Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
That is how he would look, if he knew he’d lose.
I reach for the bond, and now, all there is, is love, flowing from him to me, calm and sure and peaceful.
No. He can’t do this.
My people’s murmurs fill my ears.
“Watch, he’ll look to take Alban out when Alban delivers the killing blow.”
“He’s buying us time. We shouldn’t wait. We should run now.”
“A male to rival his grandfather. ‘Tis a shame it’ll end like this.”
Cadoc and Alban are a yard from each other when it’s as if a starter pistol fires. They run for each other, two-legged with fangs and claws, meeting mid-air with snarls, the thud of flesh, and crunch of bone.
I shove Bevan. He staggers. “What the hell, Rosie?”
But I’m racing toward them, arms pumping, hair streaming.
Wake up. Come out. Wake up.
I scream at my wolf, but she’s energy, an impression, a waking dream.
Now. Now. Now.
There is blood, drops in the air, in the grass. There are limbs, scrabbling, clawed dirt, gnashing teeth. The nobs forget their human fa?ade and howl.
I reach inside me, I plunge my arm elbow-deep in the viscera and mystery of what I am, what I’m supposed to be—and I grab my wolf by the scruff of her neck and drag her out.
Cadoc and Alban are rising unsteadily to their feet, squaring off, the scent of finality mixing with copper in the air.
“The bog rats aren’t yours, pup. We own them.” Alban’s lip peels back, and he laughs as he leaps, his body morphing into his wolf, maw gaping, fangs dripping blood-tinged saliva.
His muzzle is an inch from Cadoc’s throat when his skull crunches between my wolf’s teeth.
As I spit shards of bone out of my mouth, I flashback to sitting on a bank above the river with Nia, picking dandelions and popping off their heads.
Oh, no. The pup.
Panic seizes my chest, but then I feel him. He’s here. With me. In the real, but not.
My wolf stalks next to Cadoc, the ground trembling with each step, and she sits beside him. Cadoc drags himself upright to slump against her. She bends way down to lick his face.
“I always liked big girls,” he slurs, grinning, his mouth full of blood.
He’s definitely concussed.
On the ground in front of us, Alban’s headless carcass twitches.
Screams rise from the plaza. My wolf raises her head and howls, shaking windows in buildings yards away, toppling saplings. When she finally stops, there’s silence.
She looks down on the gathered shifters, and as her gaze skims the crowd, they bend their necks and duck their chins. It’s like looking down from the top of a tall tree.
When she feels assured that everyone has acknowledged her dominance, she plops back onto her haunches and starts snuffling at Cadoc, lapping his neck, licking his hands. She is utterly uninterested in her audience and obsessed with drooling over every inch of Cadoc’s ravaged body.
I give her a nudge, but she ignores me. She’s not done with our skin.
Cadoc braces himself on her, his fingers plunged in her fur. He lets her explore him, murmuring, “Hi. There you are. You’re brave and strong, aren’t you, Rosie’s wolf? Beautiful. My mate.”
He goes on, a litany meant to soothe, maybe me, maybe himself. The bond is raw. I cling to it.
“Your work is done, beautiful mate. Your family is safe.” He strokes our flank, and gradually, she fades, and I step back into our skin.
Cadoc wraps me in his arms. “The pup?” he asks.
“He’s fine.”
“He?”
I smile into his battered, precious, inscrutable face. “He.”
I don’t need to see his smile. I can feel his joy.
It’s mine, too.
Like he is mine.
And this pack and the future is ours.
Epilogue
EPILOGUE
Epilogue
CADOC, SIX MONTHS LATER
I force myself not to run through the den. When Derwyn found me to tell me that Rosie’s in labor, I raced all the way here from patrol as my wolf, and I waited for an agonizing minute while Seth got my clothes.
I can’t run buck-ass naked through my pack.
My pack.
My stomach roils. Every moment since I was born, I’ve been training to be alpha, and I was utterly unprepared. I can beat any contender in an alpha challenge, I can make any hard decision in cold blood, but in the past months, I’ve been called upon to do that exactly zero times.
I have had to become an expert on indoor plumbing, and the hundreds of ways it can go wrong. I’ve had to figure out how to prevent drunk scavengers from skinny dipping in the communal pool. Actually, I’ve had to accept that some battles you cannot win.
I’ve learned that principles like “discipline” and “conscientiousness” and “self-improvement” mean nothing to my people, but that they’ll do anything for a cool rock—or for each other. The only way I can get the males to show up on time for patrol is sending Bevan and Pritchard around with a stick and instructions to remind them there are ferals lurking.
There aren’t. Seth, Derwyn, and I have driven them further up into the hills. Whatever came for the scavengers is still out there, though, and until we find out what it is, I’m instituting Killian Kelly’s policy of constant patrols. He’s agreed to help investigate the scavenger disappearances. He’s lost people, too, but not anywhere near the numbers we used to.
So far, I haven’t lost anyone.
And I won’t.
My mouth dry, I make my way through the main cavern, accepting the back slaps and smiles and playful, fond baring of necks. My people respect me, but it’s my mate’s wolf that’s the real power in this pack, and everyone knows it.
Except maybe Rosie. She takes the mammoth inside her totally for granted. Her wolf’s not even on her radar these days.
She wants her good hearing and sense of smell back. She says all food tastes canned, and to her, this is a grave insult. These past few days, she’s been complaining about her back and her hips, and she hasn’t wanted to go out foraging. We knew the time was getting near, but I’m sure as hell not ready.
I don’t know what’s left undone—we’ve got the crib and the swing and diapers and bottles of creams and ointments and a hundred small suits that zip and snap. I had to annex another den to hold it all. Everyone wants to share their grown pups’ old things with us, and the gifts make Rosie cry, but in a good way, so I just stack it all up and keep my mouth shut.
I turn down the passage to our place. It’s filled with packmates—Seth, Bevan, Nia, Pritchard, Drona, Arly, Rae, Uncle Dewey, and the nieces. Danny’s out on patrol. He’s a little shit, but he’s responding well to responsibility and a kick in the ass.
As I pass my new family, accepting their congratulations and laughing advice—don’t take anything she says personally, don’t pass out, if you do pass out, be careful not to land on her—my adrenaline soars. My fangs prick my tongue, and I taste blood.
The wall between my wolf and me is shattered now, and he’s taken to making himself known when he feels I need back up.
The instant I step into our den and scent Rosie’s spice in the muggy air, though, I’m good.
“Babe,” she smiles up at me from all fours. She’s on a bear rug, naked and glistening with sweat, her back bowed, her blue-veined tits huge and swollen with milk. “The baby’s coming.”
I panic all over again, sinking to my knees. “What do you need?”