Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
“That’s the difference between Alban and me.”
This same conversation again, for the hundredth time. We say the same things and get nowhere.
Mother takes advantage of the lull to press a snifter of brandy into Father’s hand. He sips, grimaces, and his eyes mellow back to brown. “It’s your prerogative, as Broderick’s designated heir, to do with Alban what you please. But, son, can you? Can you kill Alban Hughes in a fair fight?”
It’s a blow to the gut, and I bear it without flinching.
We both know I can’t. The knowledge fills my lungs like water.
“She’s alone,” I say, abandoning the argument that neither of us can win.
“They all live in flophouses.” Mother waves a hand, bracelets jangling. “A dozen to a trailer.”
“Her household is almost all female.” My jaw tightens. “Males are in and out of the place. The sister whores herself. The sister-in-law, too.”
Mother lowers herself to the sofa, folding her legs and smoothing her silk slacks. “It’s such a shame.” She shakes her head. “If only they took advantage of the opportunities we give them.”
“That’s beside the point.” I have no desire to dwell on shit I cannot change.
Mother, of course, plows on. “This pack provides them with everything—an education, housing, food, medical care, everything. And they huddle down in that swamp, running wild, thieving whatever we don’t outright give them.”
“You sound like Uncle Alban.” It’s not untrue, but it’s not how Father likes to talk about the scavenger problem.
“Alban’s not entirely wrong.” Mother purses her lips and idly spins her diamond bracelet. “I’ve told your father a hundred times that we do them no service by treating them like pups. We encourage their laziness. They’ll never become ranked members of this pack until we demand that they better themselves.”
A vein in Father’s temple pulses. He stares out the window in the direction of the foothills. It’s pitch black. There’s nothing to see.
Mother keeps on going. “If we’re going to treat them like young, incapable of caring for themselves, then we cannot also leave them to their squalor and depravity. We have to step in—“
“Gwen—” Father says, voice flat with exhaustion.
“No work, no food. If they want to live in this pack, they can—“
“Gwen!” Father summons up enough strength to raise his voice.
Mother falls silent with a huff. Father exhales.
“Son. Sit.” He nods to the matched armchair beside him.
I hesitate.
“Please.”
I take the seat.
“The problem of the scavengers is always with us, but we have a more pressing issue, don’t we?”
He levels his cool gaze at me. The strain has eased from his face, and once again, he’s the father I know—smarter, tougher, more controlled than any other male I’ve ever met. The standard I hold myself to that I must exceed.
He is the regent, after all. Not the alpha.
It’s not common knowledge. The other packs don’t know. But when my father beat Alban Hughes a few weeks after I was born, my father did not become the true alpha of Moon Lake pack. He holds the position for me until the day I can hold it myself.
I am the first-born grandson of the Great Alpha Broderick Moore, his spitting image, but my mother was his second-born daughter. My cousin Brody, younger than me by one day—his mother was first born. In a pack ruled by primogeniture, that’s a crisis of succession.
The heir was decided by my father’s claws eighteen years ago. Decided, but not settled.
The pack—and by extension all shifters—teeters on a knife’s edge.
“You can’t claim her as your mate,” my father says, spelling out the truth we both know.
Still, my fists clench.
“Alban will use it to rally the Moores.” Mother belabors the point. “They would never tolerate a scavenger as the alpha female, no matter how much they see the Great Alpha in you. If Alban has the numbers, he will challenge your father. Sick as he is, your father will lose.” Mother’s black eyes are coals.
“The instant Alban’s in power, he’ll drive out the scavengers. Raze the Bog.” I know. I’ve heard Brody and his crew talk about it for years. It’s the day they dream about. “Alban’s faction doesn’t care if the scavengers go feral and starve in the foothills. They don’t care if their females and pups are taken by the Last Pack. And that’s what will happen. Mark my words.”
Father leans back and sets his snifter on the leather arm of his chair. “You can’t claim her.”
Does he think I don’t know that?
But still—my blood rises, testing my control.
I can last, but how long?
A male cannot resist his fated mate. It is known.
“Then we send her away,” I force myself to say. “To Salt Mountain or North Border.” They’re civilized. Females are treated well there.
My fingers dig into the arms of my chair.
Father shakes his head. “We cannot hand that kind of leverage to another pack.”
Father and Mother exchange a long look. She clears her throat, stands, and plucks an invisible piece of lint from her sleeve. “I’ll leave you and your father to discuss this further.”
She glides to the door, gesturing for Seth and Howell to follow her out.
On the threshold, she pauses. “You will kill Alban, son,” she says over her shoulder. “I have no doubt. And when you do, you can have any female in this pack or any other. An appropriate female. This is not a great tragedy. It’s a blip. I promise.”
She offers me a reassuring smile with the maternal warmth of a skull.
Seth looks to me, and I give him a small nod. He closes the door behind them.
Father leans to refill his drink and pours one for me. He nudges it over with his snifter. The lead crystal clinks.
“I don’t drink,” I remind him.
“You might want to start.” He folds his legs, tension easing from his shoulders.
I ignore the brandy.
“I don’t know where you got these uptight genes.” He gestures at me with his glass, liquor sloshing. His grasp is still unsteady. “Not from me or your mother.”
“The Great Alpha Broderick Moore.” I flash my teeth.
“A great male.” Father raises a toast.
So I am told. Often.
Broderick Moore was a visionary leader. A genius. A fighter so brilliant that he didn’t need his strength to rule. A wolf of uncommon humanity, raised in the wilds of the foothills, who led shifters kicking and screaming to civilization.
They say I’m his spitting image.
Father sighs. “You’re young. I know this feels like a disaster, but it’s not. Your mother, she has a point. Listen—” Father’s gaze grows distant. “You’re the alpha heir. The scavenger will wait. She’ll take what you offer.”
A bitter taste floods my mouth.
Father sees my face. He sniffs and swipes his nose. He’s the only one who has ever been able to read me.
“I’ll be blunt, son. Fuck her all you want. Do her on the lakeshore under a full moon if you want.” His voice grows hard. “At this point, it’s better Alban thinks you’re finally availing yourself of scavenger pussy. Throw him off the scent. It’s better if he thinks you’ve found yourself a whore than you’ve found yourself a mate.”
My gut cramps.
“But whatever you do, don’t knot her. Don’t breed her. And for all that’s holy, don’t bite her.”