Page 60 of Rebel for Claws
Specimens. As if we're nothing more than lab rats for his twisted experiments.
Before Vivian could respond with the violence that burned in her veins, the sound of calculated footsteps echoed through the shattered windows. A familiar, chilling presence filled the gym as High Elder Thorne stepped through the breach, his imposing figure silhouetted against the December moonlight.
"What was that you mentioned about taking my invitation straight to hell?" Thorne's voice carried the same cold authority that had terrorized their territory for three centuries, his icy blue eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction.
Rage exploded through Vivian's bloodstream. Here stood the architect of centuries of suffering—the monster who had orchestrated the Severance, who had torn families apart, who had systematically hunted her kind to near extinction. The man responsible for the execution of her family when she was fifteen and for the manipulation and murder that had shaped every aspect of their shifter world.
This is the bastard who destroyed everything good about our shifter society.
Her wolf clawed at the surface, demanding immediate violence, but she felt Alaric's presence beside her like an anchor. His enhanced senses were tracking the same tactical details she was—the positioning of guards, the silver content of theirweapons, and the fact that Thorne had deliberately revealed himself rather than letting his operatives handle the situation.
He wants to gloat. To savor his victory before finishing us off.
"Ah, Vivian Cole," Thorne continued, his gaze settling on her with predatory interest. "The last descendant of Queen Isadora's bloodline. You have no idea how much trouble you've caused me."
Vivian's hands itched for her blades, but strategic thinking overrode her desire for immediate retribution. Let him talk. Let him reveal more of his plans while she and Alaric positioned themselves for a coordinated strike.
"This extermination plan isn't exactly new," Thorne said, gesturing casually to his heavily armed operatives. "I've been working toward this moment for centuries. But the massive scale became necessary when you and your pathetic rebellion started meddling in affairs beyond your comprehension."
Centuries. He's been planning genocide for centuries.
"You see," Thorne's voice took on the tone of a professor lecturing particularly stupid students, "I spent three hundred years masterfully perfecting my control over the pack leadership through manipulation and strategic elimination of threats. Everything was proceeding exactly according to plan until you had to expose me to those fool pack leaders."
Vivian felt Alaric's controlled fury radiating through their mate bond, his wolf barely contained beneath the surface. The ancient magic flowing through his veins made the air around him shimmer with barely visible energy.
"And now they're siding with you instead of maintaining the proper order I established," Thorne continued, his expression darkening. "Decades of careful psychological manipulation, ruined by one hybrid with delusions of grandeur."
He's admitting to everything. The systematic control, the manipulation, the deliberate destruction of our shifter society.
"I did indeed orchestrate the attack on your family when you were fifteen," Thorne said with casual cruelty that made Vivian's vision blur red. "Unfortunately, you escaped before my operatives could complete the mission. They had to settle for eliminating your parents and brother instead."
The words hit Vivian like physical blows, each syllable confirming her worst nightmares. Her family hadn't died in some random attack—they'd been specifically targeted, murdered because of what she represented. Because of the bloodline she carried.
I was fifteen. They died protecting me.
Her partial shift began involuntarily, owl-sharp vision overlaying her human sight as panther reflexes coiled in her muscles. But through the completed mate bond, she felt Alaric's silent communication—wait for the right moment.
"Peter Cross also became problematic," Thorne continued with the same detached tone he might use to discuss the weather. "Your former Beta was going to expose certain... inconsistencies in my methods. I couldn't allow that conversation with you to take place, Alaric."
Vivian watched Alaric's hands clench into fists, his eyes blazing gold with supernatural fury. Fifteen years of suspicion and grief crystallizing into absolute certainty.
"And your mate, Alaric—such a tragic accident thirteen years ago. But grief made you so much more malleable, so much easier to control through emotional manipulation."
He murdered Alaric's mate. Orphaned his sons just to maintain psychological control.
"But the real masterpiece," Thorne said, his voice taking on the pride of a craftsman discussing his finest work, "has been the centuries-long extermination plan sanctioned by the originalCouncil four hundred years ago when I first came to power in this territory."
Four hundred years. This goes back to before the High Council was even formed.
"I tried to implement it systematically, slowly, so it wouldn't be obvious," Thorne explained with the patience of someone who enjoyed explaining his cleverness. "Gradual elimination of magical bloodlines, strategic weakening of hybrid genetics, careful manipulation of mating practices to breed out undesirable traits."
Vivian's ancient magic stirred in response to her rage, the power of her bloodline recognizing the enemy who had spent centuries trying to eradicate it.
"It could have worked perfectly if it weren't for these damned hybrid women," Thorne spat, his composed facade finally cracking. "Maya, Zoe, Elena, and especially you, Vivian. Your godforsaken Lunar Prophecy has destroyed three centuries of careful work."
He's afraid. For all his power and planning, he's terrified of what we represent.
The human operatives shifted nervously, their weapons tracking between Vivian and Alaric as ancient magic made the air itself seem to vibrate with potential violence. Through their mate bond, Vivian felt Alaric's readiness, his enhanced abilities coiled like a spring under tremendous pressure.
