Claimed by My Bestie's Alpha Daddy novel Chapter 228

The kingdom had reshaped itself in the ten years since the war. The walls still stood, but the way people moved inside them had changed entirely. There were hybrid-run bakeries with council grants, school notices printed in both vampire and wolf dialects, and joint patrols between vampire lieutenants and wolf guards who shared coffee and inside jokes.

The truce hadn’t just survived, it had grown into a structure people depended on. Arguments now came from logistics and priorities, not fear. People debated the length of trade contracts, the placement of early-childhood programs, and how to balance holiday observances. The past didn’t dominate anymore. The present had taken over.

I sat beneath the archway of the east balcony, letting the breeze play with the hem of my shirt as I watched the boys in the field below. Rowan had climbed on top of an old wine barrel, wielding a branch like a sword, shouting orders to imaginary troops. Oliver crouched near the citrus planter, scribbling notes in a battered spiral-bound notebook, clearly writing a list of battle rules that Rowan would ignore within seconds.

Their voices overlapped, sometimes rising in argument, sometimes falling into agreement. Rowan moved with restless energy that always seemed to pull him toward the next idea before he’d finished the first. Oliver moved more carefully, like he was mentally simulating tenpossible outcomes before committing to one.

“Rowan,” I called down, not raising my voice much. “That barrel is not a launchpad.”

“He walked straight into the line of fire! What was I supposed to do?” Rowan shouted back, clearly more amused than concerned

Oliver picked up a pinecone, inspected it dramatically, and dropped it back to the ground with a theatrical sigh.

“Pick one game, agree on the rules, and please don’t start bleeding before dinner.”

They shifted directions with barely a pause. Rowan hopped down, branch tucked under his arm like it was sacred. He started explaining a new version of tag that. involved illusions and a teleportation penalty. Oliver corrected the terminology and insisted they vote on the mechanics. They wandered toward the pond, still deep in negotiations about what constituted a legal dodge.

They didn’t fit into neat categories. Oliver craved structure, but only if it felt earned. Rowan Loved chaos, but only when he got to direct it. Oliver asked questions like a council member, patient and pointed. Rowan asked questions like someone trying to invent the world from scratch. They didn’t balance each other. They challenged each other, constantly.

Their eyes flared bright red when they were caught off guard or deeply engaged. Lately, I had started to noticesomething more. The way they would pause mid-movement, heads tilted, like they were listening for something silent. A pull from inside. I remembered that well enough to feel it stir in my own ribs.

“They definitely got your sense of mischief,” I told Richard that evening as we watched them through the window.

“Rowan has your mouth and unfortunately, my timing,” he said with a wry smile. Then softer, “Oliver has your eyes.

And that thing you do, where you carry too much and don’t say anything until someone makes you.”

It landed quietly. And it stuck longer than I expected.

1 didn’t flinch anymore when someone said my name. I didn’t count exits. I didn’t catalog where everyone in the room was standing. Those habits still existed, but they had become background noise, not survival tactics.

Watching the boys grow up in a world that didn’t treat them like accidents made something in me uncoil.

No one told them to stay quiet for their own safety. No one made them prove they deserved to exist in both Lineages. They were loud, complicated, and deeply themselves. And no one asked them to apologize for it.

That afternoon, I walked into the council chamber just as an argument threatened to derail everything. A wolf elder from the dairy collective stood across from a vampire from the northern preservation co-op. They’d been debating the shared use of transport routes for weeks, and today wasn’t any calmer.

“You want us to haul your goods for free,” the wolf growled, “and still take a cut of our profit. That’s not cooperation. That’s charity.”

“You’re welcome for the preservation work that keeps your shipments from spoiling,” the vampire shot back. “Of” do you miss explaining half-rotten crates to your buyers?”

I stepped forward and raised my hand, not bothering to sit. “Let me guess. We’re still pretending this is about wagons.”

They both looked at me. Irritated, but not surprised.

“No one wants to blink first, so you’re burning time and losing money. Here’s what we’ll do. The co-op will cover the initial transport. The collective will repay gradually, through adjusted yields during harvest. If there’s a spike in costs or delays, we reevaluate. If either of you breaches the terms, the deal gets reopened.”

The vampire gave a short nod. The wolf crossed his arms, then let them drop.

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