The Alpha King's Claim

I’ve always had a thing for paintings. Whenever there’s an art show in or around Manhattan, I make it a point to go. I love to see the artwork, and maybe even buy a piece or two. Or three.

What draws me to a painting? The brush strokes, the vibrant colors, the way they blend together, and of course, the subject matter. I’m a sucker for anything inspired by fantasy. Landscapes from other worlds, mythical creatures, people in strange clothes—I collect them all.

These paintings speak to a part of me that I’ve kept hidden since I lost my parents. They call out to something deep within me, though I’m not sure what. Maybe it’s because my parents were painters. They certainly influenced my tastes.

But there’s something special about these types of paintings. I just can’t quite put my finger on it.

One rainy day, I stumble upon an antique shop in downtown Manhattan that’s about to close due to bankruptcy. The owner has spread her wares out on the street, hoping to attract some last-minute buyers.

Among the items, I spot a beautiful painting of a landscape. It’s breathtaking, otherworldly. It depicts a mountain range covered in autumn trees, with a silver-plated castle nestled on a hill in the center. The details are extraordinary, almost magical. I can’t resist its call, so I buy it. Plus, I don’t want it to get wet in the rain. I want to give it a home.

The owner, an older woman probably in her late sixties, offers me a discount because the painting is smudged around the edges. I refuse. If she’s going bankrupt, my full payment might help her a little.

“May magic be with you always,” she says with a smile as we part ways.

I shrug, not thinking much of her words. I don’t realize then that they carry a deeper meaning.

The first night I have the painting, I dream of magical creatures—behemoths in the sky, beautiful mermaids in the ocean, fairies hiding in the woods. It’s a lovely dream. I don’t want it to end.

The second night, I dream of a castle on a hill. It beckons me, urging me to come closer. I wake up in the middle of the night, panting, unsure of what has me so worked up.

The third night, my dream takes me inside the castle. It’s enormous, with arched roofs and glass walls. Suddenly, I’m in a bedchamber. The sheets are embroidered with an insignia—a profile of a wolf surrounded by curves, lines, and symbols I’ve never seen before. It’s intricate and beautiful.

But what really catches my eye is the man lying on the bed. He’s a king, judging by the crown on his head. But that’s not what makes my eyes pop.

It’s a certain part of his anatomy that’s standing at attention, as if greeting me. It’s located south of his waist, right between his thighs.

His right hand is wrapped around it, moving in a rhythm that makes him groan like it’s the best damn thing he’s ever felt.

I wake up from the dream, taking deep breaths to calm myself down. One, two, three. One, two, three.

But I’m fooling myself. I’m hot and bothered, and I stay that way until the fourth night.

The dream doesn’t start with anything magical or erotic. It’s just me, lying in bed. But then I hear a voice—a woman’s voice—telling me to stand up and touch the painting.

And like a puppet, I do.

The next thing I know, I’m waking up in the castle’s grand bedchamber with the king on top of me.

On his deathbed, my father hands me the crown. But he makes me promise to find a queen within three days.

Of course, I agree. He’s dying, and I’ve wanted the throne my whole life. But deep down, I know I’m lying.

Fast forward ten years, and I still haven’t fulfilled his wish. And I don’t feel guilty about it.

I hate women—all of them. It probably stems from my mother, Olivia, the queen of Phanteon. She slept with other men while she was with my father. Lots of them.

She had an insatiable appetite for men, and my father wasn’t enough for her. Driven mad by jealousy and betrayal, he killed her.

Only a few people know the truth. The kingdom was told she died of an illness.

Lately, my ministers have been pressuring me to take a queen. Or at least to have a harem to cater to my needs.

Those ministers are now six feet under. And the harem they started? Let’s just say my army is grateful.

I don’t have a phobia of women. I just despise them. The entire kingdom knows it. That’s why most—if not all—of the staff in the castle are male.

The female staff hide whenever I’m near, or they risk losing their heads.

But don’t get me wrong. As king, I’m benevolent, fair, and I look after the welfare of my people, regardless of their gender.

I just can’t stand the sight of a woman in my castle, let alone the thought of having a queen.

So you can imagine my surprise when a woman suddenly materializes under me just as I’m about to get into bed.

Our eyes lock, both wide with surprise and confusion. She’s sprawled out, arms spread wide, chest heaving. Her legs are spread apart, and I’m right there in the middle. I can’t ignore the jolt of satisfaction that shoots through me as my sudden arousal presses against the soft flesh below her belly.

At first, I’m disgusted, but then, a second later, I feel…

No. It’s just my mind playing tricks on me.

Back to the situation at hand, my hands are frozen, unsure of what to do next.

Should I push her away? Should I grab a handful of her cascading brown hair and yank her off the bed?

Or should I order her execution, as I would typically command my guards to do? Not that it’s ever come to that, but it’s a good way to keep order in my kingdom.

None of these options come to fruition, because two seconds later, my double doors burst open, and in walks my audacious younger brother, Elijah.

He doesn’t even bother to knock on my bedroom door, which means he’s in some kind of trouble that only I can fix.

“Well, well, what do we have here? Guess the rumors aren’t true after all,” he says, amusement clear in his voice.

I groan. “This isn’t what you think.”

I shoot a glare at the silent woman, stand up, and pull away from her as quickly as I can. The sight of her two—breasts—makes me cringe.

She’s wearing a yellow chemise that leaves little to the imagination. I’m not surprised. My mother used to wear similar clothing when she was seducing her men.

The garment is practically see-through. The outline of her nipples is clear as day. Her legs—spread wide, much to my horror—reveal the smoothness of her inner thighs.

Thankfully, she’s wearing something that covers that part of her that defines her as a woman.

When our eyes meet again, she finally looks surprised and scared. Not the first time I’ve seen that look.

Every woman I’ve ever met, whether a princess from a neighboring kingdom or a priestess, has shown fear in their eyes. My reputation precedes me.

But this woman has the audacity to frown at me a second later. She covers her body with the bedding within her reach and shoots me a glare.

“What kind of prank is this?” she yells. “I demand an answer!”

I scoff. What a bold, reckless woman. Doesn’t she know I’m her king?

Suddenly, she looks lost, her brows furrow, and she’s speechless.

My younger brother sees this as an opportunity to butt in.

“I’m not sure what you two are trying to prove by pretending you’re strangers,”—he clicks his tongue and grins at me—“but it seems to me, brother, judging from what I saw earlier, my problem is solved.

“Just admit you like women and be done with it. I clearly saw both of you ready to fuck. You can’t say I’m imagining things!”

“This is a prank, right? Tell me this is just a prank,” the woman cries out, her voice shaky and desperate.

Finally, she leaves the bed and stands on the other side, a safe distance from Elijah and me.

“I was just in my room,” she continues, her eyes darting around the room.

“I heard a woman’s voice. She told me to touch the painting. I did, and then suddenly I was here. It feels like a goddamned prank to me.”

She turns to Elijah with another glare, then back to me, and continues, “Who are you, and who told you to do this?!”

I’m beyond pissed by her demanding tone. Without thinking, I cross the room and head straight for her.

“You’ve shamelessly stripped in front of me. You’ve raised your voice to two royals. Need I say more? For your transgressions, I will behead you at the first light of day.”

Fear flashes in her eyes again, but it’s brief because she suddenly bursts out laughing.

“And the setting. Wow. The details of this room are amazing.” She sashays past me and enthusiastically studies my kingdom’s emblem embroidered on my bedding.

“Wow,” she gushes, her smile stretching from ear to ear.

I’m caught off guard for a moment. Her smile is disarming.

“Seriously, what did you guys do, huh? Rent out all of Hollywood for me? Who set you up? I bet it was Jenny, right? My cousin can be so dramatic sometimes.”

Elijah and I exchange glances, confusion swirling in our heads.

“Tell me this is just your ploy to make me think you still hate women, brother,” he mind-links.

I shoot him a stern look and answer, “No. As I said, she just appeared in front of me. I didn’t bring her here, and we were definitely not about to fuck.”

“Wow.” He shakes his head slowly, looking amazed. “Talk about a rip-off.” He watches as the woman saunters from corner to corner of my bedroom, looking for who knows what.

He shoots me another glance, and I swear I can see the wheels in his head spinning. “Alright, I’ll handle it from here,” he tells me, a grin stretching from one ear to the other. “You just… um… keep quiet.”

“She’s not going to find you appealing if you keep acting so tightfisted,” he concludes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I grumble, but he brushes me off, instead striking up a conversation with her again.

“You seem to be mistaken, lovely. This isn’t a joke. You’re really in the king’s quarters. If you’d be so kind as to look out onto the balcony, you’ll see I’m not lying.”

Elijah motions to the grand balcony I’d left open and flashes her a smile. The woman seems to consider it.

She moves slowly outside, pushing the long sheer curtains aside as she passes them and then stands in the center of my balcony.

The sight of her back, her straight brown hair, makes me swallow hard.

I’ve never had a woman in my room before, let alone in my arms. Seeing her standing there on my balcony throws my heart off beat.

I hate it.

“Oh God, this is... This can't be real.” She shakes her head and then turns to face us again. Through the sheer curtain, our eyes meet once more. Hers are a mix of confusion, surprise, and fear. Mine are filled with pride.

“Oh, but we are,” I say, my voice dropping low and predatory. “So if you don't want to lose your head, you’d do well to show me some respect.”

She gasps audibly, steps back, and tightens her grip on the bedding. “My head?” she whispers shakily, her face a picture of genuine fear. “My...”

Then I see her eyes roll back. From where she stands, she loses her balance.

She falls towards the floor faster than I can react, but luckily, before her head hits the ground, Elijah catches her.

He’s known throughout the kingdom as the fastest werewolf around. Well, second to their king—me—at least.

Cradled in his arms, her head hangs low and her eyes are shut tight. Whatever made her pass out, I don’t care. It’ll be easier to get rid of her like this.

My brother looks at me, displeased. It’s the first time I’ve seen him like this.

“Brother, don’t scare her off, please,” he says, shaking his head. “She’s my only shot at freedom.”

“What are you talking about, Elijah?” I snap, my brows furrowing.

He looks surprised for a moment, and then an amused smile replaces the stern line of his mouth. “The council didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” I ask. Nothing slips past me unless it’s something I purposely ignore.

“So, to solve that problem, he put a limit on your reign. You’ll lose your crown if you don’t marry within forty days of your twenty-ninth birthday.”

My birthday is in three days. For a normal man blessed with good looks and wealth, forty days would be plenty of time to find a wife, but for me, it’s nearly impossible.

I’d rather go to war with the Fae realm than court a woman.

“You can only imagine how that sounded to me,” my brother continues, his jaw clenching. “I’m next in line for the crown, but you know I don’t want it. Just thinking about the responsibilities gives me the chills.”

He looks back at the woman and, as quick as a flash, his expression lightens. He smiles again.

“However, it seems the Goddess has smiled down on you, brother. The timing is just perfect. Look at her. She’s your solution to your marriage problems. She’s my ticket to freedom.”

“She’s my ticket to a massive headache,” I retort.

“She seems to have no idea where she is or who we are. My guess is that she’s from a different realm. She could be anything, and I don’t want that.”

I shoot a scornful look at the woman and snarl, “I don’t need a wife. I don’t need a queen. I’ve told the council that over and over.”

“But your kingdom needs an heir,” Elijah counters. “If you won’t give them one, who else will?”

“You will,” I answer without hesitation. “You have several women at your disposal, Elijah. You probably have a bunch of kids already. Let one of your firstborns be my heir.”

“And risk a rebellion?” He frowns at me. “Aero, you are the rightful ruler. I’m just your half-brother. I’m not cut out for this stuff, and neither are my sons…” He clears his throat and shrugs.

“I hate women. I hate everything about them. I despise their bodies,” I state bluntly. “If you won’t help me solve this problem, then I’ll solve it myself. I’m the alpha king of Phanteon. I’ll override our father’s decree.”

“Good luck with that,” he snaps.

I roll my eyes skyward in response to his statement, then I turn away from them both and walk off the balcony.

“Take her to the dungeon! She can rot there for all I care.”