Fated to the scarred Alpha

In her garden

*Stephan*

As I wait in the garden, I can't help but think I have made an awful mistake in coming here. Her father looked at me as though he'd seen a ghost. Surely he'd been told of my reentry into pack Society, so it must not have been my arrival so much as my marred features that took the Alpha by surprise.

In truth, I want to simply escape to Snow Moon castle and live out my life in solitude, but as I have made a public appearance, I have decided to get another matter taken care of while I'm in Blackrock City. I will find a wife. Because the Goddess help me, I need an heir. Which means I will have to keep myself on public display until the task is done.

I don't expect her to love me. I don't think it's possible when I can't even love myself. But once she has given me an heir, I will grant her freedom. It will be her reward for enduring my presence in her bed.

I am a skilled lover. Or at least I was before I awakened to discover that ignoring the call for retreat and further engaging the enemy to save a wounded man was a fool's mission. The soldier had been beyond saving. Sometimes I wonder if it would have altered my decision if I had known how gravely wounded he was. Probably not. In the heat of battle, all men believe themselves invincible. Why else would we charge with such enthusiasm into hell?

I hear the soft footsteps and turn ever so slightly to greet Mary. She smiles at me, and my chest constricts. Yes, it was a mistake to come here. To have the opportunity to memorize every line and curve of her face, to search for the remembered freckles that have faded, to be disappointed they are not found. To inhale the flowery fragrance… orchids, perhaps… that seems stronger outside than it was in the study. Strange, I would have thought just the opposite.

I have deliberately placed myself so that when she joins me, she will have no alternative except to stand on my right. I don't want to offend her delicate sensibilities with what remains of the left side of my face. Although the girl I had known probably wouldn't have been sickened by such a ghastly image, she is a lady now. And that makes all the difference.

We begin walking with the maid following discreetly behind. I don't offer Mary my arm. Instead, I plant my hands behind my back. There is little point in touching what I can never hold.

"How long have you been in Blackrock City?" Mary finally asks.

"A little more than a fortnight." I admit.

She gives me a stern glare. "You didn't think I might wish to know you were alive?"

I hear the sharpness in her tone, the hurt. We were friends once, and I curse Raphael for being correct. We should have told her. "We thought it best to keep our presence here a secret until the right moment."

"I would have held your secret." She huffs.

"But contacting you might have put us at risk for discovery. Tristan has been in Blackrock City for some time, but he used a different surname and ran into no one who might identify him. Considering his age when we left, he was fairly safe from being properly identified."

She gives a small nod. "But you and Raphael… being twins."

"Yes, we are a bit more noticeable." Or at least we once were. I suppose it would take a keen eye indeed to notice our similarities these days, but it was a risk we weren't willing to take.

Her bow-shaped mouth curls up slightly. "You were certainly noticed last night. I'm not sure I ever realized you had such a flair for the dramatic."

"I would have thought you of all people wouldn't have been surprised. Was I not Lancelot to your Guinevere? As I recall, I fought the enemy off quite daringly with my wooden sword."

"That was so long ago that I'd almost forgotten." Her smile withers. "Why didn't you have him arrested for what he did to you?"

I sigh softly. "What exactly did he do, Mary? He locked us in a tower. He could argue that we had misbehaved and were merely being brought to task."

"I could tell the pack courts or the house of Alphas or whoever I needed that I heard your uncle order someone to kill you," she says.

"You were a child. Years have passed. He could argue that your memory was faulty. It would become a battle of words, Mary. I wouldn't subject you to such unpleasantness." I tell her.

She shakes her head. "But it's not right, what he did."

"I'm well aware of that. My brothers and I will deal with him."

"What do you have in mind?" She asks.

I look around. "Your gardens are lovely."

"Stephan!" She stops walking, and I watch the familiar stubborn expression cross over her features. "Why won't you reveal your plans?"

"I won't have you put in harm's way when there's no need." I says softly.

She huffs lightly. "I want revenge as much as you."

"It's not revenge. It's retribution." And I doubt anyone could want it as much as me. "To be quite honest, I haven't finished mapping out my plans, and I didn't come here to discuss my uncle." I long for one conversation that doesn't revolve around the man.

"What about his wife?" she asks.

I shrug. "What about her?"

"My heart goes out to her. You might have been a bit kinder to her." She points out.

"Twelve years, Mary. There's no kindness left in me."

She glances away, and I wonder if she fears what she might see in me if she looks too closely. I have taken to avoiding mirrors whenever possible. It isn't so much the scars that bother me anymore but rather what I see in my eye. If eyes are truly the window to the soul... I don't fancy what I see within mine.

"When confronting your uncle last night, you said you were a soldier," she says after several moments of reflection.

"Yes. I didn't mean to stay away so long, but there never seemed a good time to sell my commission. Then we were pulled into the great war, and to have left then would have shown me to be a coward."

She sighs. "I suspect you were anything but a coward. Shall we sit?"

She indicates a wrought iron bench. I would have preferred walking, but I nod and follow her over. In her youth, she had been a bundle of mischief… which was part of the reason she had uncovered my uncle's plot. And now she sits on the side of the bench that gives her the clearest view of my mottled flesh. She is no fool, so it has to be a conscious decision on her part.

"Scoot over," I say. "I fancy sitting in that spot."

I'm not facing her directly, knowing she has a limited view of me, but she studies me with an intensity that makes me think she can see all of me, clear through to the center of my darkened soul. "Were you wounded in battle?"

I give one brisk nod. To my horror, she rises and walks toward me. I should have stepped away, but the challenge in her eyes holds me immobile.

"You don't have to hide from me," she says, her voice a whisper on the waning breeze. She places one of her delicate hands on my shoulder, and ever so slowly, as though I were a skittish stallion, she glides her fingers up until they rest against my jaw.

I can feel the pressure but not the softness of her skin. I want to shove my fingers into her hair, tear it down, watch it unravel over her shoulders. The need to wrap my arm around her waist, draw her up against me, press her close until her every curve has made an indentation against my body, and blanket my mouth over hers astounds me.

I want to get lost in the sensuality of a kiss. I want the heat of her flesh to brand me. Even as I have these tumultuous thoughts, I am repulsed by the savagery of my desire. Dear Goddess, this is Mary. She deserves more than uncontrollable lust from me, but I haven't been with a woman since before I was wounded. I long for the gentle touch, the silky skin moving sensuously over mine. I long to be held, and to hold, to skim my fingers…

Then I see the tears welling in her eyes. They achieve what my own thoughts can't, dampening my desire with unerring swiftness.

"Do not weep," I order through clenched teeth.

"It must have hurt terribly."

Unbearably. If not for my need to reclaim Snow Moon castle and my title, I would have succumbed to the allure of death. But I won't admit that, not reveal that weakness, not even to her. "Others were worse off."

"Your eye…,” she mumbles.

"It's gone." Left on a godforsaken battlefield. Although I have no memory of it or the specific pain that might have been associated with it. The agony had encompassed all of me. It had been months before I had been able to identify where specific points of pain originated.

Blinking, she glances away. "Does it hurt now?"

"Sometimes it aches, but it is a minor inconvenience."

She releases a small laugh, filled with sadness and perhaps a touch of admiration. "Spoken like a true soldier."

"It is what I am. A soldier. I don't yet know how to be an Alpha."

She returns to the bench, sitting where she hadn't before, giving me the luxury of joining her. Once seated, she says, "I believe you will make an excellent Alpha."

Better than my uncle, at least. "You shall make an excellent Luna for your Alpha Fitz."

She glances at her fingers, steeples them, and wove them together. "I shall certainly try. Although I'm not certain you know me well enough to make a claim about my suitability."

I realize she is still upset that I hadn't visited before now, that I had left her to discover along with everyone else that my brothers and I had returned. I regret it, the impulsiveness of it, my inability to trust her now when she had saved me before. I regret that I have hurt her, but at the time, it seemed the wisest course of action. I couldn't risk losing Snow Moon castle or my titles. Reclaiming them had filled my life with purpose. "Have you changed so much?" I ask.

She twists around to face me. "Have you?"

Far more than I care to admit, far more than I wish her to know. In spite of all I have achieved, I suddenly feel unworthy. Not that she sits in judgment of me, but perhaps she should.

"Regrettably, I have. But then I suppose the years take their toll on everyone. I would certainly not expected to find you grown up."

"What had you expected?" There is curiosity in her voice.

I want to laugh like a maniac at how naïve I had been. "I'm not sure. To step back into the way things were, I suppose. Even knowing it was gone."

"Have you been to Snow Moon castle?"

I see the sorrow in her eyes, as though she wishes she had the power to spare me what I have seen. "Yes. It was like walking through a house of ghosts. Father never closed it up, never draped cloth over the furniture, the statues, the paintings. It was always kept ready. Now it's covered in dust and the hills are barren of sheep."

She places her hand over my bare fist, pressing into my thigh. "Before I came to Blackrock City, I rode to the highest hill on your father's land, where I could see Snow Moon castle. It seemed so dark and foreboding. I couldn't bring myself to go any nearer. Not until you returned. Now here you are and I am the one who won't be in Wolfshire."

I can't imagine it. A heaviness settles in my gut. All these years, my thoughts had centered around Snow Moon castle, yet it had never occurred to me that I wouldn't hear her laughter echoing over the dales or catch glimpses of the sun reflecting off her hair.

I can think of nothing to say except that Fitz is a fortunate man, and I have already told her that. What the deuce is wrong with me? Why am I suddenly without words, without thought?