Alpha

by Rachel Vincent

  Good thing I like a challenge.

  “Faythe…” I glanced up to see Aaron Taylor watching me with a carefully guarded expression, and my stomach began to toss with dread. I saw it in his eyes before he said the words. “I’m not saying no. I think you’re a hell of an enforcer, and I’m sure your father had a very good reason for leaving you in charge of his Pride. But this is a very big decision, and I’m not prepared to say yes or no just yet. So for today, I’ll be declining to vote.”

  I could only blink. His words must not have sunk in yet, because I couldn’t feel them.

  He hesitated, eyes closed, then met my gaze again and continued. “You’re very young, Faythe, and largely unproven. You’ve been an enforcer for less than a year, and while I believe your private life is your own business, I also know that there’s very little about an Alpha’s life that is ever truly private. All your choices will be called into question, and you’ll be asked to justify every single decision you make. And without more experience, I’m just not sure you’re ready to make some of those decisions yet.”

  I nodded, numb. Taylor was voicing my own doubts, and I couldn’t even argue with them. I wouldn’t have voted for me, either, in his position. But because most of the council would never even consider Marc—as evidenced by their refusal to acknowledge that he’d been reaccepted into our Pride—there was no one else to relieve me of my duty, even if I wanted to give it up.

  “That’s why she has us.” Uncle Rick watched Taylor from the other side of the room. “She’s come a long way this year, and her father knew what he was doing when he named her. She has us for guidance and advice, and frankly, we don’t have time for her to gain any more experience, unless it’s on the job. The south-central Pride needs an Alpha, and it needs one now.”

  “Councilman Taylor’s right.” I felt the words echo in my hollow, aching chest. I stood, facing them all, and Marc backed up to give me space. “I am inexperienced, I have made some poor choices, and sometimes I speak without thinking. I’m not going to make excuses.” I looked up from the floor and met Taylor’s assessing gaze. “All I can say regarding the mistakes I’ve made since becoming an enforcer is that I was truly trying to do the right thing. And I hope that with older, wiser, more experienced friends and allies at my back, I’ll have the resources I need to make more informed, better-balanced decisions.”

  I smiled at my uncle to thank him for his support, then turned to Taylor again. “But you have to make your own choices, and while obviously I wish that you had the confidence in me to decide now, I have to admit I understand your hesitation.” Though it bruised some deep part of me to say those words. “But with all due respect, there’s another important point I think you may be missing.”

  Taylor raised both brows, silently waiting for me to go on.

  I took a deep breath and pressed on. “We’re kind of out of options here. If I’m not going to be Alpha, who will be? Marc would get even less support in the position than I would.” I glanced at Marc to see him nodding solemnly, as I repeated what he’d first told me. “And Uncle Rick is right—we can’t afford to be leaderless. Especially now.”

  Taylor glanced from me to my uncle, then back to me, seeming to consider.

  “There has to be another option. An interim leader of some sort, just until you gain a little more experience.”

  I shook my head slowly. “Councilman, do you have a plan for what will happen to your Pride if you were to die suddenly?”

  “Yes, of course. Since Carissa hasn’t chosen a husband yet, her oldest brother would take over until she’s ready to settle down with a new Alpha.”

  That time I nodded. “My father had a contingency plan, too, and this is it. He knew—just like all of you surely do—that an Alpha could die at any time, and as much as he loves me, I know for a fact that he would never have named me as the next Alpha if he’d had a better choice. With his dying breath, he would have done what’s best for the Pride. And I have to believe that’s exactly what he did.”

  Taylor watched me in silence, obviously struggling with the decision.

  “Aaron,” my uncle said, breaking the tense silence. “We have to present a united front on this. If we don’t, Malone will divide and conquer.”

  Taylor sighed and met my gaze again. “You speak with your father’s skill and your mother’s passion. If you got anything else from either of them, I guess this might not be the worst decision your father ever made.”

  I didn’t dare smile. “Does that mean…?”

  “You have my vote,” Taylor said, nodding solemnly. “On the condition that you choose several levelheaded advisers. And that you listen to them.”

  “Done.” I nodded, glancing at both Marc and my uncle.

  “Mr. Di Carlo?” I turned toward Vic’s father, well aware that Vic and Teo—and everyone else in the room—were watching us. “Do you need more time to make your decision?”

  Di Carlo smiled and reached out for my hand, swallowing it in both of his. “No. I trusted your father with my life, and I trust his decision. You are a fiery little ball of fierce determination tempered by a strong moral compass and a heart as big as a bruin’s. The rest will come with time and experience, if you listen to your advisers and learn from your mistakes. And I think you’ll do both of those, won’t you?”

  I could only nod, determined not to cry again until I was alone. “Thank you.” I swallowed back unshed tears of gratitude. “I’ll do my best not to disappoint you.”

  “Oh, child, it’s not my expectations you have to meet. It’s your Pride’s. And something tells me your own standards are higher than even what they would expect of you.”

  With a sudden jolt of understanding, I realized he was right. My expectations for myself were sky-high, because they were the expectations my father had set from the beginning. And I would live up to them—or die trying.

  When Di Carlo stepped back, I glanced around to find that most of the bruises had been iced, the cuts cleaned, and the gashes stitched. Marc was the last to receive medical attention, and Vic was finishing his sutures that very moment—a long but thankfully shallow cut along his right outer thigh.

  “Okay, let’s go.” I turned toward the door, and the men stood.

  “Um, Faythe?” Marc reached for my arm, and a small grin turned up one corner of his beautiful mouth. “As my first official piece of advice to the new Alpha, let me suggest that you put on some pants. And maybe a shirt.” His grin grew and he pulled me closer to whisper in my ear, while Jace watched us stiffly from across the room. “While this look definitely works for me, I’m thinking the other Alphas might take you more seriously if you dress the part.”

  I flushed, suddenly aware that I was half-naked. And that Marc had voluntarily touched me without a needle in his hand or a grudge behind his eyes.

  “Yes. Clothes. Good idea.” In the bedroom, I dug through my suitcase and chose a pair of black slacks and a matching thinly pinstriped blouse. I was buttoning my blouse when the door opened. Jace stepped inside and pushed the door closed at his back.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “As okay as can be expected.” I tucked the tail of my blouse into my slacks and buckled my belt.

  Jace leaned against the dresser facing me and his gaze searched mine. “I haven’t actually had a chance to say this yet, and it feels so…inadequate. But I’m so, so sorry about your dad.” He held out his arms, and I stepped into them. I let him hold me. He asked for nothing and offered only his presence, and a moment of soft, warm comfort, minutes before I’d have to show the world my steel spine and granite visage.

  I put my chin on his shoulder and he rubbed my back, whispering into the hair that hid my ear. “I don’t actually remember much about my dad, but there hasn’t been a day since he died that I didn’t wish he was still here. Hell, if he were, none of this would have happened.”

  “No one thing caused this, Jace. And we can’t undo it. The best we can do is end it. End Colin Dean and destroy
Calvin Malone.”

  “You know I’m with you. Whatever you need.”

  “I know.” I sniffed back unbidden tears. “Thank you.”

  Before he could answer, the door creaked open, and I pulled away from him to find Marc staring at us. His jaw tightened, but he swallowed whatever he wanted to say, no doubt out of deference to the circumstances. And to the fact that Jace and I were both fully dressed. “You ready?”

  “Yeah.” I straightened my shirt and cleared my throat. “I just… I need a minute. With my dad.”

  Marc nodded, and I slipped down the hall and into my father’s room, closing the door behind me, trying to block out everything else—the hushed conversation, the tension and fear roiling in waves from the living room, and the conflict and need that churned in a constant, violent cloud around both Marc and Jace.

  I pushed it all back as I approached the bed, wading through the heavy silence in my head and the fresh ache my father’s death had left in me, only brushing the much-sharper agony that would come when I finally had time to deal with my loss. To accept it.

  The sheet someone had draped over him couldn’t obscure the shape I knew so well. My father had been the single greatest strength in my life. He was the force that made the clocks tick, and the sun rise and set. In my youth, his expectations fueled my ambition and his disappointment cut deep into my heart, even when I rebelled in an attempt to forge my own path. When I grew up, making him proud still carried the same weight, even if I wouldn’t admit it.

  My hands shook as I folded back the sheet. He stared up at me, unseeing, and I couldn’t stop fresh tears.

  When I was a child, all problems had ended with a single word from my father. A smile from him was sunshine, his scowl a bolt of thunder. He was smart, and generous, and honorable without fail. He could exile a trespasser, check my math homework, and fix the leaky bathroom sink, all before dinner. For the longest time, I thought he was invincible. Above the petty problems that plagued normal people.

  And now he was gone.

  I sat on the edge of the mattress. “I’m going to do it, just like you wanted,” I whispered, wishing desperately that he could actually hear me. “I’m going to try, anyway. I’m gonna lose, but that’s not really the point, is it?” I stared at my hands in my lap, realizing for the first time that I had a narrow version of his fingernails, on my mother’s long, slender fingers. How had I never noticed that before?

  “I’m not going to give up just because Malone and the others refuse to acknowledge me. I’ll find another way. I’m not going to let the Pride down.”

  Not going to let you down, either…

  When I stood, I discovered that covering him up was even harder than folding the sheet back in the first place. It felt a bit like letting him go, and that was one of the scariest things I’d ever done. With my father gone—aside from the very real, very deep ache his absence left inside me—there was truly no one left to protect me if I got in over my head. I still had friends, and supporters, and advisers, but my lifelong safety net was now gone, and one wrong step would send me crashing to the ground, broken.

  No amount of support or advice could fix things once I’d fallen.

  Numb from the weight that had settled onto my shoulders, cold from standing out on that ledge all alone, I turned from my father to face the mirror, and I almost didn’t recognize the woman who stared back at me.

  She had my green eyes and it was my own long black hair I pushed back from her face. But the soul that stared out at me was bruised beyond recognition—even more damaged than the face I now wore, so different from the me in my memory, a perpetual eighteen-year-old, still shiny and excited, and convinced that education and independence were the keys to unlocking the future I’d always dreamed of.

  The me in the mirror had scars on her face, fresh bruises all over her body, and serious shadows beneath her eyes. This Faythe was all dressed up in a fitted, pinstriped blouse and dark slacks, her hair a fierce nest of tangles around her face, like a wild black mane. This Faythe was ready to play her father’s game, and this Faythe played for keeps.

  I ran my fingers through my hair, taming it just enough to look presentable, then turned away from the mirror, satisfied with what I saw. I slipped back into the hall and stopped in my room to change into my best black boots. The heels were too high for fighting, but if this turned into a physical fight, we were screwed before we even began—Malone still outnumbered us badly, and he still had three guns.

  Everyone looked up when I stepped into the living room, and more than a few eyes widened. I could tell from Marc’s expression alone that I looked the part—half stone-cold businesswoman, half badass bitch.

  “I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.” I marched toward the door, and the others hurried to follow. On the front lawn, Marc fell in on my right side, Jace on my left. Uncle Rick and his men followed behind and on the right, Di Carlo and his men behind to the left. Taylor’s group brought up the rear, accompanied by the distinctive, thundering tread of the bruin, who seemed determined to stay until he knew there wouldn’t be any more fighting in his territory. For which I was more than grateful.

  We walked without speaking, moving briskly, and I barely noticed the cold, though I hadn’t stopped for a jacket. Five minutes later, I stomped up the main lodge’s front steps and pushed open the door. My men fanned out around me on the porch in standard formation.

  Calvin Malone stood from the couch, struggling to hide his surprise. I was expected, of course, but apparently I was expected to come crawling on my hands and knees, bleeding and scared, begging for mercy. But that’s not how this game was going to unfold, and the sooner they understood that, the better.

  “What is this?” Malone’s eyes narrowed, fists clenched at his sides. Had he truly thought I’d fold beneath the pressure before they’d even had a chance to threaten me?

  “This is the new player. And now it’s a whole new game.”

  Eighteen

  I stepped into the lodge and my supporters filed in after me, and I have to say, we made a pretty impressive front, even with Keller waiting on the front porch, because there just wasn’t room for his bulk.

  “What do you want?” Milo Mitchell demanded, standing up next to Malone, so we couldn’t possibly mistake his alliances.

  “A cease-fire long enough to bury my father.”

  “Well, look at you playing dress-up,” Jerald Pierce said from the kitchen doorway, and I was pleased to see a deep, blood-crusted cut on his temple. “First you start a fight, then you want a time-out so you can lick your wounds. Is this what they mean by ‘a woman’s prerogative to change her mind’?” He turned to Malone and shrugged dramatically. “I guess this is the kind of hormonal impulse behavior you get when you put little girls in charge. Which is exactly why we don’t do that.”

  Malone only watched while Pierce stalked closer and I stared at him, determined not to flinch beneath his appraisal. “You don’t have the authority to ask for a cease-fire. That’s an Alpha’s prerogative.”

  “Well, then, it’s a good thing you’re looking at the new south-central Pride’s Alpha.” My voice came out smooth and calm, in contrast to the inferno of anger raging inside me.

  “You’re not an Alpha, you’re a traitorous whore.” Pierce’s furious scowl said he was just waiting for my argument to the contrary, but it was Jace who spoke up, from my left.

  “Her enforcers have accepted her and formally sworn loyalty.”

  “Yeah, because she’s sleeping with them,” Pierce spat, and I nearly bit my tongue off to keep my mouth shut. Proclaiming my private life to be private wasn’t much of an option for an Alpha.

  “She hasn’t been recognized by the council.” At the sound of the new voice, we all glanced up to see Wes Gardner enter the main room from the hall, followed by Paul Blackwell and Nick Davidson. The players had all arrived.

  “Then consider this my official request to be recognized as an Alpha by the Territorial Council.” I
had to consciously stop myself from crossing my arms, to keep from looking closed off or confrontational.

  “Faythe…” Blackwell began, and I found true sympathy in his wrinkled expression. “I’m so sorry about your father.”

  “Thank you.” I took a subtle, deep breath, hoping I didn’t look as rattled as I felt. “All I want is a chance to bury him.”

  “And evidently a seat on the council,” Mitchell snapped.

  “Only if that’s what it takes to get a cease-fire.” I really hadn’t expected so much resistance to that part. Maybe I wasn’t groveling enough. My mistake.

  “What, you can start a fight, but you can’t finish it?” Colin Dean snapped from one of the bedroom doorways, and I found fury raging behind his eyes. He’d taken my father from me, stripping me of my strongest protector and drowning me in grief. He’d also single-handedly promoted me to Alpha. If and when I was officially recognized, I’d outrank him. Which explained the new-and-still-shiny rage practically glowing around the edges of his silhouette.

  It took more self-control than I’d known I had to keep from pouncing on him and ripping his throat out with my bare hands, for what he’d done to my father, and to my Pride. Such a death would have been much too fast and merciful for him, but I was short on patience, and had none to waste on Colin Dean.

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t afford to do more than fantasize about his death for the moment. And plot it. And plan for it…

  His day would come, and I would be there.

  “Does she really think we’re even going to consider confirming her as an Alpha?” Pierce was clearly talking to Malone, but his disgusted gaze never left my face.

  “I think the principles you swore to uphold as a council member dictate that you at least hear my request,” I returned, then shifted my attention to Malone, waiting for his response as the rest of our allies spread out into the large main room.