," she hissed, her voice low but carrying on the wind to my enhanced ears. "She’s dead. That’s a ghost. Tell them it’s a trick!"

Derek didn't answer her. He couldn't take his eyes off me. It wasn't love in his gaze—it was terror. Pure, unadulterated terror.

We reached the top of the stairs. I stopped right in front of him, close enough to smell the stale sweat of his fear beneath his expensive cologne.

"Alpha Derek," Thatcher’s voice was a low rumble, devoid of warmth. "You seem unwell."

Derek jerked as if he’d been slapped. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "Your... Your Majesty. We... we weren't expecting..."

"My mate?" Thatcher finished for him, his golden eyes narrowing. "Strange. I would think you’d be eager to welcome the Lycan Queen."

Derek’s gaze flickered to me, then quickly away, unable to hold eye contact. He gestured weakly toward the grand doors. "Please. Enter. The... the hall is prepared."

We swept past them. As I crossed the threshold of the pack house, a shiver ran down my spine—not from fear, but from the memory of how I had last left this place. Dragged out the back entrance, bleeding and screaming. Now, I was walking through the front door, and the floorboards didn't creak under my feet; they seemed to firm up beneath the weight of my new station.

The Throne Room was exactly as I remembered, though perhaps smaller. Or maybe I had just grown bigger than the cage they tried to put me in. The high ceilings, the banners of Shadow Creek, the heavy wooden throne that Derek sat on like a petty tyrant—it all looked so insignificant now.

Thatcher didn't wait for an invitation. He walked straight to the dais. But instead of sitting in the guest chair positioned to the side, he moved to the center. The Alpha’s chair.

Derek hurried in behind us, Briar trailing him like a nervous shadow. When Derek saw Thatcher claiming the central seat of honor, his jaw tightened, but he didn't dare say a word. He simply gestured for a servant to bring another chair for himself, effectively demoting himself in his own home.

Thatcher sat, placing Lilyana on his knee. She looked around the room with wide, curious eyes.

"Allow me to handle the introductions properly, since you seem to have lost your tongue," Thatcher said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. The gathered elders and high-ranking wolves watched in stunned silence. "This is my mate. My heart. The Lycan Queen, Malia."

The name hung in the air like a guillotine blade.

I stepped forward, smoothing my dress. I looked Derek dead in the eye. "Thank you for hosting us, Derek," I said, my voice dripping with polite poison. "It’s... nostalgic to be back. The dungeons are still in the basement, I assume? Or have you renovated?"

Derek flinched. The color that had started to return to his face vanished again. He opened his mouth to speak, to assert some kind of dominance, but his Alpha command failed him. It withered in the presence of the King. He just stood there, gaping like a fish out of water.

"Dinner is served!" a nervous Beta announced from the doorway, breaking the suffocating tension.

The banquet hall was set with the finest silver—silver that made my skin crawl, reminding me of the chains. But I forced a smile. We took our seats at the head table. I sat to Thatcher's right, while Derek and Briar sat across from us.

Briar was recovering from her initial shock. I could see the wheels turning behind her narrow eyes. She took a long sip of wine, her gaze flicking over my dress, my jewelry, and finally settling on my face with a sneer of jealousy.

She stood up, tapping her glass with a fork. The room fell silent.

"A toast," she announced, her voice shrill. She raised her glass, her eyes locked on mine. "To the Shadow Creek Pack. To loyalty. And to new beginnings. May we always leave the... dead weight of the past behind us, where it belongs."

The insult was clumsy, but clear. She was calling me dead weight. She was trying to remind everyone that I was once nothing—a discarded Omega.

I didn't get angry. I felt a calm, cold power rise in my chest. It was the Luna aura, amplified by the royal blood of the Lycan King flowing through our bond. I didn't even stand up. I just looked at her.

"To truth," I said softly. My voice wasn't loud, but it resonated with a power that made the silverware rattle on the table. "And to karma, Briar. Because unlike the past... karma always finds its way home."

I pushed a wave of dominance toward her. It wasn't enough to hurt, just enough to press down on her wolf.

Briar gasped. Her hand jerked violently. The wine glass slipped from her fingers, shattering against the edge of the table. Red wine exploded outward, soaking the front of her pristine white dress. It looked like a gruesome wound across her chest.

She shrieked, jumping back, frantically swiping at the stain. "My dress! You did that on purpose!"

"Oh dear," I said, taking a calm sip of my water. "You really should be more careful with things that are fragile, Briar. They break so easily when you don't treat them with respect."

Derek stared at the red stain spreading across her chest, then looked at me. For the first time, he truly saw me. Not as the girl he broke, but as the woman who had come back to break him.