THE ALPHA'S SECRET BABY

Chapter six: Equal

Aria’s POV

The blade Garrick hands me is ceremonial silver. Council-grade. It would burn Kai. It would have killed me five years ago.

Lycan-compatible. First one in two centuries.

I test the edge with my thumb. Doctor’s habit. Kieran doesn’t flinch when a bead of his blood wells up.

“Your Majesty—” Garrick starts.

“Outside,” Kieran says. He doesn’t look away from me. “You too, Ryker.”

“But the security—”

“Out.”

Alpha command, but quiet. The kind that shakes planes.

The door seals. It’s just us. Me, the King of North America, and two sleeping boys in the back. Kade’s EpiPen is still in my go-bag. Kai’s hand is fisted in my scrub top even in his sleep.

“Why the wrist?” Kieran asks. His sleeve is already rolled up. Veins. Scars. A tattoo of the Blackwood crest right over his pulse.

“Necks are for mates,” I say. My voice is pure ER. No emotion. “Wrists are for contracts. This is a contract, Kieran. Not a fairytale.”

Something flickers in his ice-blue eyes. Hurt. Good. He should hurt.

I press the blade to his skin.

“Rules,” I say. “You drink from me, I drink from you. One swallow. Then we decide if we do this again on land. As equals. If you command me, if you lie to me, if you ever tell my sons they’re bastards—”

“I won’t,” he cuts in. “Wolf’s Oath, Aria. I already swore it to Kai.”

“Swear it to me.”

He cups my face. His hand is bloody, warm. The hand that snapped Roman’s neck an hour ago. The hand that rejected me under a willow tree.

“I swear it on my wolf, Aria Vale,” he whispers. “You are not my property. You are not my omega. You are my equal. My Luna, if you’ll have me. If you won’t… you’re still the mother of my sons. And I will die before I let anyone take them.”

I believe him. I hate that I believe him.

I cut.

His blood wells. Dark, rich, smells like pine and winter and him. My wolf — the one I’ve starved for five years — howls.

I drag my wrist across his mouth first. A warning. You first. You trust first.

His eyes roll back. One swallow. That’s all it takes for a Lycan King.

The bond slams into me. Not the soft, sweet mate-pull from the stories. This is a war. His regret, his five years of self-hatred, his relief when he found Kade’s hospital records at 3AM… it all pours into me.

I gasp. My knees buckle.

He catches me. “Aria—”

“Shut up.” I grab his wrist, cut my own, and drink.

Gods.

I see it. The night after the Blood Moon. Him, drunk, screaming at his father: “She’s an omega! They’ll kill her if I claim her!” His father: “Then handle it. Or you’re not my heir.”

He chose the crown. He’s been choking on it since.

The bond snaps into place. Not complete — necks would do that — but equal. I feel him. He feels me. And he can’t block me out. Kings can block omegas.

Not this time.

I shove him back. “There. Your Council has its blood tie. We won’t die on landing.”

He licks the blood from his lip. His eyes are pure silver. “Aria—”

“Mommy?”

We both freeze.

Kade is awake. Sitting up, Mr. Woof clutched to his chest. He’s staring at my bleeding wrist. At Kieran’s.

“Did you and Daddy get ouchies?” His voice wobbles. “Do you need Band-Aids?”

Daddy.

The word detonates in the cabin.

Kieran drops to his knees. Again. He’s done more kneeling in 12 hours than in 27 years as heir. He holds his bloody wrist out to our son.

“I got an ouchie, Kade,” he says, voice wrecked. “Your mom’s a really good doctor. She’s fixing it.”

Kade toddles over, still sleepy. He presses a kiss to Kieran’s cut. Then mine. “All better.”

My Omega’s Shield explodes. Not in defense. In agony.

Because for the first time, it can’t tell if Kieran is the threat… or the cure.

The jet dips. Intercom crackles.

“Your Majesty, we begin descent into Wyoming in 20 minutes. Council is on the tarmac. Queen Victoria is with them.”

Kieran stands. The King is back in his eyes. But when he looks at me, it’s just him.

“One hour was for the mark,” he says quietly. “The next 29 days are for you.”

I wipe my wrist on my scrubs. My blood. His blood. Our blood.

“Then you better start talking, Your Majesty,” I tell him. “Because Queen Victoria called my sons bastards once.

If she does it again, Council law won’t save her from me.”

His smile is sharp. Proud. Terrifying.

“That’s my Luna,” he says.