Knot the One They Want (Claimverse Book 1)

I adjust my tie, scowling at my reflection in the mirror. This farce of a mating ceremony has every alpha cell in me screaming that it’s wrong.

The omega waiting for me isn’t my mate.

She isn’t Daria.

Me and the rest of the pack are backstage at the venue, our fathers and brothers crowded around, straightening ties, exchanging words of wisdom. But it’s all a meaningless charade.

‘Damien.’

My father’s voice cuts through the chaos of my thoughts and other voices in the room. I meet his gaze in the mirror, steeling myself for another lecture on duty and responsibility. But what I see in his eyes catches me off guard.

Understanding tinged with a hint of regret.

‘Could we talk for a moment?’ he asks.

‘Sure,’ I say, my tone rigid. But there’s nothing left to say.

Nothing he wants to hear, anyway.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he says quietly, resting a hand on my shoulder. ‘That Daria was the only omega for you. That no one could ever take her place.’

I tense, bile rising in my throat at her name. ‘Don’t. Don’t talk about her.’

He sighs. ‘Son, I’m asking you to give Evangeline a chance. You might be surprised what can happen if you open your heart, just a bit.’

A harsh laugh escapes me. ‘Surprised? By that vapid princess?’

‘She could be everything you never knew you needed.’ His grip tightens, forcing me to face him. ‘I understand more than you think.’

I search his face, trying to reconcile this uncharacteristic vulnerability with the hard, ruthless alpha I’ve always known. ‘Just because your mating to Mom was arranged doesn’t mean you understand. You have no idea⁠—’

‘I loved another, before your mother.’

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. ‘What?’

He smiles wryly. ‘I thought she was my destiny. That I could never want anyone else.’ His gaze grows distant, lost in memory. ‘But she wasn’t right for me—or for the coalition.’

‘So you just gave up? ‘Settled’ for Mom just because she was there and she was an omega?’ I can’t keep the accusing edge from my voice.

‘No, Damien. I opened my heart. I let myself see your mother for the incredible woman she was—kind, strong, brilliant. My true partner in every way.’ His eyes are bright with fierce conviction. ‘We chose each other, built a life and a family together. That’s more powerful than any mark. But I’ll remind you, that, too was a choice. It wasn’t fate. And it was the wrong choice, one you and your pack are still paying the price for, whether you can see it or not.’

His words hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. I reel back, shaking my head in disbelief. ‘It’s not about fate or destiny. It’s about the fact that I already chose Daria. I gave her my heart. My loyalty.’

My father’s eyes soften with sympathy, but his jaw remains firmly set. ‘And she made her choice, son. Daria walked away. Now you need to be the alpha I raised you to be—and think about the omega currently in your care.’

‘Evangeline?’ I scoff, her name bitter on my tongue. ‘She’s a ditzy little socialite, signing up to be our broodmare because she thinks it’ll be some fairy tale.’

His gaze hardens. ‘You’re not being fair. Evangeline is a lovely young woman. She deserves to be treasured, like any omega.’

I turn away, bile rising in my throat. He doesn’t get it. Doesn’t want to get it. In his eyes, one omega is as good as the next—as long as she looks pretty on my arm and pops out the next generation of Blackwoods.

But Daria was different. Special. The jagged hole she carved in my chest throbs, an invisible wound that refuses to heal. How can I give myself to another when I’m still bleeding out from the last one who shredded me?

‘We’re done here,’ I growl, shouldering past him.

The rest of the pack is already lined up, ready to head out and seal our fates. I take my place at the head of the line, squaring my shoulders under the weight of my father’s stare. He can prattle on about duty and honor all he wants, and I’ll play my part, at least for now, but I won’t do it with a smile.

Asher meets my gaze, his eyes glinting with shared resentment. He inclines his head subtly, a silent promise. He has my back. Cole fidgets with his cufflinks, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He hates this farce as much as the rest of us. Even easy-going Lake looks ready to bolt, his normally cheerful face set in grim lines.

The mating march starts, the first ominous notes tolling like a death knell. The grand double doors leading into the gathering hall swing open. Murmurs rise from the assembled crowd as they turn to gawk at us, their eyes hungry for fresh gossip.

I steel myself, pasting on a cold, imperious mask. I’ll get through this ceremony, one way or another. But Evangeline and everyone else better understand one thing.

I’m not going down without a fight.

As we stride down the aisle, the scent of the gathered alphas, betas, and omegas presses in on me, their auras crackling with anticipation.

No, not anticipation. Excitement.

Like this is some grand celebration and not a twisted game of politics and power.

And of course they’re eager. The official merging of two of the most powerful coalitions in the region? The trickle down effects will be felt by all of them.

Fuck the people who actually have to live it, right?

I keep my gaze fixed straight ahead, refusing to meet the probing stares and whispered speculations. Let them gossip. Let them place their bets on how long this sham of a mating will last.

If I have my way, it’ll be the shortest in history.

We reach the dais and take our positions on the cushions, the plush velvet doing nothing to soften the hard knot of dread in my gut. The pack’s unease pulses through our bond, a discordant hum I can’t ignore. Asher’s knee bounces, betraying his agitation beneath his practiced smile. Cole’s fingers twitch, no doubt aching for the comforting weight of his brass knuckles. Lake’s soft exhale is tinged with resignation, his gentle heart already bleeding for the omega he knows we’ll hurt.

But there’s no other choice. Not for me.

Evangeline will never be my mate, no matter what traditions we playact today. She’s just a means to an end, a temporary placeholder until I can find a way out of this cage they’ve crafted so carefully.

I catch my father’s eye across the room, his brow furrowed in warning. He knows me too well, knows I won’t submit easily.

Good. Let him realize the depth of the battle he’s facing. I am my father’s son, after all.

I won’t bend or break.

The first notes of the bridal march shatter my dark musings. The music swells, a haunting melody that should be triumphant. The heavy wooden doors creak open, and the crowd turns as one, their murmurs fading into reverent silence.

And then I see her.

For a moment, the world tilts on its axis, my breath catching in my throat. Evangeline is a vision in white, her dress a froth of delicate lace and shimmering satin that clings to her lush curves. The collar I so recently placed adorns her neck, drawing my eyes to the graceful line of her throat.

The place I’ll soon mark.

Her hair is a waterfall of molten gold, twisted into an elegant partial updo that exposes the creamy expanse of her throat. A sheer veil shrouds her face, but it can’t hide the luminous glow of her skin or the soft pink of her lips. She’s a fantasy brought to life, an angel descending to earth.

Something clenches in my chest, a traitorous twist of longing. For a split second, I allow myself to imagine it—sinking my teeth into that unblemished flesh, claiming her, making her mine in truth. Waking up every morning to that golden hair spilled out across my pillow, those blue eyes hazy with dreams and desire.

Self-disgust rises like acid in my throat. What the hell is wrong with me? This is Evangeline, not Daria. A spoiled little princess, not my fierce, passionate warrior.

I don’t want her.

I can’t.

She glides closer on her father’s arm, her movements fluid and graceful, as if she’s floating rather than walking. The fine silk of her gown whispers with each step, a sigh that echoes the awestruck hush of the crowd.

I clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache. She’s beautiful. It’s a simple, undeniable fact. But her beauty is a weapon, a carefully cultivated illusion designed to ensnare and entrap. I refuse to be just another alpha enchanted by a pretty face and a sweet scent.

And yet, even as I fortify the icy walls around my heart, I can’t look away. Evangeline holds her head high, her shoulders back, every inch the poised society omega. But there’s a telltale tremor in her hands, a hitch in her breathing.

She’s nervous.

Afraid, even.

Good. She should be. She has no idea what she’s getting herself into. No clue about the brutal ways of the world she’s about to become a part of, the vicious games we all must play.

I almost pity her.

Almost.