The Alpha's Reluctant Temptation

Chapter 7

He didn’t even flinch. Just grabbed the tattered curtain from the window and tossed it toward me like this was all in a day’s work.

My face was on fire, but my mouth kept moving because embarrassment makes me stupid. “Seriously, do you grow that thing in wolf form? Is it part of the whole Alpha upgrade package?”

One dark brow arched, dangerously close to smirking. “Are you done?”

“No. I have at least twelve more questions but I’m prioritizing survival right now.” I wrapped the weird looking gray curtain around myself like a toga and tried not to look anywhere near his lower half ever again.

And because the moon goddess clearly hated me, that’s when he decided to drop the real bomb.

“The Black Fang won’t stop,” he said, voice low and grim. “They know what you are now.”

Oh God, please wear something.

I swallowed, clutching the curtain tighter. “And what exactly am I? Because last I checked, I’m not Margaux. I’m just a low-rank wolf who got dragged into your royal soap opera.”

His eyes locked on mine, dead serious. “Maybe they found out it was Margaux who died and that you’re a Dark Wolf. Just like me. And they will kill you for it.”

Well. Great. Naked, freezing, and apparently a target for medieval wolf assassins.

This day just kept getting better.

*****

Alpha Gregor POV

Her face was still pink from that little “naked incident” — and if she thought I didn’t notice her quick glances, she was wrong. But I let it slide. I wasn’t here to indulge her curiosity. I was here to keep us alive.

“I don’t fear them, of course,” I said, my tone like steel scraping on stone. Looking around for maybe an extra curtain for myself. “I could kill a Black Fang scout before he even scents me… but hundreds of them? The odds turn ugly fast, even for me.”

She raised an eyebrow like I’d just admitted I had a weakness, and her lips curved in that infuriating smirk of hers. I ignored it.

“But—”

I growled, “You think you’re just some ‘low wolf’ they’ve mistaken for Margaux? No. Once they know what you are—once they smell the Dark Wolf in your blood—they won’t care what your name is. To them, you’re a prize. And they’ll take you.”

She crossed her arms, trying to look unimpressed, but I caught the flicker in her eyes.

“They don’t kill Dark Wolves outright. Not at first,” I continued, leaning forward so she couldn’t escape my stare. “They break them. Physically. Mentally. They bleed your power out drop by drop until you can’t even shift without their permission. Then they chain what’s left of you and parade you like some war trophy for the highest bidder. That’s your fate if they catch you.”

Her smirk vanished.

“I’ve seen it,” I added, voice lower now. “I watched them do it to one of my own. He was begging me to kill him by the end.”

She swallowed hard but said nothing. Good. Maybe the reality was finally sinking in.

I pulled my comm from my belt and called Zach. “I need an update. Tell me the moment the Royals catch wind of this mess. We’re moving again in thirty minutes.”

Her jaw dropped. “What? We just got here—”

I cut her off. “The Black Fang doesn’t rest, little wolf. And neither do I.”

I’m not trying to scare the girl—hell, she’s already jumpy enough—but she’s muttering under her breath about duck pajamas, some lipstick, and jerky like we’re here on a camping trip.

I don’t care. Not right now.

This cabin is our haven for the night, and my first job is making sure the Black Fang can’t track us. My phone is untraceable, my scent masked, and I’ve tripled-locked the perimeter wards. But the real problem? How the hell to contact the king directly without his blasted council sticking their noses in.

I am one of the council. His most trusted ally. The sword and the shield of the crown. And yet I know—better than anyone—that half the men sitting at that table would sell the king’s blood for a bag of gold and a good bottle of whiskey.

Still… rumors are going to spread fast. Word of Marigold’s “death” in the Whiteland Pack will be all over the realm by morning.

Wait.

Maybe I can salvage this.

The Whiteland Pack thinks they buried Marigold. The woman with me? She’s Margaux—at least, that’s what they’d believe if I played this right. I just need those Whiteland CCTV records gone—burned, smashed, eaten by the gods for all I care—before anyone sees the truth.

If I hand “Margaux” to the king myself, my head stays firmly on my shoulders, and I get to control the story.

But that’s the part that’s sticking in my teeth like a bad bone—if the assassin was after Margaux, then why target us before I even left Whiteland? No one knows about the twins switching places. No one.

Which means someone out there knows a hell of a lot more than they should… and I need to find out who before the Black Fang gets to her first. Or before who ordered Black Fand after her.

Maybe the council?

The queen?

I'm sure it was not the king because I was ordered to bring Margaux alive.

I paced around. While the morning air bit at my skin as I stepped out onto the cabin’s porch, phone already in hand. My wolf “Dark” was restless, pacing under my skin, the way he always did when the Black Fang was too close for comfort. I didn’t waste time—dialed the untraceable line to Zach.

“Burn everything,” I growled the second he answered. “Every scrap of footage, every damn CCTV from Whiteland. Hack their server. I don’t care if you have to bribe, threaten, or break in—make it vanish. And start a rumor that Marigold’s dead. And Margaux is with me. Make it brutal. Make it bloody. Hell, make sure they knew that her own family did it.”

There was a pause. “Alpha Gregor… you sure you want to—”

“Just do it.” My tone left no room for argument.

I ended the call, slipping the phone into my pocket—only to feel a shift in the air behind me. That prickle at the back of my neck.

“Wow,” a voice drawled. “very naked and plotting fake murders under the morning light. So romantic.”

I turned, and there she was—Marigold, leaning against the cabin doorframe in my oversized flannel shirt, I guess from the cabinet, eyes narrowed like she was ready to drag me to hell herself.

“You were eavesdropping,” I said flatly.

“Oh, I’m sorry—was I supposed to let you secretly talk about my death without chiming in? My bad.” She crossed her arms, and the flannel slipped just enough to make my wolf twitch. “So, let me get this straight… you’re telling people I’m dead, you’re blaming my family, and you think I’m just gonna stand here and clap for your genius?”

(I’m over exaggerating things here because he was still naked and his dingdong was—)

(f**k I couldn’t think straight.)

(It was like a—stop! Stop thinking about the naked and his dong.)

I smirked. I could read her thoughts and wondered maybe because we share faith? But I pinched the bridge of my nose instead. “You heard half the plan, woman. The part where you don’t die must’ve slipped past your ears.”

“Oh no, I heard it,” she shot back. “You want me to play dress-up as my perfect twin sister. You know—Margaux, the girl every Alpha drools over, the one who never trips over her own feet, the one who—”

“—is a corpse right now,” I cut in, voice sharp.

She froze for half a second, eyes flashing. “Wow. Your bedside manner is chef’s kiss.”

“This isn’t about manners. This is about you not ending up gutted in some ditch. If they think you’re Margaux, you’ve got a chance. If they find out you’re Marigold, the Black Fang will—” I stopped myself, jaw clenching. “Let’s just say you won’t like the ending.”

She looked at me, “I thought Black Fang is the king—”

“Not exactly. Black Fang also can accept a mission from the King’s council and from the rest of the Royal Family.”

Her lips curved in that infuriating smirk. “You know, you could’ve just said, ‘Marigold, I’m trying to save your life.’ But no—you had to go with ‘pretend to be your dead sister or else.’ So touching.”

I stepped closer, my shadow swallowing hers. “I don’t care if you sass me till the sun comes up—either you wear Margaux’s skin for a while, or you die on your own. Your choice.”

She looked me dead in the eye, chin tilted. “You’re lucky you’re hot when you’re bossy. Otherwise, I’d tell you exactly where to shove that plan.”

“Noted,” I muttered, though my wolf was already cursing me for the way her pulse quickened just enough for me to hear.

This woman was going to be the death of me—if the assassins didn’t beat her to it.