Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
Are you safe? I focus hard, infusing the question with alpha command.
There is a startle. I have no other way to describe it. A startle comes through the bond.
The knot in my chest uncoils, not much, but I can breathe again. I tune back in to what Vinay is saying. Apparently, he’s a golfer.
“You’ve hit our links then?” I slide back into my role. Shifter ambassador.
“First thing we did. I have to admit—world class. Seriously. Better than Ireland. Better than Scotland.”
I smile and nod. Only humans could enjoy walking very slowly to put a very small ball in a very small hole. Luckily, Alban and Brody are enthusiasts. The topic distracts them, and the rest of the meal passes in polite conversation.
As soon as can be considered polite, Mother wraps up the evening, making plans with Mrs. Shah to spend tomorrow at our spa.
Father’s second asks him for a moment of his time, and I take Father’s place, helping Mother escort Mr. Shah and his family out. It’s a rehearsed move, but Alban and Brody seem to take no notice that Father is still sitting when we leave the room. Alban and Mr. Shah are still talking golf when the elevator doors shut on them.
Mother’s mask falls immediately, her face hardening, wrinkles spearing down from the corners of her pinched mouth.
“In the study,” she snips. “You have five minutes. And that phone better be off.” She sails back to the dining room.
I’ve sent a text before she turns her back.
Status.
I get an answer immediately.
Same.
There’s no relief when I get the response.
Send a picture.
It takes Derwyn too long to respond. My heart thuds harder every second before he sends a blurry shot of a rusted single-wide trailer on a floating dock, surrounded by swamp grass taller than its flat roof. I squint. There’s a wolf’s paw dangling out of the cracked screen door.
I delete the photo. It’s shameful that our own packmates should choose to live that way.
This is a mess.
Alban has fired a shot over the bow. He knows about Rosie. He’s not stupid. He’ll suspect what she is to me.
Last night, when Father was talking me down, he said Alban won’t touch her. She has more value to him as leverage, and no value if I don’t claim her as my mate.
I see the sense, but my body isn’t guided by reason. Even now, my muscles are swelling, veins popping, the pace of change increasing as time goes on.
I’m going to end up bigger and stronger than any Moon Lake male, and I still won’t be able to beat Uncle Alban because he can shift on a dime one time and use his opposable human thumbs to shank me.
It’s bullshit.
I need to get this lecture over with and figure out what I’m going to do.
I wave for Seth to follow and stalk toward the study. It’ll take my father some time to make his way down the hall, so we’ll have a few minutes of privacy. The study, like our bedrooms, bathrooms, and personal offices, are soundproofed.
“Who do we trust?” I ask Seth, pacing to the window. “Give me three names besides Derwyn. Good fighters.”
I have names in my head, but I want confirmation.
“Griff. Kenny.” Seth pauses a beat. “Lowry Powell.”
“Lowry?”
“She’s a scrapper.” Seth shrugs.
Lowry Powell. I had no idea. Interesting, but not immediately important.
“I want them on the perimeter of the Bogs, north, south, and west. If a Hughes or an allied wolf tries to step onto a board, I want to know.”
“Three won’t be enough.”
“Three will have to be.” The more people who know about Rosie, the more volatile the situation. It’s already spiraling beyond my ability to contain.
I hear slow, shuffling steps approach and lower my voice. “Go now. Stay near her until I show.”
Seth raises his brows. “But you can’t—“
“Go.”
The doorknob turns. Seth jerks a curt nod. He excuses himself as my father limps into the room, arm slung over Howell’s shoulder for support. Howell helps Father ease into his leather chair by the fire. Mother follows, heading straight for the mini-fridge.
Howell helps Father off with his jacket and steps back into guard position while Father rolls his sleeve up with trembling fingers.
“What the fuck was that with the phone?” Father asks me once he’s settled himself. His body is slumped, but his eyes still glint with dominance.
I meet his gaze. “Business.”
“Bullshit.” His lip curls. “We discussed this last night.”
“You spoke your piece. I listened.”
His wolf rumbles his displeasure. Mine makes no reply, of course, but he doesn’t make the slightest show of submission, either. He’s on his feet, ears pricked and tuned to the conversation, but he’s focused on something in the distance. Something elsewhere.
Father lets out a long breath. Mother goes to him, flicking the tip of the shot she’s prepped.
“Ready?” she asks. He grunts and flexes his bicep. She plunges the needle into a vein, no tenderness or hesitation.
Father sags for a moment, closing his eyes, nostrils flaring as he breathes through the immediate effects of the dragon’s tongue. This time, he makes it without puking.
Good. He can’t afford to lose any calories. Despite the clever tailoring, his suit is hanging off his shoulders.
How much longer can we hide what’s happening? Weeks? A month, maybe two?
By then, none of this will matter. Alban will challenge him, kill him, and then he’ll kill me because it takes me thirty-two seconds to shift, and he can do it in two. Thirty seconds. That’s what the future of this pack hinges on.
When Father finally reopens his eyes, the golden irises of his wolf stare out, the color jarring in contrast to his pallor.
“Well,” he says. “You have something more to say on the subject? I’m listening.”
I blink, my brain circling back to Rosie. It hasn’t really left her since the library. “I’m not leaving her unprotected.”
Mother sniffs on her way to toss the needle. “Scavengers always land on their feet.”
As always, Father tries to polish Mother’s bluntness. “All scavengers are under pack protection.”
“Bullshit.” He can lie to the pack, but not to me. I get the reports, too, and I read them.
“What would you do, then, that I haven’t done?” His voice grows stronger as the drugs kick in. “Tell me, heir apparent.”
“I’ll kill Alban Hughes, for one. I won’t let him fester like a sore.”
Father lets out a bitter laugh. “It’s so simple for the young, isn’t it?”
“You could have dealt with him when you were well.”
“Maybe.” Father tilts his head. “But Broderick Moore entrusted me with the pack to keep it whole for you, not to incite a civil war.”
“Alban wouldn’t hesitate to take you out if he thought he could and keep the pack.”