Tiara
1837 Words
Wrenna POV
“So…” Brax spoke through gritted teeth, “let me get this straight…” he was pacing the room, while Wrenna was tending to Damian’s broken nose on the couch—glaring at Brax.
“YOU!” he seethed, pointing aggressively towards Damian, impregnate MY daughter, and then leave her to come and tell us all alone?!”
“N-no, Sir, I neam y-yes, I—” Damian stammered, his voice nasally.
“You WHAT?!” Brax shouted, stalking towards him again. Veronica shot across the room—stepping in between them.
“Brax, honey….you need to calm down—” Veronica’s voice was as sticky as honey, her hand on his chest.
“Did you just—try to Sire me?” Brax narrowed his eyes at her.
“Me?” she asked innocently.
“You know that doesn’t work on your mate, why would you even try?”
“Because… you are acting like a complete lunatic!” Veronica finally snapped.
Why the hell would you say you’re the father? Wrenna snapped through the link, while her parents argued.
Because I’m your Gamma. Protecting you—even from your own father—is my job. Damian said hoarsely.
I know, and thank you, but you shouldn’t sacrifice yourself for me, Damian. I’ll just tell them the truth. Wrenna sighed.
No.
Why not?
Because if you told the truth, your father would go to war with the Blackbriars before the sun set. I couldn’t let that fall on you…We’ll figure this out later.
“Don’t think whispering will save you! You will take full responsibility!” Brax’ attention was finally back on them.
“I will, Sir.” Damian stood.
“The council has been trying to find a reason to deny Wrenna her right to take over for years now. If they found out you’ve….” Brax ran a hand through his hair, “and we don’t even know if Damian is your mate… 18, Wren. What were you thinking?”
“I—I wasn’t really thinking.” She admitted. Brad had made sure of that when he’d shown up with Sienna at his side.
“I understand hormones rushing through your body and you wanting to have s—”
“Nope. We’re not talking about that….again,” Wrenna held up her hand, cringing. Once at 15 had been enough.
“And don’t worry, Sir. I plan on taking full responsibility…” Damian began again. Oh my Goddess, what was he doing?! Why did he keep saying that?! He was only making it worse! Who knows what—
“Good. We’ll set up the marking ceremony for tomorrow.” Brax said, matter of factly.
“What?!” Damian, Wrenna and Veronica said at the same time.
“We’ll keep it low key. We’ll inform the council….and they’ll just have to accept.”
“No. We…we want to mark each other during s*x…” Wrenna blurted out, laughing nervously.
This time it was Brax’ turn to make a face.
“Wren—” Brax warned, his eyes drilling into hers.
“No, I mean it. As a matter of fact, Damian! Take your pants off! We’re doing it now!” Wrenna snapped her fingers at him, all the while keeping eyecontact with her father.
Damian was staring at her, mouth hanging slightly open. “I—I can’t perform under pressure. Especially not with an audience.” he whispered, horrified.
Brax’ jaw ticked, but Wrenna wasn’t about to give up. “Damian!”
Damian froze, then—oh Goddess, no—his shaky hands actually went to his belt.
“Damian!” Brax growled. The buckle clinked, came loose, then he panicked and fastened it again. His cheeks were blazing red.
“Damian! Off!” Wrenna ordered. He unbuckled it a second time like he couldn’t decide if he was committing to the bit or not.
Brax’s nostrils flared, the vein in his temple throbbing. “Enough! This isn’t a joke, Wrenna. You think this is funny? You think this is some game?”
Her chin lifted, defiance sparking hot in her chest. “Maybe if you’d stop treating me like I’m five years old, I wouldn’t have to make it a joke.”
The growl that tore out of him made the walls tremble. “You are my daughter. My heir. And you are going to face the consequences of your choices. Tomorrow, the ceremony happens.”
“Tomorrow?!” Wrenna shouted. “You can’t just decide my life for me—”
“I just did,” Brax cut in, his voice cold.
Damian, still half-bent over his belt, made a strangled noise that might’ve been agreement or sheer panic.
“That’s enough!” Veronica’s voice cracked through the room. Both Alpha and daughter went silent, their glares still locked. She smacked Damian’s hands away from his buckle and pushed Wrenna back down onto the couch with one hand, the other planted firmly on Brax’s chest to hold him back.
“Cool. Off. Both of you.” Her tone brooked no argument.
Brax’s jaw ticked. He turned, raking a hand through his hair like he was barely holding himself together. “Tomorrow,” he repeated, quieter but just as firm. “We settle this. I won’t have the Council circling like vultures.” He strode out, the door slamming shut behind him.
The silence he left in his wake was deafening.
Wrenna sagged back against the couch cushions, her heart hammering. Damian sat stiffly beside her, belt crooked, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
Veronica finally exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Well. That could’ve gone worse.”
“What are we going to do?!” Wrenna whispered frantically, pacing her room.
“We could just do it… I mean, I don’t think we have a choice.” Damian offered. A lot less panicked than Wrenna was.
“What?! We can’t just mark each other. It—it wouldn’t be fare to you.” She shook her head. She couldn’t do that do Damian. Besides…unless his goddess gifted mate was marked, he would still be able to smell her… it would be torture. For both of them.
“It’s not like we have other options…what are we going to do? Magically change this outcome?” Damian chuckled, but it came out more panicked than amused. Wrenna froze, her wolf’s ears perking up.
“That’s it.” She whispered, before storming out of the room—leaving a stunned Damian behind.
Her feet carried her across the grounds, and into the woods—like a woman on a mission. Before she knew it, the magical cabin came into view, soft light glowing through its windows. She only prayed one of the witches was home. Since the war had flared ten years ago, they’d spent more time in the other realm than in the pack—which had been hard on Uncle Jackson and her cousins.
She climbed the cobblestone steps, breathing in the sweet scent of the enchanted flowers that grew around the porch. She raised her fist to knock—but the door swung open of its own accord.
“Hello?” Her voice wavered as it echoed through the wooden cottage. The air smelled of herbs and something simmering on the stove, warm and inviting, and her stomach gave an untimely growl. Following her nose, she padded down the hall until she stepped into the kitchen.
Seraphina stood at the stove, stirring a pot, steam coming from it. At the island sat a girl Wrenna didn’t recognize—thirteen, maybe fourteen, hunched over a notebook, her pen scratching furiously across the page. She glanced up as Wrenna entered, wide hazel eyes catching hers before darting back down.
“Wrenna, dear.” Seraphina’s voice was smooth as velvet. “What brings you here?”
The question—gentle, expectant—undid her last thread of composure. The words tumbled out in a whisper, then a rush. “I’m pregnant.”
The girl’s pen froze.
Seraphina’s hand stilled on the spoon. For a long moment she simply inhaled, then exhaled slowly, setting the ladle down with care. Her eyes slid toward the island.
“Julie,” she said softly. “Would you give us a moment, darling?”
The girl closed her notebook, before sliding off the stool, clutching it to her chest, and gave Wrenna one last curious glance before disappearing down the hall. A door shut gently behind her.
Only when the silence settled did Seraphina turn fully, her gaze sharp and knowing. “Sit.”
Wrenna obeyed, sinking onto the stool Julie had vacated, her hands twisting in her lap. She thought she was going to get a scolding, but instead, Seraphina placed a hot bowl of savory soup in front of her.
“Eat.” She gently said.
“Thank you, Auntie Seraphina.” Wrenna smiled softly. The woman always knew exactly what to do. After eating in silence for ten minutes, Wrenna slid away her empty bowl, feeling much calmer then before.
“I don’t know what to do,” she sighed. “My father—he’s insisting on a ceremony tomorrow. Damian said he was the father to protect me, but we can’t—we can’t actually mark. It would ruin him.” Her throat tightened. “I need a way out.”
Seraphina studied her in silence for a moment, then tilted her head, eyes narrowing like she was already weighing a hundred possibilities.
“Who is the father?” she asked, curious.
Wrenna swallowed. Should she tell the truth? Yes, she should. Her aunts would never judge her. They’d wiggled her out of tight spots before.
“Brad Blackbriar.”
“Oh, my,” Seraphina took a slow sip of her tea.
Wrenna groaned. “I know.... Do you think we could somehow fake the mark?”
Seraphina’s lips curved into something that was not quite a smile, before she said. “Yes. We created something for that… centuries ago. Out of necessity.” She mysteriously said, without explaining.
“But you would have to reapply it after every shower. Think of it as a temporary tattoo.”
“Thank the Goddess,” she exhaled in relief.
“All you have to do is choose the design, and I will have it ready by tomorrow.”
“Choose?” Wrenna asked.
“Every mark is unique. Even a fake one should be chosen.”
Wrenna was silent for a moment. What do you think? She asked her wolf.
Us…tails laced together, howling at the moon. Her wolf offered. That wasn’t a bad idea at all.
“How about two wolves with their tales laced together, howling at the moon?” Wrenna asked.
“Hmm… how about I have yours wear a little tiara?” Seraphina lifted her tea, but Wrenna could see the smile she was hiding behind her cup.
“Oh my Goddess, that’s perfect!”
- Writer
