In Bed With My Ex's Brother-in-Law

Alaric Thorne POV:

The drone of my brother's voice was a slow-acting poison, seeping into the grand hall and threatening to lull me into a stupor. I rested my chin on my fist, my elbow propped on the arm of the ancient oak throne, and let my gaze drift over the heads of my council. The air was thick with the scent of old stone, aging parchment, and the cloying smell of stale duty. Boredom. It was a flat, tasteless emotion, and one I was far too familiar with.

Gideon, my Beta and brother, was reciting patrol data from the southern border. Numbers, statistics, reports. My wolf, a restless beast of shadow and fury, paced the confines of my mind, his low growl a constant rumble of discontent. *Paperwork,* he snarled, his voice a gravelly echo in my skull. *We are Lycan Kings, not accountants.*

I scanned the faces below. They were all bowed, their eyes fixed on the stone floor or the parchments in their hands. Not a single one dared to meet my gaze. It was the curse of my power. As the Alpha King, I commanded fear and respect in equal measure, but it was a lonely throne. The power that set me above all others also set me apart, cocooning me in an isolation so profound it was almost a physical presence.

Then, it happened.

A scent cut through the stale air of the hall, sharp and clean and utterly intoxicating. It was like nothing I had ever smelled before-chamomile, fresh and calming, but with an undercurrent of wild rain and open valleys. It was the scent of a storm-washed meadow at dawn. It was the scent of peace and of home.

My body went rigid. I sat bolt upright, the boredom evaporating like mist in the sun. My molten gold eyes narrowed, scanning the room, hunting for the source.

My wolf stopped his pacing. The growl died in his throat, replaced by a soft, stunned whine of pure, unadulterated longing. *Mate?*

My eyes swept past the stooped shoulders of the elders, the tense forms of the guards, and finally, they locked onto him. Gamma Ryker Blackwood. He was on his feet, his back straight and proud, giving a supplemental report on warrior training readiness. His voice was strong, confident, every inch the powerful Alpha warrior he was.

The scent seemed to cling to him, a fragrant aura that mingled with his own scent of pine and strength. It was a perfect, impossible fusion.

The world tilted on its axis. For nearly a century, I had walked this earth alone, convinced the Moon Goddess had forgotten me. Now, in the middle of the most mind-numbingly dull meeting of the quarter, she had answered. And she had sent me not some fragile, trembling she-wolf who would need my protection, but a warrior. An Alpha. Someone who could stand beside my throne, not hide behind it. A flicker of my parents, a king and queen who had ruled as true equals, flashed through my mind. This was what I had always wanted.

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. My entire being was focused on Ryker. I watched the way he gestured with his hands, the sharp, intelligent light in his eyes, the subtle shift of his powerful shoulders. And through it all, that scent, a siren's call to my very soul.

Finally, the council was dismissed. The members filed out, their relief palpable. I gave Gideon a subtle signal with my eyes, a silent command to stay.

He approached the dais as Ryker gathered his documents, his back to us. "A problem, Alaric?" Gideon asked, his gaze following mine.

I didn't answer immediately. My wolf was screaming at me. *Claim him. He is ours!*

"Gamma Blackwood," I said, my voice a low rumble. "He is exceptional."

Gideon smiled, a rare, genuine expression. "He's our finest warrior. Father made a good choice when he appointed him."

I took a deep breath, trying to draw in that captivating scent again, but as Ryker moved, it seemed to ebb and flow, frustratingly elusive. "What is his status?" I asked, affecting a casual tone I was far from feeling.

My brother's eyebrows shot up. He knew me too well. I had never shown this much interest in any single member of my pack, male or female. He understood instantly.

"Oh, him?" Gideon's voice held a note of regret. "He's spoken for, Alaric. Set in stone."

A cold fist clenched in my gut. "Meaning?"

Gideon shrugged, his massive shoulders lifting and falling. "He's mated. A union ceremony a year ago, to seal an alliance. An Omega from the Whispering Pines pack."

An Omega. My brow furrowed. That powerful, soul-shaking scent belonged to an Alpha who was already bound to an Omega?

My wolf let out a snarl of pure rage and disbelief. *TAKEN!*

I watched Ryker's broad back as he walked out of the great hall. The chamomile scent faded with him, leaving me alone in the vast, empty chamber with a gaping hole where a century of hope had just been ripped away.

But the scent... My wolf's growl softened to a confused rumble. The Goddess does not make mistakes. That scent calls to us.

Alaric Thorne POV:

The storm broke just after the council meeting, a torrential downpour that mirrored the tempest in my soul. Thunder cracked, rattling the thick panes of my study window. I shoved a stack of treaties aside, the parchment scratching against the polished mahogany of my desk. The words were meaningless, the ink a black smudge against my frustration.

I rose and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the main courtyard. Rain hammered the cobblestones, turning the empty space into a churning, gray expanse.

*He is mated. An Omega. It's an insult,* my wolf grumbled, his anger a hot, coiling thing in my chest. He felt the Goddess's choice as a personal slight, a cruel joke.

I tried to reason with him, with myself. Perhaps it was a fluke. A trick of the senses. Maybe the scent wasn't what I thought it was.

Just then, a figure appeared at the edge of the courtyard, a small, solitary shape battling the wind and rain. It was a she-wolf, her thin dress plastered to her slender frame, making her look impossibly fragile against the storm's fury.

My vision, a gift of my Lycan blood, was unnaturally sharp. I could see her face, pale and strained, her lips pressed into a thin line of determination as she trudged toward the main entrance of the Packhouse.

She reached the massive doors and was stopped by the guard on duty. I couldn't make out all their words, but I saw her speak, her voice likely lost in the roar of the downpour. "I... I'm looking for Gamma Blackwood."

Gamma Blackwood's... mate? The thought was a splinter of ice in my mind.

On instinct, I cracked open the window. A blast of cold, wet air rushed in, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth and ozone. And with it, something else.

Chamomile.

This time, it was a thousand times more potent, more pure than it had been in the hall. It wasn't a lingering fragrance on a warrior's tunic; it was the source, the very heart of the scent, and it was coming from directly below my window.

My heart slammed against my ribs. My gaze snapped back to the shivering she-wolf.

My wolf gave a confused grunt. *The Omega? She smells of him.*

The pieces clicked into place, forming a picture I didn't want to see. A new, "logical" explanation took root in my mind, a lie wrapped in the truth of pack lore. Mates shared scents. Their auras intertwined until it was difficult to tell one from the other. Of course. This Omega, so thoroughly bonded to her Alpha, reeked of him. The intensity of the scent on her was merely a testament to the strength of their connection. It was a bitter, painful kind of sense.

Down below, the guard must have mind-linked Ryker. A few moments later, the Gamma appeared in the doorway. His face was a mask of irritation. He didn't offer her a cloak, didn't move to shield her from the rain.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was sharp enough to carry, even over the storm. "I told you to wait for my call."

The she-wolf-Elara, I supposed her name was-flashed a look of hurt across her face. "The rain was so heavy, I..."

"Enough. Get inside," Ryker cut her off, turning his back on her and striding into the Packhouse without a second glance to see if she was following.

She trailed after him, her head bowed, looking like a chastised child.

I watched from my window, a cold fury building inside me. The admiration I'd felt for Ryker that morning began to curdle. That was his mate. A she-wolf bound to him by the Goddess herself, an Omega under his protection. And he treated her with less care than he would his own boots.

My wolf growled, his displeasure a low, dangerous vibration. *He does not treasure what is his.*

They disappeared from view, and the intoxicating scent vanished with them. I shut the window, the silence of the study pressing in on me. My mind was no longer calm. It was a raging sea of confusion and a new, unfamiliar emotion: disgust.

One question burned brighter than all the others. Why would an Alpha who carried the scent of destiny treat his own mate like she was nothing?

A warrior who cannot cherish his own mate... what kind of warrior is he?

Alaric Thorne POV:

The following afternoon, duty forced me into a series of brief, necessary meetings. I was concluding a discussion with one of our pack Elders in the main corridor, the topic a minor border dispute with the vampire coven to the east, when I saw them.

Ryker was next on my schedule. He approached from the far end of the hall, and trailing a few respectful paces behind him was the Omega, Elara.

As he drew closer, I caught it again-the scent of chamomile. But on him, it was faint, a ghost of its true self. It was like a man wearing another's cologne, a superficial fragrance that clung to his clothes but didn't emanate from his core.

*Faint,* my wolf noted with a dissatisfied huff. *Why is it so faint?*

Ryker stopped before me, inclining his head in a show of respect. "Alpha King."

Elara halted behind him, her eyes cast down, her entire posture designed to make her invisible. She failed spectacularly.

Because as my gaze drifted past Ryker's shoulder and landed on her, the scent hit me like a physical blow. It wasn't faint. It wasn't a mere fragrance. It was a living, breathing tidal wave of pure chamomile, so potent it seemed to have a texture, a warmth that wrapped around my senses and squeezed. This was no secondhand aroma. This scent was pouring from her skin, from her blood, from the very essence of her being.

My mind went blank.

Every theory, every "logical" explanation I had constructed, shattered into a million pieces.

And my wolf, the ancient, primal Lycan soul that lived within me, let out a roar that deafened my thoughts. It was not a question. It was not a guess. It was a declaration, as old and certain as the moon itself.

*HER! THE SCENT, IT'S HERS!*

The realization struck me with the force of a lightning bolt. Shock, disbelief, and then a white-hot, all-consuming rage.

I had been a fool. Deceived not by some clever enemy, but by my own senses, my own arrogant assumptions. The scent that had called to my soul, the one I believed belonged to a mighty Alpha warrior fit to be my equal, belonged to the small, timid Omega he mistreated.

My eyes, burning with molten gold fury, snapped to Ryker. He stood there, preening in his stolen glory, wearing the faintest trace of her scent like a thief wears a stolen jewel. He was nothing but a fraud.

A wave of revulsion washed over me, so strong it was nauseating. Disgust for him, and for my own blindness. The pride of a king could not stomach such a colossal error in judgment.

Elara must have felt the intensity of my stare. She timidly lifted her head, her wide, doe-brown eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second. The storm she saw there, the raw, untamed power I was struggling to contain, made her flinch. She immediately dropped her gaze, her body trembling.

I forced myself to look away from her, to refocus on the male who stood before me. The border dispute was a distant, meaningless memory. Everything had narrowed down to this single, infuriating point.

"Gamma Blackwood," I said, my voice dropping to a low, glacial tone that promised violence.

Ryker stiffened, sensing the shift in the air. "Yes, Alpha King?"

I didn't look at him. My eyes were fixed on the cowering form behind him. I spoke each word with deliberate, chilling precision. "Control your... mate. I don't want to see her wandering the Packhouse unattended."

Both of them froze. Elara looked up, her face a canvas of confusion. Why would the great Alpha King even notice her existence, let alone speak of her with such... intensity? Ryker's expression hardened, a flicker of fear flashing in his eyes before being replaced by guarded confusion. He had no idea what he had done to offend me, but he knew he was suddenly on very dangerous ground.

I gave them no more time. I turned to the guard beside me, my voice sharp and final. "My meetings are concluded."

Then I turned and stalked away, leaving them standing in the corridor, shrouded in my cold fury and their own bewildered silence.