Trinity (The TriAlpha Chronicles Book 1)

by Serena Akeroyd

  And the day her mate was made to feel so inferior that his tortoise shell made another reappearance was the day Thalia would spill blood.

  Rafe and Mikkel were at her back like sentinels, and though her longing to traipse around the room increased with every wasted moment, her position spoke of dominance so she didn’t budge.

  Texan packs were renowned for being chauvinistic. She needed all the advantages she could get at first, and to be honest, fully expected for her demands to trigger laughter.

  Whether the council had facilitated her by mentioning her new position and all it entailed or not, she wasn’t sure.

  But, the Alpha would pay for his disrespect in making her wait.

  Not another word passed between them as they waited a good fifteen minutes for the Alpha to bustle in.

  He was portly, not like an Alpha should be. Medium height, big belly, but his aging form held memories of a once bigger, stronger male. The fact he was shrinking told her he was over a hundred, and that if he was strong enough to hold his seat to that age, he was an adversary worth watching.

  His eyes were cunning even if his smile was welcoming. “Apologies for the delay in greeting you. My guard couldn’t find me.”

  “I accept your apology,” she said sweetly. “However, I also expect you to punish your guard.”

  The Alpha frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “Your guard. He requires punishment.”

  “Why?”

  “You and I can both scent his recent submission. Without making him submit, he wouldn’t have done as I asked. He slighted a TriAlpha delegate.” She stared at him coldly. “Isn’t that worthy of punishment in Texas?”

  The Alpha’s jaw clenched as he turned back to the doorway where the guard was standing, white-faced.

  “I’ll punish him tomorrow.”

  “No,” Thalia refuted. “You’ll punish him now.”

  “This is hardly proper,” the Alpha argued, his fists clenching at his sides. She knew he hated being taken to task by a woman, and that made her want to rub his nose in it all the more.

  “You dare speak of proper,” Thalia murmured silkily, “when I’m aware of the aberrations that have been happening within your pack.”

  The Alpha’s eyes flickered over to Rafe. “I don’t think we should be having this discussion in front of inferior ranks. Maybe we should take a seat in my office?”

  “You may address me as your highness or as Enforcer, Alpha Stevenson,” she murmured softly. “If you’re uncertain, that is. But you’re mistaken. The only inferior person in this room is you.” As the man snapped to sudden attention, his gaze having drifted to the marks Rafe had given her on the plane, she continued, “I am the Princess of the TriAlpha, and these men are my mates.”

  Had Stevenson been a lower rank, she knew he’d have sputtered in surprise. Instead, his shrewd eyes darted between the males at her back. “Then congratulations are in order, your highness.”

  “They are indeed.”

  “Is that why you’re here? To discuss celebrations for your inclusion into the Austin pack?” A jovial note appeared in his voice at the time-honored tradition. When a Wolf mated outside of his pack, their mate was welcomed with open arms and given an honorary position. It was the only time one of their kind could straddle two packs; their family and their adopted collective.

  Thalia took his confusion to mean that the council hadn’t, in fact, informed Rafe’s familial pack of her real reason for being there. The pettiness shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it merely made her more determined to see this through. To realize her true capacity, and make a name for herself that had nothing to do with her fathers.

  She folded her arms across her chest and struck a bored pose. “I’m here on council business, Alpha.”

  The other man scowled. “Council business? What kind of council business?”

  “I’m here to formally challenge Beta Jason Torres for his part in the systematic persecution of Gammas in the Summerford Pack. I expect his presence in the arena immediately.”

  For a second, she wasn’t sure who was more surprised. The men at her back, or the man at her front.

  She felt Mikkel stir, but he wasn’t connected enough to her yet to be more than concerned outside of his official capacity. Though that hurt, she knew it took far more than recognition to make a mate bond.

  Rafe, on the other hand, was sufficiently connected to her, and she hoped he felt the outpouring of love, safety, and assurance she flooded into their bond.

  The last thing she needed was for him to undermine her place, and maybe that also wafted down through the links because he just sighed. She knew he’d wanted her to take a diplomatic route, but that wasn’t going to work.

  She’d doubted it a thousand miles away from the Packhouse. But now she was here? With this fat Alpha in front of her, disdain bleeding into his eyes because of her gender, disbelief sinking through him because of her challenge? There were no words Stevenson would hear that would make him react accordingly.

  No, this had to be fought in the arena.

  There was no other wiser alternative.

  While her mates remained silent in the face of her declaration, the Alpha, on the other hand, boomed, “What right do you have to challenge anyone in my pack?”

  “I’m the TriAlpha’s daughter, Alpha. You’re my bitch when it comes to pack hierarchy.” She sneered at him as she strode toward him, cockiness in every step. Though the move was uncharacteristic, and the words even more so, a Texan Wolf, born in another age, would never appreciate diplomacy from a female.

  Females were for breeding, cementing pack ties, and little else.

  If Thalia wanted to own this man, and she did, then she had to make her position known.

  As his face turned the shade of a ripe tomato, she murmured silkily, “You’ve been a very poor Alpha. News has spread about how you’re turning a blind eye to the way the underlings in your pack are being attacked. What’s happening, Stevenson? Are you getting too old for the job?”

  Behind her, she sensed Mikkel’s discomfort at her words and Rafe’s aghast terror, but she wasn’t scared. She didn’t want to make the old bastard in front of her feel small. That wasn’t why she was here. But if that was what it took to be heard, then she’d burn this fucking place down.

  Gone were the days she had to bow and scrape, and gone were the days when her mate had to answer to this hypocritical scum in front of her.

  The underdog would out.

  Thalia would die to make sure that happened.

  15

  Mikkel squinted as the spotlights blared to life in the arena.

  It always amazed him how packs managed to live just under the surface of human society without being discovered.

  Take this, for example. In the center of Austin, a huge arena that was barred to anyone who wasn’t pack. Humans couldn’t enter it, but they never questioned. Never thought anything of it, because… well, he didn’t know why.

  He wouldn’t have considered himself a sheep, but the way the pack went on living alongside humans without being discovered made him wonder if he actually did go Baaa when darkness struck.

  This arena was one such piece of architecture that was a stamp of pack authority on human city limits.

  The size of a football field, it was, nonetheless, not the place for games.

  Every state had at least one of these amphitheaters. Those with smaller pack populations might only have one in the entire state limits, but Texas had several.

  He knew of two in the Austin and Houston area alone, never mind what the packs in other cities and small towns had all the way around those two large areas.

  He’d never been inside one, though he knew what they were for. His stepfather was a scholar through and through and didn’t approve of violence meted out to those in need of punishing.

  Justice didn’t come with bloodshed, Stephen always said, and though he and Stephen didn’t always get on, Mikkel had to agree with him.
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  Maybe that was his background talking. Maybe it was the fact the person about to mete out the justice was a woman he’d met a few hours ago.

  Sure, he was being paid to keep her safe. But this level of unease went beyond his wage, and that was why he was so wary.

  Thalia was small. She was strong, of that there was no doubt, but she wasn’t big or bulky.

  Mikkel knew the shape of Betas. He’d trained with them as a kid, and knew that were he a part of the pack, he’d undoubtedly be Beta too.

  Of course, if Thalia claimed him, then he would be part of the pack, but that was a headache for a whole other time. When his potential mate wasn’t about to get the shit kicked out of her in a very public setting.

  He blew out a breath as he took a seat in the Alpha’s box.

  Stevenson hadn’t been happy about this, but Thalia had taunted him into serving Torres up on a platter.

  Though he hadn’t approved of her calling Stevenson her bitch, it had worked. The man had looked like he was about to explode, and when she’d further hammered the nail in his coffin by calling him old and out of touch, Stevenson would have said black was blue to prove otherwise.

  Men, he realized, were surprisingly facile.

  The last hour had been spent transferring to this amphitheater while Stevenson rounded Torres up and informed the Beta of what was about to go down.

  Rafe was at his side now, but they’d both been with Thalia until she’d had to be separated from the crowd as she headed on to the arena where she was standing now.

  Looking very small.

  Miniscule, in fact.

  And he was only twenty feet up in the stands. Not even in the bird’s eye section. The Gods only knew how small she looked from that vantage point.

  He rubbed his chin as his stomach gurgled and groaned.

  Mikkel had no idea what linked he and Thalia together, had no idea if she was right when she said they were mates or if it was just strong attraction—fuck, who was he trying to kid here?—but what he did know was the idea of her being in a fucking challenge scared the shit out of him.

  And not because of the way in which Louis would make him pay if his granddaughter were harmed, but because though his brain could deny such a link, other parts of his nature couldn’t deny he was tied to Thalia in ways that were distinctly supernatural.

  He sighed when, for the tenth time, Rafe rocked forward, pressing his elbows to his knees as he crouched forward. Within thirty seconds, he rocked again, resting his back against the chair once more.

  He was adding to Mikkel’s agitation. The man was literally flooding the air around him with his fear.

  The Alpha’s box was split into three sections. The central seat was where the Alpha, his family, and his ruling Beta sat. To the left were the accused’s family if they wanted to watch, and to the right, the challenger’s family had a seat.

  All around them, and regardless of the late hour, the stands were filling up as news had spread swiftly that the TriAlpha’s daughter was not only in town but she was also meting out council justice.

  Nobody had a clue what was going on. Not even the Alpha, not really. All he knew was that Torres was being challenged for his treatment of the lower ranks. Nothing more, nothing less. Had Thalia not taunted him into offering up Torres to her challenge, he’d have learned more, but she’d pushed the right buttons with a speed that Mikkel had to applaud.

  The chatter of the crowd around them let him relax. They would hide anything that he asked Rafe from the Alpha’s listening ears.

  “What’s really going on here, Rafe?” he demanded, not liking the other man’s jitters—they were adding to his own nerves.

  “She’s challenging Torres,” came the confused and snappish retort. He wafted a hand at the arena in front of them. A tennis pitch-sized oval that was filled with sand.

  Nothing more. Nothing less.

  That sand was stained red in certain places from previous challenges. But aside from that wonderful color scheme, the only other bright spot in the arena was Thalia herself. Standing in navy jeans and a simple sweater, she looked more diminutive by the minute as she stood there proudly. Head tilted high, shoulders low and back, spine straight. Her hair was like a beacon though. The lights seemed to reflect off it, making her almost glitter before his eyes.

  Not by any level did she exude nerves. If anything, she looked like a pillar of strength amid the confusion within the amphitheater.

  “I managed to figure that out, dumbo,” he retorted, but there was no heat to his words. If anything, he felt for Rafe. No matter his own confused feelings where Thalia was concerned, Rafe had no such confusion—she was his mate.

  And that mate was about to challenge a Beta male.

  “What I meant was why is she challenging Torres?”

  Rafe cut him a glance as he leaned forward once more, resting his elbows on his knees as he bowed his head. Tilting to look at Mikkel, he murmured, “We met because I had gone to the TriAlpha’s mate to petition her to speak to them on our behalf.”

  “Who’s our?”

  “The Gammas of this pack.” Rafe clenched his jaw. “I never thought it would happen like this though. I didn’t realize…” He shook his head. “I thought there would be diplomatic talks first. That she’d lead with that, and if they broke down, then this might be a possibility. I didn’t expect this to be the first and final step.”

  Mikkel frowned. “What do you mean you petitioned the TriAlpha’s mate? Why did you?”

  “Because Torres is a bully,” Rafe said softly, his gaze fixed on his mate. “He’s been raping his way through the pack’s Gamma females, and the males? He’s been beating them to a pulp.”

  Mikkel processed that, then asked, “You included?”

  “Me included.” Rafe’s jaw clenched but he kept his gaze away from Mikkel’s. “I suppose you think I’m a weakling now. Relying on my female to seek justice on my behalf.”

  Mikkel also processed that, and slowly, he murmured, “Not particularly.”

  His tone had been mild, but Rafe’s eyes flared as his head swiped to the left so he could face Mikkel once more. Rage filtered through him. “You have no right to judge me.”

  “I’m not judging you,” he said honestly. “I’m just trying to figure this all out.”

  His words seemed to take the wind from Rafe’s sails, and he was grateful for that. Maybe if he hadn’t been human, he would have found Rafe weak. But he was human. That wasn’t exactly going to change any time soon, either.

  Because he was weaker than everyone here combined simply because of his DNA, he could empathize.

  In a fight with a Beta, he could hold his own. Probably make the bastard hurt enough to warn him off from future attacks, but he wasn’t strong enough to out and out win.

  How could he?

  Betas had strong wolves that fueled each punch. If Mikkel hit a punching bag with his fists, it would rock and sway in place.

  If a Beta did the same, the bag, without the male holding back, could be torn off its hooks.

  Between Lyken and human, there was no comparison.

  The Lyken would always win. He’d learned that too many times to count as a kid.

  “What makes her think she can win?” Mikkel asked after a few moments, his mind whirring with the need to understand what was happening here.

  Nothing was making sense, and yet, he knew it had to. He had to understand what the fuck was going on here before his life changed forever.

  “She’s strong,” Rafe said, tone dull. “Incredibly strong. I’ve seen her,” he admitted. “She’s like a machine.”

  “Then why are you nervous?”

  “Because Torres is a bastard,” Rafe whispered.

  Though he doubted the touch was welcome, Mikkel lifted a hand and pressed it to Rafe’s shoulder. Squeezing, he tried to convey his empathy—Rafe wasn’t scared for Thalia. His memories of the beatings were superimposing her face over Rafe’s, and the man was imagining himself in
the middle of the arena not her.

  Lyken males made the worst human chauvinists look like Barbie dolls. It was ingrained in them to protect their females, and this challenge that was about to go down would forever stain Rafe’s self-worth.

  As he stared at Thalia, so strong and sure in the arena, he wondered if she realized that.

  And if she did, but was willing to go through with this anyway, Mikkel had to ask himself if she was a female worthy of a mate at all.

  ****

  Rafe’s nerves seeped through the air like a cloying perfume. They put her on edge far more than the upcoming challenge did.

  She was doing this for him, for the thousands of pack members like him, but his nerves were enough to make her question herself. To make her question what had seemed so resolutely simple after her parents had scorned her during the Centennial celebrations.

  Becoming Triskele hadn’t been a grab for power but for freedom, but what use was freedom if Rafe was as obviously scared as he was now?

  His vulnerability choked her because she didn’t know where it was coming from. The burning need to speak with him, to discuss this situation with him made her headache. Between issuing the challenge to Alpha Stevenson and being shepherded here, she hadn’t had a moment to herself. Never mind a moment to speak with Rafe about this.

  She felt lacking, she realized. And in her defense, she wasn’t used to being a part of a two-pronged relationship. She was a single entity, and had been for a seemingly endless amount of time. But it had seemed endless because Thalia had been without her mate, and what she was doing, ran in contradiction to that. She wasn’t with her mate now, hadn’t been since she’d issued the challenge in the Packhouse.

  Body language was everything in the arena. She hadn’t watched a challenge since she was fifteen but she’d enjoyed watching them back then. The challenger’s stance was important. It could betray a thousand weaknesses and impart too many truths to the person being challenged. Still, as she stood there, her arms at her side, she had to fold them across her chest, feeling on edge thanks to Rafe’s projection. She just prayed she looked bored rather than tense.