Prodigal Alpha

by Angelique Voisen

  Fang fought to remain still. His throat continued bleeding and his pulse beat so weakly, the others had to be certain he was dead.

  Shane tossed him over his shoulder like some kind of prize.

  “What are you intending to do with his corpse?” he heard his father say with caution.

  “Fang did his best. I’ll bury his body in the woods beside his mother.”

  Seconds passed. It felt like an eternity. Fang became aware of Shane’s scarred, muscled shoulder digging against his groin. He bit back any sound.

  “Very well,” the Alpha said eventually. “After you’re done, come back inside the main pack house. We’ll be celebrating your victory.”

  Once the last footsteps of their last audience faded, they were alone—or so Fang thought. He sensed movement around them.

  “You sick son of a bitch, I’m going to murder you,” screamed Joker.

  As Shane began to move, Fang’s head spun. He wanted to hurl the remaining contents of his stomach. Staying conscious was an effort, but he wanted to understand Shane’s actions. Fang would be a threat to Shane’s future, so why allow him to live?

  Regret and guilt filled him now. On the verge of death, he’d seen beyond the mask of the man who had bullied him his entire life.

  “Where the fuck are you going?” Razor asked.

  His friends followed them. They walked past the clearing now, far from where the rest of the Red Manes could hear them. Shane stopped.

  “Let me at him, Drake,” Joker yelled.

  “Calm the fuck down. Shane…” Drake hesitated. “Why didn’t you kill him?”

  There was shocked silence.

  “Fang’s alive?” Claw whispered.

  “Barely,” Shane said. “Take him for me.”

  Fang felt Shane’s arms around him again as Shane set him on his feet, or tried to, anyway. Drake took over. Fang began to bleed on his best friend. He looked up and his vision started to swirl. Drake’s face was hard as stone, unreadable.

  “Christ,” Talon muttered.

  “He’ll live. Fang’s strong and the Red Mane wolf is inside him, even if he can’t shift,” Shane said. “Make sure he doesn’t die.”

  “Why do you care?” Drake demanded.

  “I don’t. Get the fuck away from here,” Shane muttered, but the lie in his voice was obvious. “The Alpha will start getting suspicious. I’ll tell him I left Fang’s corpse in your care.”

  Drake gathered Fang in his arms. Shane was right. The wound on his neck had started to heal, but a deep bite like that was going to scar, even for him. The downpour continued drenching them.

  “Let’s go,” Drake told the others.

  Not yet. Fang tried to form the words, but nothing would come out. He wanted to see the expression on Shane’s face. Hell, he wanted some alone time with his former bully to demand why he had spared Fang’s life when Fang was ready to accept death.

  No. The wolf inside him didn’t want to go to the other side yet. The beast grew unsettled and wanted to be close to Shane again. Fang couldn’t make sense of all these feelings or comprehend why his wolf was grateful Shane would spare his life.

  If he kills us, he’ll kill himself, an unfamiliar voice inside him whispered. Fang didn’t understand. He hurt too much.

  “Everything’s going to be fine, Fang,” Drake said. “Go rest now. When you wake up, we’ll be here.”

  Safe with his friends, Fang let unconsciousness take him.

  *****

  When Fang woke, he realized he was in some kind of moving vehicle. He groaned. All his aches started up again, and it felt like someone had set fire to his neck. Still, his wolf went mad.

  Where was Shane?

  Wait. Why did he want to see Shane after what the bastard had done to him? No. Shane had showed him mercy, had let him live for a reason.

  He tried to sit up, but a hand shoved him back. Opening his eyes, he saw Razor looking down at him.

  His entire world shook and vibrated. He recognized where he was—lying in the bed of Drake’s truck. Drake, Joker, and Claw were probably squeezed into the cab.

  “Go easy,” Talon said. “Lie back down. Heal.”

  He looked down to see his entire chest covered in bandages. Fang fell back on the blankets surrounding his body and stared upward, past the faces of his friends. Inky sky gave way to streaks of vermillion and gold. Sunrise.

  Fang opened his mouth, and the motion made all the muscles in his neck protest. It hurt to talk. “Where are we going?”

  “Far from Red Valley,” Talon said.

  Fang tried to make sense of the roaring confusion in his head. Part of him still couldn’t believe Shane had spared his life—out of what? Because Shane felt something for him? One thing was certain, and that was Fang couldn’t go back home. Hell, at the moment, home didn’t exist.

  A thought occurred to him.

  “What about you guys?” he asked.

  Talon and Razor traded looks. His heart sunk, understanding what was happening.

  “Fang…” Talon hesitated. “We can’t leave. Our families are still part of the Red Manes with the exception of Razor. Razor’s going to stay with you until you heal up. We’re heading back so as not to arouse suspicion.”

  Fang sensed his dormant wolf inside him, restless, frustrated. He wanted to scream and wreck something. Maybe Shane saving him wasn’t a favor but a punishment. A dead man couldn’t go back. They were driving to God knew where, and Fang had never been outside of Red Valley.

  It scared him shitless, but at the same time it liberated him.

  They passed more trees in silence. He shifted his gaze to the direction they’d come from. The Red Peaks, the mountains that defined their pack territory, loomed on the horizon. Fang was born and raised there, but it had never been home.

  He shut his eyes, savoring the wind on his face.

  Freedom.

  The word played in a loop in his head. Shane didn’t deserve his curses. Hell, Shane had taken off his shackles. True, Shane had also nearly killed him, but Fang ought to be grateful for the other wolf in the end.

  “Hey, Fang?” Talon interrupted his thoughts. “You angry at us?”

  “He’s smiling. Never seen him do that before,” Razor remarked.

  He peeled his eyes open and lifted a hand to the sky. “No, I’m not angry,” Fang whispered.

  When he’d gone to see his brother, he had expected to die in his father’s hands. For all his talk of avenging Clay, it was bullshit. Fang had never been strong enough. He had never thought to think about what would happen after. Now he would become a loner, but maybe that wasn’t so bad.

  A sob caught in his throat. Fucking great. Fang was eighteen, practically an adult. He shouldn’t be crying, but the thought of never seeing his friends again shook him. The bonds between them would be there forever, but everything would be different. Fang couldn’t simply drive out to meet them for lunch or whatever.

  “We’re going to come see you, wherever you decide to settle,” Talon said, as if reading his thoughts.

  Talon’s choking voice gave him away, though.

  “This is for the best,” Fang said, putting iron in his voice. He brushed a hand over the healing scars on his throat. Fang would never forget his weakness or Shane’s kindness. The scars would be reminders. “I swear I’m going to get stronger, Talon. I’ll be someone you guys will be proud of.”

  “Survive. That’s all we want,” Razor said.

  He nodded, too fucking emotional to speak. He couldn’t tell the others the truth. The more distance they covered, the more it hurt to breathe, like his soul had been torn into two.

  Together with his friends, he watched the sun rise as Drake’s truck rumbled on to parts unknown.

  Chapter Three

  Present

  Shane killed the engine of his red pickup and stared at the massive house across the street. A familiar weight settled in his stomach. Self-loathing wasn’t far behind dread.

  The Victori
an-style house stuck out like a sore thumb in a town like Red Valley. It was also the only non-graffiti-sprayed property in the street.

  Human or otherwise, no one wanted to mess with a coven of vampires.

  Two bloodsuckers in identical suits guarded the heavy iron gate. Shane’s skin itched; the wolf underneath wanted to rip apart those fuckers. Screw the deal, but the deal kept his pack safe.

  He raised a trembling hand to the mass of scars on the side of neck. Shutting his eyes, he thought of all the wolves under him and their families. Clara had just born a pup.

  Her husband and mate, Beck, was in no fighting condition right after heart surgery. His best fighters had abandoned him. Drake had disappeared on him a week ago with no word or note.

  Shane could imagine what his ex-Beta would say—ex because Drake clearly didn’t think much of his leadership skills. Shane grabbed his half-empty beer can and finished the rest. It tasted stale, like ashes in his mouth. No surprise, given what he was about to do tonight.

  He tipped his head back, but no more amber liquid came out. With a snarl, he closed his hand hard enough to bend metal before tossing it away.

  Shane should have driven by a convince store and loaded up on some liquid courage. Settling for the next-best thing, he turned on his phone and reread all the emails he’d stored over the years. Letters from Fang to him.

  He stared at the date. Had it really been that long? Ten years. A decade had passed since he’d last seen the old Alpha’s son. Fang and Shane hadn’t parted on the best of terms, but Fang had surprised the fuck out of Shane by writing to him.

  They’d been pen pals ever since, until five years ago, after Fang had announced he was signing up for the military. Same time everything else in this town and Shane’s pack had gone to shit.

  “What are you going to do to me, Fang, if you found out what a disappointment I turned out to be?” he mumbled out loud.

  He moved from email to the next. The first few letters were nothing more than ramblings of everyday shit. However, if Shane shut his eyes, he could almost imagine being beside Fang as Fang navigated his new world.

  How often did he picture going after Drake, Fang, and their friends as they had driven away from the pack house?

  Rapid knuckle raps on his car window made him jump. A pale face appeared by his window, baring fangs.

  “Fuck,” Shane hissed, turning off his phone.

  The vampire pointed to his wrist watch.

  “I got it,” he said with a snarl.

  The two bloodsuckers traded each other amused looks. He wanted to rip out their throats. Hell, Shane would have wanted to burn Magnus’s entire coven down if Magnus hadn’t held all the cards.

  Shane left his phone on the dashboard, not wishing Magnus or any of his vamps to read its contents. Shoving the old fear and dread away, he got out of the car. Vamps could smell fear just as well as shifters, and he couldn’t afford to be weak.

  “Don’t make our king wait, dog,” said a new vamp.

  This new one was dressed in a more expensive suit than the other two, thick-necked, buffed, and bald despite having been changed in his early thirties. The newcomer was about to grab his arm, but Shane shoved him away with a warning growl.

  Fuck, but he was still an Alpha, even if being the Alpha of the Red Manes was more or less an empty title. Shane still held onto the remains of his tattered pride, because he had nothing else left.

  On closer inspection under the streetlights, he realized he knew this vamp. Usually, Seberius, Magnus’s second, led him inside the house. Seberius honored the old ways. He tolerated Seberius, but Shane couldn’t stand Lucius, the coven’s second.

  “Fine, be like that, Alpha. Pride isn’t something you should be worried about. Every animal group in town knows you’re Magnus’s blood bitch.”

  Something inside Shane broke. He played nice, tried to hold the fearsome beast inside him back from going berserk, but denying his wolf bloodlust came at a painful cost. As a result, Shane had become a broken Alpha on the verge of turning feral.

  Snarling, Shane wrapped his hands around Lucius’s thick throat, slamming the vamp against his car.

  Bones broke, but two powerful hands yanked him by the pits and dragged him backward.

  Lucius hissed, fangs flashing. “Remember your place, dog. Hurt me and the deal is off.”

  A fist caught him in the ribs, another to his side. A third stole the breath from his lungs. Shane spat out blood. The wolf inside him rioted, promised violence, but he thought of Clara’s pup and all the werewolves under him who couldn’t put up much of a fight.

  Would Fang laugh at his face if he knew Shane had dragged the once-proud Red Mane pack to the dirt? This town had belonged to them—so had the mountains and woods surrounding Red Valley. Now, Shane could barely hold the pack together. Forget about defending their territory.

  “Fuck you,” he managed.

  “Sorry, dog. My tastes don’t run to animals,” Lucius said, undoing his tie.

  The smug bloodsucker wrapped the silk tie around his fists. Seeing Shane’s glare, the vamp merely smiled. “I don’t want to get my hands dirty. You two, hold the Alpha.”

  Shane knew fighting was useless. He had fought, shown defiance, but in the end, he needed to yield to Magnus and play by the vampire king’s rules to prevent the annihilation of his pack.

  His eyes blazed with anger, with so may unsaid emotions as he took the pummeling. Shane didn’t flinch at the first or fifth blood. When the twentieth arrived, he sagged against the hold of the other two bloodsuckers holding him up.

  Fuck, but it was going to be a long night ahead of him.

  *****

  With his remaining good eye, Fang anticipated his opponent’s kick, but he didn’t dodge out of the way. He took the full impact of the blow to his solar plexus, grunting at the pain. The werelion smirked and drove him to the corner with a furious series of kicks and punches.

  His scarred and sweaty back hit cold metal. Air rushed out of his lungs. All around them, the spectators where loud, cheering the werelion on, booing Fang. Not the first time, he lost a fight in the cage.

  A bookie had once told Fang that betting on him was risky. He won half of his fights and lost the other half. On purpose.

  Fighting is supposed to hurt. Why are you punishing yourself? his court-mandated therapist had asked. That was after the army, after Fang had lost his last decent job at a shifter security agency.

  Screw his therapist. Dr. Mitchell knew shit all about how his brain worked. Besides, no one could fix a broken wolf.

  Things had gone to hell after he lost the security job. Fang had stumbled from one illegal cage fight to the next, restless, going wherever life led him.

  “You can do better than that,” hissed his opponent, who flashed Fang his black mouth guard.

  Huh. Fang wiped away the blood from the corner of his mouth. The werelion charged at him again. Over the guy’s shoulder, the sea of faces melded into one confusing, screaming mess. Except tonight, one face stood out—a blast from the past.

  Fang blinked, certain the werelion must have landed a lucky blow to the side of his skull. That would explain his hallucination.

  His moment of confusion nearly cost Fang his fight. The werelion closed the distance between them in a blur. Before Fang could react, the werelion lured him into a submission hold. A hand locked around his throat, effectively stopping the blood rushing to his brain. He gasped and hammered at the meaty arm.

  No use. The lion wouldn’t let up.

  Fuck. Ten grand down the drain again, and Fang needed money for this month’s rent.

  Across the cage, Drake stared at him, mouth turned downward in a frown. His childhood friend looked at him like Fang was a stranger. No surprise, given Fang had cut all ties to Drake, Shane, and the others after his unit had flown to the desert.

  Okay. Drake was definitely not an illusion. Seeing Drake had woken the sleeping beast inside of Fang.

  A growl came from his
throat. Adrenaline raced through his veins. Resolved not to lose this fight, Fang lashed out one leg, locked it over the lion’s left calf, and administered a swift judo throw.

  The guy fell to ground, shock on his face. Fang mounted him, locking his legs over the lion’s, and forced his arm over the arteries in the werelion’s neck. The referee began the countdown. This was an illegal cage fight, but there were some rules fighters respected.

  Once the lion tapped out, Fang released him.

  “Winner, Beast,” the referee announced, holding up Fang’s arm when he got to his feet.

  The same crowd who’d cheered the lion’s name yelled out Fang’s now. Some fighters craved victory above anything else. Fang didn’t take pleasure in winning. He had started fighting because he’d needed a way to earn a living and at the same time satiate his wolf’s need for violence.

  In the desert, Fang had realized he had a talent for ending lives, but killing only sent his animal out of control. Killing only broke him.

  He didn’t hear the crowd. Fang caught Drake’s gaze and jerked his head to the doorway leading to the fighters’ locker rooms.

  Needing some time alone, he took a hot shower. The water washed all off his aches away. Whatever injury he’d sustained started to heal. One benefit of shifter fighters, he supposed. They kept on going.

  Shutting his eyes, he rested his forehead against the tiles. Five years. Fang hadn’t spoken to everyone from home for that long. Part of him hoped they’d forgotten him and moved on. Fuck, how had Drake found him, anyway? After Fang had quit the military, he’d tried to disappear.

  Last he’d heard, Drake had fought his way up the Red Manes pack and became Shane’s Beta. It still felt like a betrayal, thinking of when Drake gave him the news on the phone five years ago.

  “Shane.” He whispered the other man’s like a curse, but there was wistfulness there too.

  Whatever long-distance friendship Shane and he had had could only be defined as fucked-up. He’d written to Shane the first time on a whim, never expecting Shane to write back.