Page 4 of Rebel for Claws (Rebellious Mates #4)

"No, because I was finally ready to stop playing Thorne's game.

" Alaric's eyes flashed gold, his wolf responding to the challenge in his son's tone.

"I'd spent fifteen years pretending to be the traditionalist he wanted while secretly investigating his corruption.

But when you found your fated mate, I realized some things matter more than maintaining cover. "

The admission hung in the air like smoke. Malcolm sank into Cade's vacated chair, his face pale with shock.

"So you're saying you supported the mating?" Kieran's voice had lost some of its edge, replaced by something more dangerous—hope.

"I was going to publicly accept Maya as your Luna." Alaric's throat worked around the words he'd never been able to say. "I told Thorne that hybrids represented evolution, not contamination. That our bloodlines needed strengthening, not isolation."

"And his response?" Malcolm whispered.

"He called hybrids an abomination. Said he'd worked too hard for three centuries keeping our kinds separate to let one hybrid ruin everything." Alaric's jaw clenched, the memory burning like acid. "Then he threatened to kill both of you if I didn't abandon this 'nonsense' about integration."

Kieran took a step closer, his silver-blue eyes searching his father's face for deception. "He threatened us?"

"He said accidents could be arranged. That Alphas who couldn't control their sons sometimes lost them to territorial disputes or hunting mishaps.

" Alaric's hands trembled with suppressed rage.

"I told him he could go to hell. Next thing I knew, the wine at dinner tasted off, and I woke up strapped to a medical table with human scientists eager to understand Alpha physiology. "

"Jesus Christ," Malcolm breathed.

Kieran's composure finally cracked. "Dad, I—Maya and I mated that night. While you were arguing with Thorne. Maya and I completed the mate bond whether you or the Council approved or not."

My son claimed his fated mate while I was being sedated for defending that right.

A fierce pride swelled in Alaric's chest, washing away months of guilt and self-recrimination. "Good. I never wanted you to ask permission to claim your mate. I raised you better than that."

"But the human operatives you sent after us?—"

"All Thorne's doing." Alaric's voice turned deadly quiet. "I would have died before sending hunters after you and Maya."

Kieran's expression shifted like storm clouds gathering—disbelief wrestling with something deeper. "So you're trying to say those human operatives that hunted us weren't acting on your direct orders? Because they claimed they were."

God, my son actually believed I'd send those monsters after him and his mate.

The knowledge hit Alaric with physical force, stealing what little breath he'd managed to recover during the past few hours. His large hands gripped the armrests harder, his knuckles white beneath the firelight as he processed what Thorne's manipulation had cost him.

"Never." The word came out rough, carrying thirty years of suppressed emotion. "I would have torn apart anyone who touched either of you."

Malcolm leaned forward in his chair, his blue eyes wide with dawning comprehension. "Then why didn't you?—"

"Because I've been living a lie for thirty goddamn years.

" Alaric's voice cracked like splitting timber, the confession tearing loose from somewhere deep in his chest. "Playing the perfect traditionalist while secretly investigating every Council decision, every suspicious death, and every hybrid disappearance. "

Time to lay it all bare. They deserve the truth, even if it destroys what little respect they might still have for me.

The black thermal henley clung to his skin as more nervous sweat broke out. Five months of captivity had stripped away his physical strength, but sitting here under his sons' scrutinizing gazes felt more vulnerable than anything Thorne's scientists had done to him.

"Your mother's death thirteen years ago wasn't an accident," he continued, forcing himself to meet Kieran's silver-blue stare.

"Peter Cross and his daughter fifteen years ago—not a random hunter attack.

Thorne orchestrated those murders to control me, to keep the most powerful pack in line through grief and fear. "

Kieran's scar seemed to pulse with the firelight, his jaw working soundlessly as he processed the implications. Malcolm had gone completely still, his diplomatic composure cracking at the edges.

"Every harsh word I spoke to you, every terrible demand, and every moment you thought I chose duty over love—it was all part of maintaining cover while I gathered evidence against the Council.

" Alaric's throat worked around words that felt like glass.

"I taught you to question while publicly demanding your obedience.

I implemented reforms in the shadows while enforcing rigid traditions in the public's eye. "

Fifteen years of investigation. Fifteen years of pretending to be the bad guy.

"Thorne visited me regularly during my captivity," Alaric continued, his voice dropping to something deadly quiet.

"Gloating about how perfectly he'd manipulated me, how my grief over your mother's death had made me so much more.

.. compliant. How Peter Cross's murder had shown me the price of rebellion. "

Malcolm's face had drained of color. "You've been investigating Mom's death this whole time?"

"And getting nowhere. Thorne's too careful and too connected." Alaric's eyes flashed gold as his wolf stirred with remembered rage. "But five months ago, when I went to negotiate your mating, I finally stopped participating in his game."

Kieran took another step closer. "And he had you kidnapped for it."

Five months of psychological torture disguised as scientific inquiry.

"They said they wanted to understand Alpha genetics, wanted to know what made our bloodlines special.

" Alaric's hand moved to the scar on his jaw.

"Thorne visited weekly, always asking the same questions—where were the Silvercrest ancient bloodline records hidden, which pack members showed signs of dormant magical abilities, and how many rebels I suspected in our territory. "

The fireplace crackled in the silence that followed, casting dancing shadows across three faces marked by years of misunderstanding and manipulated distance.

"I played along for five months," Alaric admitted, his voice carrying the weight of calculated survival. "Gave them just enough information to seem broken while planning my escape. Tonight, when Thorne came for his regular gloating session, I finally had my chance."

Malcolm leaned forward, his diplomatic facade completely abandoned. "How did you get out?"

"I attacked him during his monologue about corrupted bloodlines." Alaric's eyes turned molten gold, his wolf responding to the recollection of combat. "Managed to break his nose before the guards subdued me. They threw me in a transport van, thinking I was too weak to cause more trouble."

Kieran's expression shifted into something resembling pride. "But you weren't."

"I freed myself in the van, killed two guards, and ran fifteen miles through December terrain in nothing but medical scrubs." Alaric's voice turned grim. "Barefoot through snow and ice, following Cade's scent markers to this rebel compound."

Nearly died three times during that run. Hypothermia, blood loss, and exhaustion.

"The escape almost killed me," he admitted, showing rare vulnerability. "But I refused to die before seeing my sons one last time. Before telling you the truth about who I really am."

The raw admission hung in the air in a way that felt foreign after decades of careful deception. Kieran stared at him with an expression Alaric couldn't quite read—relief, confusion, and something that might have been the beginning of understanding.

"I know an apology won't undo thirty years of lies," Alaric continued, his voice rough with exhaustion and emotion.

"I know you have every right to hate me for the father I pretended to be.

But I need you to understand—every sacrifice, every harsh word, every moment I seemed to choose tradition over family was because I was trying to protect you while gathering evidence to bring down the system that killed your mother. "

Malcolm's voice came out barely a whisper. "All those times you seemed so cold, so distant..."

"I was dying inside." The confession tore loose like a dam breaking. "Watching you both grow into men while believing your father cared more about pack law than his own sons. But Thorne had eyes everywhere, and one slip could have gotten all of us killed."

Kieran remained silent for a long moment, his eyes searching his father's face for any deception. When he finally spoke, his voice held the weight of command that marked him as Alpha.

"This isn't the time for forgiveness or apologies or processing thirty years of lies." His tone held pragmatic authority despite the emotional undercurrent. "Right now, you need rest and recovery. We'll talk more once you're back home and strong enough to handle whatever Thorne's planning next."

My son, showing wisdom beyond his years.

Alaric nodded, grateful for Kieran's practical approach even as part of him desperately wanted to bridge the gulf that years of deception had created between them. "You're right. There'll be time for explanations once we're on secure territory."

Malcolm rose from his chair, moving to help as Alaric struggled to stand on unsteady legs. The simple act of rising sent waves of dizziness through his skull—a reminder of how thoroughly the past five months had depleted his strength.

Kieran stepped forward, offering his arm for support with careful formality. "Can you make it to the vehicle?"

"I ran fifteen miles tonight," Alaric muttered, accepting his son's assistance with rare humility. "I can manage fifty yards."

The three of them made their way through Cade's cabin and out into December's brutal cold, their breath forming crystalline clouds in the frigid air. Kieran's black SUV waited in the clearing, its engine already running warm.

As they settled into the vehicle—Alaric in the passenger seat and Malcolm behind him—the familiar scent of Silvercrest territory filled his lungs. Home. After five months of sterile medical facilities and Thorne's psychological torture, the simple comfort of pack-scented air nearly overwhelmed him.

The engine hummed beneath them as Kieran guided the vehicle through winding forest roads toward Silvercrest territory.

Alaric stared out at the snow-covered landscape, his mind already turning to the challenges ahead—rebuilding trust with his sons, preparing for Thorne's inevitable retaliation, and somehow finding a way to expose the Council's corruption before it destroyed everything they'd worked to protect.

The weight of uncertainty pressed down heavily on his shoulders. How long did they have before Thorne discovered his escape? How long before the next attack came? And most pressing of all—could his sons ever truly forgive him for the father he'd been forced to become?