She was Alpha, through and through. More than that, she was begotten from the TriAlpha; a triad of brothers who had shared a womb and now shared a throne and who, as one, had created her through the divine magic bestowed upon them by their Goddess.
In comparison to a local pack Alpha, their powers were incomparable. Her fathers ruled the national pack; the largest congregation of Lykens in the world after Asia with over twenty million of them in their parochial care.
Even in her state of semi-exile in the East Wing, she was accustomed to a certain amount of deference. Even the council, her biggest fans—not—were cautious in her presence.
The staff were submissive; the only one who dared to broach her quarters and tidy up after her was a maid by the name of Anna Maria, a supposed Gamma, but then, there could be mistakes in ranking as with Lance. No way was he a Beta when he got off on her making him submit the way he did.
No way, no how.
"Forgive me, your highness," he half-whispered, his voice hoarse.
She barely reigned in the words that he wasn't forgiven. Especially when her wolf started rumbling.
Thalia was closer to her other half than most Lykens were. She spent an inordinate amount of time in that form, and as such, was used to listening to her She-Wolf more than others did. Her bitch was telling her to back the fuck away, and wasn't pleased that she wasn't intent on obeying when Lance gave them both the creeps.
"Spit it out, Lance. What do you want?"
He licked his lips; the move slow as though he were savoring the taste of something on his mouth. His eyes dropped down again to the slight parting in the kimono that bared a slither of calf, and he swallowed.
That did it.
Or at least, it was enough for her She-Wolf to shoot out a bolt of power into the atmosphere that had a broken whimper escaping Lance, and pushed him onto his knees on the floor.
The whimper, rather than sound frightened, sounded excited.
Her She-Wolf, reviled by the man before her, urged her to demand further submission from him, blasting him from his knees and over into a supine position. The move enabled her to see the hard-on tenting his fly, and it took a hell of a lot of control—an amount most of her naysayers would say she was incapable of wielding, and a control that was founded in her human half not her Lyken—to stop from demanding he submit.
He was just getting off on her domination, and any more bolts of dominance from her She-Wolf, he'd probably shift. Which would ruin his pretty suit, and mean he'd walk into the council chambers butt naked.
The idea, while mean, suddenly took on a different shape. There was no point in telling her parents about Lance's odd behavior. They were intent on casting her as the enemy in their midst because she didn't possess a cock and wasn't one of a set of triplets. As such, Lance's inappropriateness was something she had to deal with alone.
For a second, she imagined walking into the council chambers with a naked Lance and her fathers acting in her favor. Reality was, they'd probably take Lance's side and punish her for being a prick tease.
Yeah, life was so fair.
She blew out a breath, sought calm. When it wasn’t fast in coming, she rested a shoulder on the door again. "What do my fathers want?"
Thalia supposed she should have told him to get up; if any of her guards were to see Lance on the floor, the news would travel back to her parents, but the human was feeling amused, where the wolf was still bristling at the Beta's oddness.
Even though he creeped her out, she still had to hold back a smile at the sight of him on the floor, flat on his back, his cock a little flagpole that declared to the world he was Thalia's bitch.
"Well? What do they want?" she demanded again when he remained silent.
"T-They request a meeting with you, y-your highness."
Request?
Huh. That was a new one.
Since her sixteenth year when her exile to this part of the palace had first begun, growing stricter over the subsequent years as and when she disobeyed their dictates and was further punished, her fathers never asked her to do anything. She had no choice but to obey. Allowed only in her quarters, permitted to leave the palace only in her wolf skin, she was a prisoner here.
Seventeen had been her year for rebellion. She'd tried every which way to escape; all that had done was tighten the noose about her neck. Plus, the few staff who hadn't been freaked out by her, who had known her since childhood, had either been dismissed or sent to work in other parts of the palace.
When they'd dismissed her nanny, the woman who had been more of a mother to her than her own, she'd stopped rebelling. Beaten by the loss, she'd sunk into the comforts her wolf could give her and she'd never really recuperated.
Each year, the banishment had deepened at her perceived slights until at twenty, she’d started behaving lest they limit her time outside.
"Why? Do they want to punish me? I don't recall misbehaving." Well, save for pissing in the garden, but they couldn’t have learned of that yet.
Her words had him panting. She scowled down at him, kicked his Italian-leather clad foot with her bare one. "Stop it, Lance," she barked. "For Gods’ sake, what's the matter with you?"
He groaned, hips jerking upward slightly as he started humping the damn air. The move had her eyes zoning in on the area, and she saw a bead of wetness spread along his fly. Frozen in disgust, her eyes flickered from his face to his shaft. She watched as he began to thrust his hips in jerky waves, apparently overcome by lust—what the fuck?—and the small spot of liquid grew.
She wanted to back away, shut the door, and return to the gardens. Pretend this had never happened.
In all of her twenty-six years, she'd never seen anything remotely sexual in this form and outside of her dreams.
The naturals had fucked away in front of her, but outside of the first few times, she hadn't really been interested.
In her dreams, she saw her mates fucking strange women and… well, she didn’t want to think about the other. Up to now, her sole connection with her males had been those angst-inducing moments they took others to their beds, and she had to watch on as they drove another to pleasure while she was stuck here, moldering away in the palace.
That was the scope of her sexual experience, and this was totally unwanted.
The disrespect inherent in what he was doing astounded her. She was blindsided by it, knowing that no matter what she did, she'd be blamed. Yet at the idea of being close to Lance again, of having to head to the council chambers with him at her side, her bitch started rattling around inside her. Furious at the scent of seed that didn't belong to her mates after he’d spontaneously, and without a single touch from her or himself, orgasmed because of her strength over him.
Rather than attempt to wheedle out of him the real reason her fathers wanted her, and unlike every time he'd come to collect her where she'd argued the toss about their demands, she stepped over his supine form, shut the door and set off for the council chambers alone.
She heard him scramble to his feet and run after her down the long hallway that led to a large set of doors which were guarded and locked at all times. Beneath her bare feet, the tiles were cold, but she needed the chill to calm her down. Inside, she was a bubbling mass of fury, upset and disgust.
The sense of being trapped, imprisoned, was a feeling she endured daily. Now, it felt as though it was being staked into her.
She needed out.
She had to get out of this palace.
Thalia sucked in a breath as she reached the doors. The wooden window was unbolted, and Rick's face, one of her guards, popped through the slot.
This part always made her feel like some kind of gangster's moll, a dangerous one. It belonged in a 1920's sketch of someone trying to get into a speakeasy. But then, her fathers were obsessed with keeping her contained in this part of the palace; they were so certain she was a danger to their mate, her mother.
Like Thalia gave enough of a damn about Elena Hernandez Lyndho
ven to even want to seek her out, never mind do her harm!
Rick smiled at her, his eyes glancing over to Lance before the sound of the lock clicked, and he opened the heavy iron-inset door.
Rick was her favorite guard; he always had a smile for her, always had a twinkle in his eye. One that was more paternal than anything else. If it had been the 'else', she wouldn't have liked him.
Thalia wasn't certain what it was about her that caused so much masculine interest. She was more girl-next-door than hot; but the way the guys reacted to her, it was like she was Pamela Anderson in a swimsuit.
And no matter how much she wished for bigger boobs, a bubble butt, and hourglass hips to go with it, she spent way too much time in her wolf skin to ever have enough padding for any of the above.
Instead, she was the antithesis of womanly attributes. Long, lean. Sleek muscles, but everywhere was hard. Nothing was soft. Many of those attributes were only dampened by the fact she was surprisingly short for an Alpha female… another minus in the ‘con’ column.
"What's up, Rick?"
He was Omega, as most of the palace staff were, except he had a lot of human training in the martial arts. Only her mother needed Alpha guards. Half-Lyken, she couldn't shift and was more vulnerable.
At least, that's what Thalia told herself. How she comforted herself when it came down to thinking of her guard and the inherent lack of respect her fathers were showing her by giving her an all-Omega team.
It didn't matter that Thalia could look after herself, easily; she preferred to think her fathers were obsessed with her mother's care rather than not giving enough of a shit about her to protect her with half-decent security.
"Dexie's breeding," he told her with a grin.
"That's great news, Rick!" She patted him on the arm and returned his smile. "How long?"
"Two months. We only found out the other day."
She chuckled. "How many's that? Six?"
He blushed. "This one will be seven."
Before she could tease him anymore, Lance appeared and scowled at Rick. "Where are your manners, Omega?" he spat. "You should address the Princess as befits her station."
When Rick ducked his head, the pleased flush on his cheeks blanching away as he snapped to attention, Thalia glared at Lance. "You overstep yourself, Beta." She patted Rick on the arm again. "Ignore him, Rick. Give Dexie my congratulations."
With a gentle smile to him, imbuing it, as only an Alpha could to a lower ranking wolf, with apology as well as her pleasure at his news, she set off again, heading to the South Wing where the council chambers were situated. After they rounded a couple of corners, she came to a halt and turned on Lance.
"If you ever try to reprimand someone in my presence again, you'll stain your pants again—this time with piss. You got that?" She glared at him, let him see her She-Wolf flashing before her eyes and took pleasure out of his retreat; he only stepped back twice, but it was enough.
Maybe showing him her bitch was the only way to control him. Because finally, he seemed cowed rather than aroused.
About goddamn time!
"Yes, your highness. I'm so sorry," he whispered, eyes lowered to the floor and lips twisted with misery.
She stared at him a second, wondering what the hell was wrong with her that caused these reactions in men, and wondering for the thousandth time if there was a way to stop it.
Sure, she had more heats than the average Lyken female; enduring them on a monthly basis rather than every four months. But she spent those nightmare three days in her wolf skin. They wouldn't affect the men around her. Or at least, they shouldn't.
Studying the downtrodden cast to his features, she sighed. Feeling guilty. Ha! Guilty! She wasn't in the wrong here, he so was but that didn’t stop her from feeling bad. Her fucked-up body chemistry had a lot to answer for.
Dismissing it as the curse for being a relatively decent person even in the face of her shit life, she turned on her heel and left him to follow. Her inner beast wasn’t pleased with Thalia’s empathy, but the bitch wasn’t happy most of the time. They’d learned to roll with the punches over the years.
A central staircase had off-shooting landings that led to the different wings. She had to descend to reach the council chambers and as she did, the formality of the palace grew.
In her wing, the decoration was light, comfortable. She preferred comfort and clutter to sterile beauty as her mother favored. Minimalist mom ruled the roost in her quarters, so everything was white and there were pictures that had you staring at them and wondering what the hell they were.
Moving to the South Wing, a royal blue carpet swept across the floor, plush regardless of the number of feet who trod on it daily. Ancient tapestries lined the walls showing important battles and moments in Lyken history, but, though they invited touch, they were tucked behind glass cabinets that controlled the ambient temperature to preserve the antiques.
There were paintings by famous Lykens, as well as sculptures. Photographs of important Lykens were pride of place here too.
It was a haven of Lyken history, a place where the famous could let their dual natures in this world be known and celebrated, and the air throbbed with its evocative richness.
The council chambers were the formal meeting place of the council and the TriAlpha, where the leaders of the nation convened with their governing arm. Though she had many places she hated in the palace, the chambers topped that list.
It was the site of more misery than anywhere else. Where she’d been routinely and unfairly punished, where she’d been cut from her family in all but name. And now, after so many lost years, that name didn’t mean that much to her either.
In the pack as a collective, there were four basic ranks. Ranging from Alpha to Beta, followed by Omega and Gamma, a person was born with that rank and would die with it. It affected them from the moment of their birth, and would haunt them throughout their life. A Gamma would never be anything other than blue-collar for example, and an Alpha was rarely anything other than a leader. The higher the rank, the fewer the births.
When it came to the TriAlpha’s council, however, things got complicated.
A local Alpha might only be a Beta here among other, powerful men. Thalia had watched males like Lance in the challenge ring. Making it onto the council wasn’t proof positive that they’d sit in a governmental seat where they could invoke change. Like Lance, they could just be high-ranking dogs bodies.
Still, the council was important. Even if she loathed most of its members. And as she approached its chambers, she felt herself tense. Her defenses reaching out to cover her, to shield her, in a self-made swaddling blanket from whatever was about to happen once inside its hallowed walls that one day would be her own.
Above the grand door, carved with pouncing wolves as well as tree and leaf motifs, were paintings of her fathers. Either side of the door were the paintings of the old TriAlpha, her granddaddies and great granddaddies.
Had she been a set of triplets, her painting would also have been there. Indicating past, present, and future. Since she was a girl, she wasn't on there and her great grandparents still were.
Sexist or what?
Wanting to get this over with, she quickened her pace as they neared the doors, and before Lance could announce her in the way of the pompous fools that were the councilors, she pushed the doors open and let them smash into the walls.
She wouldn't deny that she played up to their image of her. From birth, they'd made it known she was an outcast; she became the role because no matter what she did, they wouldn't change their opinion of her. Childish? Perhaps. But rebellion was the only thing worth getting up for on a morning.
The council chambers was a sea of wood and carved motifs of the creatures they sneered at—naturals. Designed like an old-fashioned court, where the judge would sit, her fathers perched on their thrones. In front of them, at a lower level, were the councilors, seated in staggered rows and parted only by an aisle.
The
more important males sat closest to a lectern which councilors had to approach if they wished to speak. Above the councilors was a balcony. Any Lyken in the land could sit there and watch over the procession. On certain days, usually in celebration of a festival, they could directly petition the TriAlpha themselves.
Well, the higher ranks could. Gammas and Omegas tended to be ignored, shuffled to the back because their inherent weakness was reviled.
At the echoing sound of the doors banging, the three-hundred strong council that represented packs all over the nation jumped to their feet in surprise and shot glares her way.
She ignored them, as she was wont to do, inadvertently noticing that there was no audience today for her private scolding. There never was. After all, they couldn't infect the pack with her brand of craziness.
Jerks.
Her eyes bypassed her fathers and her head tilted to the side in recognition of the person standing on the same dais as them. She immediately strode forward without waiting for permission to approach, for those scarlet robes could mean only one thing: Elder.
Immediately, her heart started to bang as everything began to make sense. This was the first Elder she'd seen since her first heat, when shit had gone to shit, and she'd been exiled. Where there had been no hope, only desperation and a miserable acceptance of her far more miserable existence, now, there was a silent promise of change.
The Elder wouldn’t be here otherwise. And if his presence didn’t involve her, she would never have been invited to the chambers today.
As she strode down the aisle, excitement flooding her veins, she ignored the mutters of her inappropriate dress—she still wore her dressing gown—and completely disregarded the stares.
A foot away from the Elder, she flung herself onto the ground and prayed to the Gods that the next chapter of her life was starting.
Eight years of being locked away, locked in... hidden in the shadows like a monster from her own people... No, things had to change, because she'd had enough.
Trinity (The TriAlpha Chronicles Book 1) Page 3