Orson unbuttoned his white shirt, letting it blow free in the light wind that always came before a good rain. Rainy days were more common than sunny days up in the Pacific Northwest, so it was nothing surprising. Neither was the fact that Orson felt no shame in showing off his body like that.
Isaiah watched in annoyance as his little brother pulled a lighter and cigarette from his pocket before puffing it and polluting the air around them with heavy smoke clouds. Isaiah used to get onto Orson about the habit, but he had stopped a few years ago because it did no good. "So, it looks like I won't be alpha anytime soon, surprise, surprise," Orson scoffed bitterly with the cigarette hanging haphazardly between his lips. "I think we're all pretty sure how this one is going to turn out. I don't even know why dear old Dad wants to talk with all three of us before he croaks." Orson chuckled at his own words as he slid his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. He and his father had never seen eye to eye on anything, and he had often felt like he was his father's least favorite child. That included all those who were dead or who had abandoned their life with the pack.
"I don't think being alpha is all you think it is, brother," Isaiah told him, trying to impart a word of wisdom. He didn't need Orson going astray. No matter his attitude, he would need his little brother to help him through his first year as alpha. It was not going to be an easy road. Isaiah was not the heartless man his father often seemed to be. In private, he and Arnold often butted heads on the matter, but it was something that was well hidden from most of the pack. If it were up to him, his brother Roman would take the job instead. But he knew better than to hope. "At least you will get to choose who to be with; who to love and who to save."
As if to prove a point, one of the younger women from the pack strolled by and looked Orson up and down like he was a piece of meat she needed to eat right then and there. Orson smiled cockily at her and waved, posing as if for an underwear ad. Orson loved women and the attention, he got from them. There just weren’t enough of them around in his opinion.
"I don’t need to love or save, big brother," Orson said snarkily. "I would love to be allowed to change women at will, but it’s not like we have that many to choose from." Isaiah nodded, knowing very well that was one of the biggest issues he would be inheriting; the lack of breedable women in the pack.
Isaiah was broken out of his thoughts when his brother Roman, the middle one of them, came out of the house, looking like he might be holding back tears. Roman had always been the closest with Arnold, and the most forgiving of the three brothers.
His long black waves blew with the same breeze as Orson's shirt, and he stared into the sun as not to let his feelings show. A werewolf prince was not known to cry, and he didn't want his brothers, especially Orson, to notice. They wouldn't understand anyway; neither of them felt for their father the way he did. Nobody understood the man save for Roman, and yet, it would be Isaiah that got the glory. Roman wasn't particularly angry about it; it was what was right. But he knew that his brother wasn't going to take to the job of being alpha so easily. For a werewolf, he was soft, and the pack would notice that the moment he showed mercy.
"It's your turn," Roman told Isaiah, nodding in his direction. His eyes squinted away from the sun as the first cloud cover appeared. The rain would be there soon. He could pretend his tears were just raindrops.
Isaiah took a deep breath and took his time going inside. The man could die any moment. He knew that. He wasn't exactly hoping his father would pass away before getting to him, but he wasn't in a hurry to hear whatever lecture he had to tell Isaiah about being the leader of the Olympia pack. He had heard enough of it from the moment he turned 12 when the last of the children he had before the brothers, had left the pack.
Isaiah went inside and looked around to find the walls and furniture unchanged from when he grew up there. It resembled a Native American hut inside, full of tribal paintings and dreamcatchers. It was part of their heritage.
Werewolves were believed to be descended from an ancient Native American power, but the place smelled dusty and looked gaudy instead of holding anything special or symbolic for Isaiah. The minute the deed was in his name, he would surely dip into the alpha fund, a bank account full of an unknown amount of money meant for the alphas use and redecorate.
Hector, one of the younger members of the pack that had somehow managed to be named as one of the alpha’s personal guards, appeared out of nowhere with his hands clasped in front of him. His boots made a clumping sound against the wood floors. “Your father is waiting for you,” he told Isaiah in a stern voice. It was something he didn't expect out of a young man who looked to be barely 16, but perhaps it was the authoritative stature and tone that had landed him the job.
Isaiah reluctantly followed the young man into the master bedroom that overlooked the large garden at the back of the house. It was lovely enough, but it made little sense to Isaiah, considering the expansive forests and mountain passages that surrounded them were just as beautiful if not more so. His inner wolf craved that seclusion and the adventure that came with roaming almost entirely untouched land.
Isaiah tried not to pay too much attention to the wrinkled old man who was laying in the bed and already emitting the smell of death. It was a harsh reality that Isaiah did not want to face. Just months before, he had still been the muscular, uncaring man that ruled the Olympia pack with an iron fist. That was until disease and old age caught up with him. Werewolves found healing simple when they were young and lived longer than most humans, but eventually, they still succumbed to the natural order of things.
“Come closer, Son, so I can talk to you,” his father managed to choke out, coughing afterwards. He sounded like his lungs might just be coming out through his throat. Isaiah obeyed, even though he didn't like it, and sat at a chair that was by his father's bed; his death bed. “Isaiah, you know by now I am naming you the alpha of the Olympia pack. I have told you of the importance of this for many years now, and I hope despite our differences that I have raised you to be a leader that this pack needs. You will find that tough decisions need to be made, and you will have to harden your heart to a life of those hard choices. You will hate yourself, but the pack will love you.” His father’s dying secret only served to disgust Isaiah. Had he really pretended to be an awful man all these years because he thought it would please the pack?
Isaiah was in no mood to fight with a dying man, so he only nodded in understanding. Once the man was gone, he could do things his own way; at least to an extent. He knew there would be duty, but he didn't have to throw his heart and his morals out the window to rule. “I know what my duty is, but I do not understand why you stick with tradition in this instance. Roman would be much happier if it were him, and so would I,” he admitted, not letting any hostility slip into his voice. Rather, he just wanted to know the reason his father was still bent on having Isaiah become alpha.
“It is no secret that I prefer to honor tradition, but in this decision, it is more than that,” Arnold whispered, barely able to keep his breath about him to talk anymore. He was fading fast. “Roman does not get it, because he wants it. You deserve it, because you don’t. It’s never going to be about you and your power. It will be about everyone else.” Isaiah got up and walked away, leaving him to find his peace in the afterlife, whatever was waiting there for him. He didn't want to hear any more about what kind of a leader he would or should be. He wasn’t going to give up on who he was just because that was what his father had done.
Isaiah’s face was set in anger as he strode out of that house without even a polite goodbye to Hector. It had started raining more heavily while he had been in there with his father, and Orson was struggling to maintain the light on yet another cigarette while Roman was staring at the ground in grieving mode. He didn't know what to say to his brothers at this point. All he could muster was, “I am alpha,” before walking away into the woods where he could be alone.
The floor of the woods was slightly damp as his b
oots squished into the forest floor. He could hear the scattering of the creatures as they sensed a predator near. He carried with him the scent of a human and a wolf that often sent other animals on the run.
Isaiah just kept moving, following no particular path until he got closer to the edge that led to one of the only roads that weaved through that part of town. Essentially, the werewolf pack had almost an entire rural county to themselves, save for the witch coven that had existed there just as long, if not longer, than the pack had. Otherwise, everyone was a passerby on their way to somewhere else, or a camper that often became a plaything to a young werewolf. It was just collateral damage, whether he appreciated it or not.
Isaiah shed his clothes as the rain came pouring down and the clouds became almost black above the tree line. His body easily shifted into the grey wolf that he had been since he was eight and he had turned forcibly on the full moon. Now, he could turn whenever he wished.
He ran through the thick woods, not knowing or caring how far away from home he ended up. His nose would help him find his way back. And he howled as loud as his lungs would allow.
Arnold Young’s body was smeared with the blood of the pack; all except for the three brothers. The three of them lined up in order; youngest to oldest, and they prepared to cut themselves over their father’s body. It was part of the sendoff of every alpha. One day, hopefully a long time from now, the same ceremony would be performed over Isaiah’s body. It was hard to picture, and he hated that it was what was running through his head at the moment.
Orson stepped up to his father’s body, looking down at the wrinkled body with contempt. He didn't dare let on to the extent of his hatred for the man out loud, but his attitude was that he was finally free of the burden of having a father like Arnold. Every spot-on Orson’s body that was ever struck or harmed by that man screamed in disrespect. He did not want to give his blood to this man. He had already given enough. But with his two brothers waiting for their turn, he needed to get it over with. So, he picked up the knife that been used to cut open every pack member for centuries and slit his arm, watching the blood splash onto the old man’s face.
Roman stepped up and grabbed the knife, trying to hold it together. He let his long, black hair swing over his eye as he leaned over his father's body. His body was shaking at fear of the future. How would the pack fair in Isaiah’s hands? He loved his brother unconditionally, but he didn't know if Isaiah was ever going to fit into his father's shoes.
The blood of so many was covering the man to honor his service to the pack for so many decades. It was the only consolation Roman got in his death. He cut his wrist open and let the blood pour out onto the man’s forehead, wishing him peace in the afterlife. Roman turned and handed his older brother the knife before skulking off. It was proper for him to be there the whole time, but he just couldn't watch his father burn when all of it was over.
Isaiah had no reason to linger. He did his duty by cutting his thumb and placing one drop of his blood against the corpse’s skin. He stepped back stoically as the witch they had chosen to help with the ceremony stepped up to the body. The coven always provided a member to give a sendoff to a deceased alpha. He wasn’t sure why, but it had something to do with what the magic could ensure for the alpha. Isaiah didn't really believe in those things, and most of the pack members didn't anymore. But his father had been a man of tradition, so that was what they were sticking to.
The blonde witch removed her royal purple hood to reveal piercing green eyes. Isaiah thought her name was Diane, but he could have been mistaken. She looked quite young, even for a witch. She was probably only 18 or 19, but she must have been rather powerful and important if she had been entrusted with such a task. He would hate to think that they would send the peons to perform an alpha funeral.
Diane began to chant over the body, her hands encircling him. Ancient black letters appeared in the air above the body as a blessing of sorts before a fire was raised to turn the body to ash. The stench of death was gone in the black smoke of the magical fire, and Isaiah dismissed the crowd as their new alpha.
Diane pulled her hood back over her head and came up to Isaiah. She didn't look him in the eye, which he assumed was either out for respect or fear. How many dealings had they had with Arnold that led to their dislike for the Olympia pack? They had once been friends, but now they were just enemies with a truce.
“Hyacinthe sends her regards to the new alpha. Are there any messages you would like me to give to her when I return to the coven?” Diane asked, daring to glance up at Isaiah for just a moment. She noted that there was a beauty in Isaiah that had not been there in his father. He was a strong and good-looking man, but he also had a brooding quietness about him that made him resemble his mother more. The whole coven had mourned at the death of that lovely woman. She had been their only ally in the pack at the time. At least, that went along with the stories she had heard. Diane was not old enough to remember such things.
“I thank you for your service. Let Hyacinthe know that I do have a message for her.” Diane nodded, waiting for Isaiah to relay it to her. “I may be the new alpha of the Olympia pack, but I am not my father. You tell her that.” Diane agreed, surprised by his words, before heading back through the woods which would eventually lead her back home to the coven. Hyacinthe was going to be quite interested in what Isaiah had to say, especially considering she had loathed the last alpha with a strong passion.
CHAPTER TWO
Isaiah was determined to stick to what he had said to the witch for her to carry back to the coven; he was not going to be his father. On so many levels, his goal would be this exact fact. He would not sell his soul to intimidate a pack of werewolves he believed he could not control otherwise. He would not become unreasonably obsessed with tradition to the point that there was no room for flexibility. It was two thousand and seventeen, and he was going to act accordingly. That was going to start with allowing his own coronation as alpha to begin without him, as he took one last look at the humble home, he had shared with his brothers ever since they came of age and moved out of the alpha’s cabin.
There was no one there to bother him as he said his silent goodbyes to the simpler life he had before his dying father decided to name him alpha. His brothers were surely already into the celebrations with the rest of the pack. How many members of the pack noticed or even cared about his absence? They probably loved the reprieve. They got to build a bonfire and drink themselves into a stupor with homemade liqueur. Isaiah wasn’t about to be the man to stop them from having fun, but it didn't need to be at his expense. A new alpha was nothing more than an excuse.
Isaiah glanced out the window and saw that the moon was bright in the sky now as the light had dimmed other than the moon and the stars. He stepped out on the front porch to admire the millions of clusters shining as if to take over his attention, but it easily passed to the next. He felt much that way about himself; just a speck in the universe that was insignificant. That was how it was meant to be naturally for everyone, living in their own little corners of the universe. Yet, he was meant for some great title and a symbolic throne just because he was born as a son to a man who had that same privilege.
His bitterness reeked, and even he knew it, as he made his way towards the lights and sounds that were coming from the clearing in front of the alpha’s cabin. He made sure to come around from the back, so they would believe he had been inside, the whole time, soaking up their praises. If they were giving any, that is.
He hung back as he heard his brother, Roman, form a prayer circle around the bonfire that had been built, barely controlled even though it was a dangerous thing to have deep in the forest like that. As Isaiah watched his brother, he thought that this was exactly the reason it should have been Roman who had landed the position as alpha. He knew all the traditions and loved them. He loved their father better than any of his other children as well. However, Roman also knew how to be kind and forgiving when it was necessary. He would hav
e made the perfect leader. They would never respect him as one now, though, even if Isaiah tried to name him as the alpha. Not unless Roman was willing to challenge and kill Isaiah. Even then, it would be frowned upon if done so soon after Isaiah taking the position.
“This night is dedicated to the exchanging of two intertwined lives; one going out of the world, and one coming into the world anew.” Roman’s voice rose over the crackling of the fire as well as the reveling crowd. Many went silent and came to join hands at his words. “We hope that the spirit of my father and our former reigning alpha will be guided to a place of peace and rest with our fallen brethren. We thank him for serving us well throughout his life and for providing us with an heir to continue his legacy.”
Isaiah leaned against the darkness of the side of the cabin, scoffing at his brother's words. If anyone wanted Isaiah to continue that animal’s legacy, they would be sorely disappointed. He would give the necessary respect to the position and to the way his father chose to do things, but that did not mean doing everything the same way.
“We lend our strength to the new alpha as he comes into his own with the pack. We will become one with him and him with us. We will move as one under his command, and he will know his power and his place among us. Let the spirits of all those who came before him, guide him in his righteous task.” Several claps went around the crowd before they went back to whatever it was, they were doing before, and Isaiah finally felt free to come out of the shadows.
But just as he was about to approach Roman, he was stopped in his tracks, almost pulled to the ground by a swaying and chuckling Orson with a beer in his hand. The beer sloshed up against Isaiah’s blue shirt. Orson already smelled like he had been in a pool of alcohol, which didn't particularly surprise Isaiah. “There you are brother,” Orson slurred as he cackled and patted at Isaiah’s back. “Everyone's been looking for you. You’re the alpha, right? You’re supposed to be the reason we’re all here to celebrate.” Isaiah felt an annoyance creeping up his back as Orson began to yell those last words, drawing attention to them. Isaiah did not like attention. That just added to the argument that he would make a horrible alpha.
Chosen Alpha Page 2