“Someone has to protect the Clan!” Randall Waylan replied sharply, his voice rising in anger. The flickering of the orange flames cast his strong features in sharp contrasts of light and shadow, turning the silver streaks in his dark hair and beard to brassy gold. His fury receded and he shook his head. “The world is a dangerous place for us, Justin. Look at how other races are still struggling against opposition, even in this country. The discrimination against our kind would be worse. If we didn’t keep ourselves inside the walls we’ve built for ourselves, we would find our kind rounded up and placed in internment camps.” He grimaced and looked away. “Or worse.”
“Yeah, Dad, I know,” Justin said, sighing and rolling his eyes in a show of impatience. “I grew up hearing all the stories about the way our people were hunted back in Europe. But that was over two hundred years ago! Times have changed! The media alone is cashing in on our kind with TV shows and movies, and not as the bad guys! We aren’t the ‘Big Bad Wolves’ anymore. Now’s the time for us to come out of the shadows and let people know who we are, that we’re here – that we aren’t ashamed of who and what we are, and that we’re not going to live in fear.” He hitched his hands on his narrow hips, his fingertips resting above the pockets of his well-worn jeans. “When I’m Alpha, things are going to be different around here.”
Randall snorted. “Oh, really?” He stared at his son, incredulous, his tone mocking and full of scorn. “You think you can just become Alpha? Being an Alpha means having the respect of the Clan – and by your past actions alone, you’ve insured that no one in this Pack will ever follow you. You’ve done nothing to deserve the Alpha title – and if you think it can just be yours by birthright, you are in for a very rude awakening.” He looked away, into the flames. “You have too much blood on your hands.”
Justin recoiled as though he had been slapped. He blinked and scowled. “So, you’re still holding that against me?” When his father didn’t answer right away, Justin felt a wave of bitterness surge inside him. “Well, that’s just great. Thanks for that, Dad.” He began to pace, agitated. “I know I did a lot of stupid shit when I was younger. It’s only because I was trying to get your attention. Then after Mom…” he faltered, struggling with the words, “…after she died, I know things got worse. But you didn’t make it any easier for me. I needed you and all you did was treat me like some second-class citizen instead of your son!” He flung out an arm in a wild gesture. “You’d think you’d be happy that I was acting like a ‘normal’ kid – you know, like those Humans you want us all to be like when we’re out in ‘their’ world.” He stopped and fixed his father with a hard, accusatory stare. “When are you going to stop blaming me for everything that goes wrong? You’ve given me shit ever since Mom died, like it was all my fault!”
“Because it was!” Randall snarled, his anger flaring again. He faced his son, his fists at his sides. “Your mother was the victim of a hate crime. She was beaten to death because she showed her true nature while protecting you. If you hadn’t been sneaking off to meet up with your so-called ‘friends’ to get high on the South Side, she wouldn’t have gone out looking for you. What was she supposed to do, when she saw you being threatened by those drug dealers? A mother is always protective of her young, especially her only child.” Randall’s eyes flashed, and his lips curled back to reveal prominent canine teeth. “If you hadn’t been so stupid, she would still be alive!”
Justin’s breath caught in his throat, his father’s words cutting deep. He could still remember that night of ten years ago, all the horrible details that remained vivid in his own memory. He had been fourteen, a rebellious punk kid and the only child of the Clan Alphas. Even then, he had hated having to hide what he was, and he had acted out as any kid his age would. While he had attended one of the finest private schools in the area, he had still managed to find the other bad boys, rich and bored and looking for thrills. He had started drinking, doing drugs, and of course his mother had noticed – anyone in the Clan could have smelled it on him – but Mom had been the one who had decided to do something about it. Justin hadn’t expected her to follow him. He hadn’t expected her to show up that particular evening, when one of his friends had tried to cheat the dealer. Justin had been at that age where changing at will still took a lot of concentration, and when faced with three adult men brandishing handguns and knives, he had been paralyzed by fear.
And that’s when Mom had stepped in. She had launched herself out of the shadows, taking down one of the men and injuring a second, but it had been the shot to the back of her head that had ended her life. Sometimes, Justin could still hear her yelp. He could still see that moment when his mother had collapsed, her golden fur matted with blood and brains and fragments of bone even as she had transformed back to her human form. The man who shot her had grabbed his wounded companion and the two of them had escaped. Justin’s friends had fled during the chaos, and would later be told that their claims of seeing a “werewolf” had been hallucinations brought on by the drugs they had been taking. As for the two men who got away…well, Justin had decided to go after them – a fourteen-year-old kid out to get revenge for his mother’s death – only to find out they had met with a gruesome end when pieces of their dismembered bodies had washed up on the shores of Lake Michigan in what local police and the press had shrugged off as a gang-related hit. Justin still recalled how his father had turned off the television after hearing the news report and quietly left the room. To this day, Justin believed his father had exacted Clan Justice, whether alone or with the help of his Beta assistants.
But that didn’t change the fact that everyone in the Pack – including his own dad – blamed him for his mother’s death. Now, Justin pressed his lips together and looked away from his father. “I don’t know what I have to do to prove myself,” he muttered. “It isn’t enough that I’ll have to live with that shame for the rest of my life, that I’ll never forgive myself for it. You’re never going to forgive me, either. You’ll never give me a chance to show that I’ve changed.”
“Changed?” His father let out another hostile, hollow laugh. “And how have you ‘changed?’ It seems like every other month I’m bailing you out of some trouble you’ve managed to get into. You’re twenty-four years old, Justin! The only reason you’re not doing drugs anymore is because I threatened to cut you off financially, but I know you still drink. You have no respect for me or this community when you show off in bars, abusing your abilities and putting yourself at risk of being found out. There are people out there who know we exist and they are just waiting for any excuse to come for us.” He pointed a long finger at his son. “One day, you’re going to slip up and expose yourself, and the safety of every member of this Clan will be compromised.” Randall stared into his son’s eyes, his own a bright shade of yellow that he hid behind colored contacts when out in public. “Now I know that the only way you’re going to learn is if I stop enabling you.” He lowered his arms to his sides again. “As of this moment, you will no longer receive any monetary assistance from me or from the Clan. Furthermore, you will be demoted to the lowest rank within the Pack.”
Justin’s mouth dropped open and he managed to work out a single word. “What?”
“You heard me.” Randall squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “Starting tomorrow morning, you will no longer be afforded the privileges of the Alpha’s son. You will receive a job placement, and you will report to work every day. You will follow a strict schedule, take your meals when assigned, and observe lights out with the other members of the Omega class.” Randall started to turn away to walk to his desk. “Oh, and as of tomorrow, you will report to Labor Barracks. You will no longer be allowed to reside within this house or occupy any of the other private homes in the compound.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Justin spat out, his rage making a swift return. He lunged at his dad, grabbing his arm. “Why are you doing this to me? You might as well just send me to jail!”
“While
I would agree that’s where you belong, given some of the Human laws you’ve broken over the years,” Randall replied, not meeting Justin’s gaze this time, “you are still in need of strict discipline, and the only way you’re going to get it is here, among your kind.” He jerked his arm free and calmly circled around to sit in the leather winged-back chair behind his large mahogany desk. “You’re one of us, Justin, like it or not. We take care of our own.”
“And what if I don’t follow your fucking rules?” Justin demanded. “Maybe I should just go Rogue, become a Lone Wolf.”
At this, his father’s gaze flickered up and locked on him again. “You know that Rogues are not tolerated,” Randall said in a low, ominous tone. “You’ll do as you’re told or face permanent exile to an isolated region from which there is only one escape.” He reached to open a drawer and pulled out a tablet, switching it on. “You think living in this community is a ‘prison?’ Trust me, the alternative is much worse.”
“You talk about fear of internment camps,” Justin said. “And yet, anyone who doesn’t agree with you winds up in one of your own making.”
“I didn’t create it,” Randall said. “It has existed for over a century, voted upon by the Alphas of all the Clans scattered around the world. It’s how we keep ourselves safe from our own, the ones who can’t or won’t conform to Pack life.” He touched one of the icons on the screen. “I never thought my own son would be one of them...”
“I’m not!” Frustrated, Justin slammed his fist down on the desk, hard enough to crack the wood. He stared at his father, pleading with him. “All my life, you’ve always ignored what I had to say, always pushed me away. You never believed in me. You never talked to me about one day taking your place as Alpha because you never wanted it. And now I know why.” He stabbed a finger at his father. “You’re afraid. Afraid of giving up your power. Afraid that all your precious fucking traditions,” he sneered the word, “will be treated like the outdated bullshit that they are!”
Randall surged up out of his chair. “Your lack of respect is why you’ll never be Alpha!” he roared. “By all that is sacred to our kind, you will never sit at the head of this or any other Clan until you earn it, and you will start by learning to take your place – as a submissive Omega!”
Justin’s lip curled. “Fuck you!” he said, and shoved away from the desk. His father must have foreseen this because he gripped it from his side to hold it in place, a silent means of conveying his unmovable stance. Justin growled in frustration. Faced with a choice between accepting his demotion to the lowest rank in the Pack – a position which would no doubt delight several members of the Clan who made no secret of their dislike of him – and spending the rest of his life in nightmarish exile, he could see nothing positive about either situation. For a moment, the thought of undergoing “treatment” for Rogue behavior seemed favorable to the humiliation he would suffer from those who despised him and would make his life here a living hell.
At last, Justin lifted his chin in defiance. “Okay,” he said quietly. “This is how you want it? Fine. But I’ll show you, Dad.” He stormed over to the door and jerked it open. Glancing back over his shoulder, he looked into his father’s eyes. “But mark my words: I will be the next Alpha – no matter what it takes.”
He slammed the door behind him, hard enough to rattle the framed paintings on the walls out in the hallway. As he stormed around the corner, he nearly collided with his cousin Warren. “Fuck!” Justin barked, startled. It unnerved him that his anger had clouded his senses to the point where he hadn’t been able to hear or even smell his kin before encountering him. Five years older than Justin, Warren had always been the academic type, which was probably one of the reasons he had been named as one of his father’s Betas. “Sorry, man – didn’t see you, there.”
“It’s okay,” Warren assured. He peered at Justin over the rims of his glasses; like Justin’s dad, he had pale yellow eyes that he hid behind tinted lenses. “Is everything all right?”
“Peachy,” Justin replied with a thin smile. He shoved his hands down into his jeans pockets and scuffed the hall runner with the toe of his boot.
Warren nodded. “Ah, okay. Well, I was just on my way to go over the fall quarter budget with your father…”
“Look, Warren,” Justin said, cutting him off, “I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got shit to do.” He sidestepped his cousin, wondering if he already knew about the demotion. Justin didn’t want to hang around and find out. Right now, he just wanted to go back to his room – while it still belonged to him – where he planned to pull out the bottle of hard liquor he kept hidden in the wall at the back of his closet and crawl into it for one last binge. Tomorrow, he would assume his new rank; tonight, he would get good and fucked up. Dragging his fingers back through his short blond hair, Justin sighed. “I’ll, uh, see you later. Good night.”
“Good night.”
It was sometime after four in the morning when the sounds of shouting and then a pounding on his door roused Justin from his drunken sleep. He groaned and tumbled out of bed, kicking the now-empty bottle to the floor where it rolled away under the dresser. “Hang on!” he yelled, tripping over his discarded clothing as he made his way across the room. He couldn’t even remember undressing.
The door burst open before he could reach it. Three of his father’s Betas – Gerard, Phil, and Samuel – pushed their way in. Phil flicked the light switch, causing Justin to wince and shield his eyes from the brightness. “What the hell?” Justin muttered. “What are you assholes doing, here? This is still my room – at least for a few more hours!”
“Look at his hand,” Samuel said, and Gerard reached out, grabbing Justin by his wrist.
“Hey!” Justin jerked back, giving them a warning glare, but then he caught a glimpse of his own hand and he frowned, seeing a sticky, dark red substance on his fingers. He blinked and sniffed, immediately identifying the scent. “What the fuck? Blood?” He stared at them. “Is this some kind of joke?”
Samuel shoved past him and scooped up the jeans and hooded sweatshirt lying in a heap on the floor. “You tell us,” he said, turning to show Justin the clothing. They, too, had dark stains, the strong iron smell of blood soaked through the material.
All of Justin’s previous anger fled along with his inebriation, replaced by the cold sobriety of fear. He flashed back to that night in the run-down tenement building, when he had held his mother’s body in his arms, sobbing and covered in her blood. That’s how his father had found him when he had arrived an hour later, searching for his missing wife and son. Justin shook himself to refocus his thoughts on the here and now. “Where’s my father?” he demanded. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I need to see him.”
“That won’t be possible,” Phil said, his tone as icy as his gray eyes. “Your father’s dead.”
Justin reeled, feeling like someone had just punched him in the chest. He staggered back; his calves hit the edge of the bed and he dropped down, legs suddenly too weak to hold him upright. “Dead?” he echoed. “H-how?”
Gerard made a derisive noise. Grabbing Justin by the throat, he lifted him off the bed and swung him around, slamming him up against the nearest wall. “Don’t pretend you don’t know, you worthless piece of shit,” he snarled, eyes glowing. Older, broader, and more muscular than Justin, he had acted as Randall’s bodyguard for years. “You didn’t even bother to ditch the clothes or clean yourself up – you just came back here and got drunk on your ass again, like you always do.”
“You’re crazy,” Justin choked out. In a quick move, he managed to dislodge the hand on his neck and twisted away. Grabbing Gerard’s arm, he wrenched it up behind his back and shoved him face-first into the wall. The fight did not last long – no sooner did he get in that little retaliation when Phil and Samuel jumped on him, holding him on either side, their combined strength too much for Justin to fight off. Gerard rounded on Justin with a fist to his gut, making him double over with a grun
t of pain. That same hand caught him by the hair, using the short blond locks to jerk his head back. Justin gasped. “You’re making a mistake,” he ground out through his teeth. “I didn’t kill my father!”
“Yeah?” Gerard challenged. “Well, pretty boy, surveillance cameras caught you on tape outside your dad’s study wearing those clothes – and then there’s an eye witness who overheard you threaten your dad earlier tonight.”
Justin frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about? I never threatened him!” He struggled against Samuel and Phil’s grip. “Who told you that?”
“I did.” At that moment, Warren came into the room. He looked pale, visibly shaken. He stood in front of Justin, almost nose to nose; he had removed his glasses and now Justin could see the pale yellow of his irises. “I heard you arguing with your dad,” he said quietly. “You told him you’d be the next Alpha, ‘no matter what it takes.’” He gulped and shook his head. “How could you do it, Justin? He was your father – and he was like a father to me, too, taking me in after my parents died.”
“I didn’t do it!” Justin insisted.
“Maybe you were just too drunk to remember doing it,” Phil said. “Maybe seeing what you did will jar your memory.”
They dragged Justin from his room. Dressed only in his boxer briefs, they hauled him down to the main floor. The odor of blood got stronger when they reached the door to Randall’s study. Justin began to panic. “No,” he said, digging in his heels. He kept going back to that night and his mom, when he thought he would never get the smell of blood out of his clothes, his hair, or off his skin. “I don’t want to see.”
Despite his protests, he found himself shoved into the room. He stumbled and came to a stop, his eyes wide as he looked around in shock at the scene before him. There had been a struggle. Chairs overturned, books scattered on the floor, a lamp knocked off a table…and there, slumped in his leather chair, a gash where his throat used to be… “Dad,” Justin breathed. “Oh, God…God, no…”
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