199 Caine: Mired
199 Caine: Mired
As expected.
Reggie–go keep an eye on the children.
“High Alpha, the neighboring packs have sent official complaints regarding Brax’s death. They’re also challenging the legitimacy of the new alpha’s claim to the pack.”
I stare at him coolly, my patience thinning with every second. “The Alpha has already been chosen and established, with the approval of the Lycan Throne.”
Of course you do.
His spine straightens as my dominance leaks out, and he clears his throat. “My apologies, High Alpha.”
Still, resentment burns in my gut. It’s more time away from Grace and the children, leaving me mired in pack politics until my teeth ache from not sinking them into someone’s throat.
A lack of proper leadership brings out weak habits in otherwise strong wolves, and it’s prevalent through this entire territory. We weren’t even approached on our way in, and it wasn’t as if we were hiding our presence.
At least that’s something. I stride away without dismissal–I don’t need to excuse myself from my own men. Wolves part before me, their scents spiking with a mixture of fear and curiosity as I climb the stairs to what was once Brax’s domain.
To an extent.
I grunt. Nothing unexpected there. A dead alpha always brings vultures, especially when the succession isn’t clean. But that’s not what I asked.
Then I pause.
I conveniently overlook the part where I assigned him to do those very things. He averts his gaze immediately, the proper response when I flex even a fraction of my dominance. It isn’t worth punishing him further–I need my men cohesive, especially in this shitshow of a territory. The bitter tang of discord hangs in the air.
199 Caine: Mired
My frown would send most wolves cowering. Reggie holds his ground, but his scent shifts to something more cautious.
I turn to Reggie with a scowl. “What the fuck have you all been doing here? This place is running like a wounded animal.”
I bare my teeth at Reggie, letting a low growl rumble through my chest. “Don’t open your mouth if you can’t filter your filth.”
And where the fuck is their so–called alpha? Grace’s ex should have been at the door the moment my scent hit his territory. This blatant disrespect only darkens my already foul mood.
Better not to leave them unattended, especially when I’m about to be busy.
The mention of Jack–Eye pulls at a loose thread of irritation. He should be here, handling this mess while I deal with more important matters–like Grace and whatever the fuck is happening with her. Instead, he’s off chasing Lyre’s skirts and fighting who–knows–what.
Dylan nods sharply. “Your previous room on the second floor is prepared for you, High Alpha.”
But I don’t stand for insubordination.
It’s the weight of uncertainty–a pack without direction.
Reggie’s eyes flick to the side before meeting mine again. “There’s a third faction, small but vocal. They reject both options. They want to establish their own Alpha through the old way–combat trials. Strongest wolf leads.”
My jaw tightens. “And the others?”
Dylan steps forward, his weathered face impassive. He’s always been the steady one, more diplomat than brawler. “High Alpha, where is our Beta? I expected him to return with you.”
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