ALPHA ZION’s MUTE HYBRID

CHAPTER FOUR

“Prepare for the claiming ritual.”

The words drop into the dining hall like a bomb. Every conversation stops. The only sound is my boots on the stone floor as I walk back in, her hand still clutched in mine.

Alpha Marcus looks like someone just told him his pack house is on fire. "Alpha Zion, surely you're not serious—"

"Dead serious." I pull her closer to my side, feeling how she trembles through the bond that's already driving me half-insane. "And we're doing the claiming ritual tonight."

The room erupts. Voices rise in shock, disgust, outrage. Someone drops their plate. A few wolves actually back toward the exits like they're afraid to be in the same room as us.

Can't blame them, really.

"Tonight?" Marcus sputters. "But Alpha, the preparations, the proper ceremonies—"

"Tonight," I repeat, and let just enough Alpha power leak into my voice to make him shut up. "Unless you have a problem with that?"

The threat hangs in the air like smoke. Marcus might be an Alpha in his own territory, but I outrank him by miles, and we both know it. His pack knows it too, judging by how they're all avoiding eye contact.

She squeezes my hand, and I glance down at her. Those violet eyes are wide with confusion and fear. She doesn't understand what's happening, why I'm claiming her so fast, what any of this means for her future.

Join the club, sweetheart.

"The sacred grove," I tell Marcus, because standing around debating this isn't helping anyone. "Get your pack witch. We do this properly."

"Alpha Zion," one of my own wolves speaks up from across the room. "Perhaps we should discuss—"

"Nothing to discuss." I cut him off before he could finish. "She's mine. End of story."

The walk to the sacred grove feels like a death march. Silver Moon wolves trail behind us, whispering and pointing like we're some kind of freak show. My own pack follows in stunned silence, probably trying to figure out if their Alpha has completely lost his mind.

The pack witch nearly drops her ritual bag when I bark the order. Can't blame her—it's past midnight, and claiming rituals are usually planned months in advance. But I'm not spending another second watching my mate huddle in some servant's closet while my wolf loses its damn mind.

"Alpha Zion, perhaps we should wait—" Alpha Marcus tries again.

"She's not sleeping in your basement another night." The words come out rougher than I meant, but honestly? I don't care anymore. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to get her away from these people, and it's making me want to rip someone's throat out.

Preferably Marcus's.

She's kneeling in the center circle wearing a dress someone scrounged up from somewhere. It's too big for her, hanging off her shoulders like she's playing dress-up in someone else's clothes. Everything about her just screams broken—the way she won't lift her head, how her hands shake in her lap, even the careful way she breathes.

Part of me wants to wrap her up and keep her safe. The other part wants to shake her until she explains why fate decided to screw me over this badly.

The witch starts gathering her supplies, muttering under her breath about proper preparations and moon phases. Like any of that matters when your world's already gone to hell.

"The moon is full," she finally announces, like we couldn't see that ourselves. "The ancient words carry power tonight."

Ancient words. Right. Because magic words are going to make this disaster any less of a disaster.

My mate keeps glancing up at me, those weird violet eyes looking for... what? Comfort? Reassurance? I've got nothing to give her except the fact that I'm stuck with her now, whether I like it or not.

"Alpha Zion Blackthorne," the witch begins, her voice taking on that formal tone they use for important pack business. "Do you accept this female as your mate, your equal, your partner in all things?"

Equal. That's rich. The half-vampire creature kneeling in front of me isn't even in the same species, let alone my equal.

"I accept." The words taste like dirt, but I get them out.

"And you, child." The witch turns to her, and her voice goes all gentle and motherly. Makes my teeth itch. "Do you accept Alpha Zion as your mate, your protector, your anchor?"

She opens her mouth, and I watch it hit her. The realization. Her hand shoots up to her throat, fingers tracing those scars that tell their own story.

Nothing comes out. Not even a whisper.

The silence stretches on forever. Someone in the crowd snickers. Then another voice joins in, and suddenly half the Silver Moon pack is laughing at her.

At Us.

My wolf goes absolutely berserk.

"She can't speak the vows," Marcus calls out, sounding way too pleased with himself. "Ritual's invalid."

I'm on my knee beside her before I can think it through, close enough to smell the fear coming off her in waves. "A nod works," I tell her, keeping my voice steady even though I want to murder everyone watching us.

She looks at me then, really looks, and I see it all there in her eyes. The hope that I'll call this off. That I'll save her from whatever hell she thinks I'm dragging her into.

"I won't hurt you," I add, because it's true and because she needs to hear it. "In as much as I would love to, the bond won't let me."

Not entirely accurate, but close enough for now.

She cries then, silent tears that make something crack in my chest. But she nods.

"By moon and blood, by earth and fire," the witch chants, power crackling around us like static electricity, "let this union be sealed."

The bond doesn't just snap into place—it hits me like a sledgehammer to the gut.

Suddenly her pain is mine. This constant, dull ache that's been her companion for years. Her fear becomes my rage, burning through me until I can barely see straight. I feel echoes of everything they've done to her—every beating, every cruel word, the night they held her down and carved away her voice because she dared to fight back.

My wolf is howling for blood while my brain keeps reminding me that she's the enemy. Half-vampire. Everything I've spent my life hunting.

But God, what they did to her...

Most of the crowd starts to drift away, their entertainment over. Some look disgusted. Others seem disappointed that nobody died or burst into flames.

Then Marcus's beta steps forward.

Carrying something—a small vial filled with dark liquid. Her blood, I realize, and every alarm bell in my head starts screaming.

"Congratulations, Alpha," Derek says with a smile that makes me want to put my fist through his face. "But there's something you should know about your new mate."

I'm up and moving before I finish the thought, every instinct yelling danger. "Talk fast, Derek."

He holds up the vial like it's some kind of prize. "We've been running tests on her. Little experiments while she scrubbed our floors and served our meals." His smile turns vicious. "She's not just a half-vampire."

The world stops spinning.

"She's Blackthorn line," Derek announces to everyone still hanging around. "Same family that slaughtered your parents fifteen years ago."

“What?” The words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest, and Alpha Marcus gave me a smug satisfied smile, “You are joking.”

“I would never joke about such matters.”

I staggered back and suddenly all I could think of was that night. The slaughter…my mother’s scream as….as her people assaulted her brutally before slitting her throat.