Alpha Queen

by Callie Rose

  Grief returns like a tidal wave. I back up and sink onto the couch cushions because my knees don’t seem to want to hold me. I clutch the frame between both my hands, my vision turning watery until I can’t even see Dad’s face anymore.

  I’ll never see his face again. Not the real one. Only shallow, useless color copies that could never capture who he truly was in life. Pictures will never be able to fill the hole he’s left behind.

  I drop the frame to the cushion beside me and rest my elbows on my knees, propping up my suddenly heavy head.

  “This is stupid,” I mutter to myself. “I shouldn’t be here. I can’t do this.”

  Saying the words out loud makes it feel real. Like I’m just a kid playing dress up, pretending I can fill my father’s shoes when I can’t even look at a picture of him without falling apart.

  I’m hiding behind my hands and fighting back tears when the front door opens. I don’t need to look up to know who it is, because I can smell her, I can taste her scent on the air and feel the waves of affection rolling off her as she makes her way through the living room to my side.

  As her quiet footsteps move toward me, I let her come, not trying to hold back the despair or wipe away the few drops that have worked their way down my cheeks. With other people, I’m not comfortable letting them see my raw grief, but it’s different with Sable. She sees me—not the alpha, not the man who should be holding it all together while his world collapses.

  Just me. Just the man who lost his dad.

  As she stops silently in front of me, I finally leave the safety behind my hands and look up at her, reveling in how beautiful she is even when she’s a tired, emotional wreck. She’s got moonlight-pale skin, luminous blue eyes, and flaxen gold hair that gleams even in the dim light of my dad’s house. Right now, she’s paler than usual, and she looks wan with dark circles beneath her eyes. But she’s not alone in that. We all look pretty wrecked thanks to the battle.

  I sit up a little and drop my arms, and she doesn’t hesitate to crawl onto my lap. My arms wrap around her automatically, and I lean back into the comfy, misshapen cushions with her, burying my face in her neck. Her skin is warm like sunshine, and she smells like the outdoors in the best kind of way. I wasn’t sure where she disappeared to this morning, but clearly, she was taking a stroll in nature.

  I could probably use the same.

  For several seconds, I just breathe against her smooth skin. Her small, delicate fingers caress the side of my face, then move into my hair, massaging my scalp as she murmurs, “I’m here. I’m right here.”

  My grief wells up, and the tears build until I can’t hold them in anymore. Her innocent comfort soothes me, both through her motions and through the connection we share where her affection radiates like a phantom limb. But her love also breaks the dam inside me. I start to sob.

  I cling to Sable, because she’s my only life raft. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be strong and how to grieve at the same time. Is it even possible? I don’t feel strong. I feel like every inch of me is shattered, broken beyond repair.

  Sable doesn’t pressure me. She just holds me, her fingers moving softly through my hair, her cheek resting against my head and her knees braced on either side of my hips as I cling to her. She doesn’t try to clear away the pain but simply lets me sit with it, giving me her time and her comfort so that I’m not alone. Being here for me in a way nobody but my father ever has.

  God, I’ll never be as good as him.

  I cry until it hurts. I cry until my throat is raw and my eyes burn and the muscles in my face ache. And through it all, she holds me.

  After a while, my grief ebbs to its usual underlying pang, and with it, my tears. Sable’s neck is soaked beneath my face, though she’s made no move to wipe it off.

  I draw a deep, shaky breath, my throat tight and raw. “I love you, Sable.”

  She swallows quietly, and I can feel pain and joy and tenderness through the bond we share. “I know. I love you too.”

  “I wasn’t ready.”

  “I know,” she says softly, stroking my face. Her bell-like voice is a balm, like cool water on a stinging burn.

  “I knew this day would come. I knew he was going to die. But dammit, I wasn’t fucking ready.” My voice turns gruff on the last few words, and Sable’s arms tighten around me. “I don’t know if I’m glad he died in the battle or not. Maybe it’s fucking worse he died then instead of living out the rest of his natural life. Maybe it’s better. Fuck. I don’t know.”

  Sable’s fingers brush through my hair. “He lived as long as he could.”

  I close my eyes and let her voice wash over me. He lived as long as he could. Does she even know how wise she is for being so young? That’s all any of us can do. Live as long as we can.

  “The illness hadn’t won yet,” I murmur against her neck. “He still had more time left. Losing out on even a day of that hurts. It hurts so deep inside me, in a place that feels like it’ll never heal.”

  The grief rolls back into me, and I focus instead on the way Sable’s chest rises and falls with her breaths. I don’t want to go back there, where the pain is unbearable. I want to stay here, in this moment, with the only person who really understands.

  After a few more deep breaths, I feel more like myself and more separated from the monster of pain inside me. “Dad’s greatest pride was to serve his people and protect those he loved.”

  Sable hums, and I hear the smile in her words as she says, “Yeah, I gathered.”

  “So maybe he’d be proud to have died defending his pack.” I pull away from her tear-soaked skin and look up into her beautiful blue eyes. “Defending you. Defending the woman I love.”

  Pain fills her eyes, tightening the tiny lines at the edges of her eyelashes, but she stays silent. It occurs to me I haven’t even considered that she might feel guilty that Dad died saving her.

  Before I can soothe her own hurt, she takes my face in both her hands and draws me in for a sweet, lingering kiss. When she pulls me away, she doesn’t tell me I’m going to be a great alpha, although I know she believes in me. She doesn’t tell me she’s sorry, or that he’s in a better place, or that he isn’t hurting no more.

  Instead, she says, “I’m so glad I knew your dad.”

  And that’s exactly what I needed to hear.

  3

  Sable

  I feel wrung out, like someone twisted me all around and hung me out to dry without considering the consequences to my well-being.

  Between barricading Cleo from my mind and helping Archer through his deep grief earlier, then spending most of the afternoon scrubbing blood out of the street in front of Malcolm’s house, I’m done. Well-done steak on a too-hot grill done. Too bad for me, life isn’t done asking things of me.

  Because now I’m surrounded by the entirety of three shifter packs on the field outside the meeting house, and things aren’t going great.

  I should have expected this cacophony of sound and chaos. Clearly, we have a lot to talk about, and some of it isn’t easy. Some of it sucks pretty hard. But I thought, given that several of the most respected elders are leading the meeting alongside my four mates, things would go a little smoother.

  That’s probably too much to ask for in a large crowd of people who just lost everything to win a battle they didn’t begin. It’s a miracle the West Pack and North Pack haven’t already gathered up their remaining members and headed back home already.

  “Archer, we can’t continue to house the other packs long term,” a small, stooped old woman says over a loud murmur of agreement. “The village is hardly big enough for our own families.”

  “I understand that, Mable,” Archer replies soothingly. “That’s why we’re here. If the three packs decide to stay together, we will need to figure out an alternate means of housing everyone. We’ll need to build out and expand the village. Trust me, we’re ready to find answers once a decision is made.”

  “I should hope so,”
a middle-aged man speaks up from farther back in the crowd. “My family is sleeping in a tent near the edge of the village, and the canvas leaked last night during the rainstorm. We can’t live like this forever.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Ridge speaks up, which makes me think the man must be one of his. “We’ll see if we can find you a few beds in one of the storage buildings that have been repurposed for sleeping space.”

  The older man harrumphs but sits back down on his metal folding chair and consults with the woman at his side. His mate, probably.

  I totally understand the strife. If the three packs are going to continue living together long term, something else will have to be done. It’s not possible to keep this up indefinitely. Though wolves are social creatures, they’re also territorial, especially regarding their living space. So the sharing is causing a lot of tension that seems to already be reaching a boiling point.

  I, for one, don’t want to be around when it boils over.

  But hell, even here at this meeting, the three packs are completely segregated. I recognize a handful of familiar North Pack faces in one area, then a few more interspersed familiar East Pack shifters in another area. There’s a large population of shifters I’ve never seen before, which I can surmise are Trystan’s West Pack members.

  If they even separate out for an important meeting like this, will they ever be able to come to an agreement? To co-exist as one large pack without strife?

  Archer raises his hands and attempts to quiet the rumbling crowd. Some of the noise peters away, but not all. He ignores the dissenters and speaks over them in a loud, sure voice. “Your concerns have been heard, and they will be rectified. But first, a decision needs to be made. Should arrangements be made to expand the village so that we can all stay together while having our own spaces? We have land that we could build out upon. The North Pack has land we could build out upon. We have options, but without a firm vote, we cannot make any decisions.”

  “Or do you wish to return to your own packs?” Ridge adds, his tone saying in no uncertain terms that if his North Pack members wanted to do so, he’d raise holy hell.

  I appreciate that he’s willing to fight to keep the packs together, but I know he won’t force the decision on them. That’s not what a good alpha does. If his pack votes to go back to North Pack lands, I don’t think he’d lay down an edict to make them stay.

  The thought of that makes my heart constrict tightly. What if the packs do split up? How am I supposed to be mated to four men who live so far away from one another?

  As a clamor rises and voices begin to drown one another out again, I let my gaze slide over the crowd and tune out the loudest naysayers. It’s hard enough to maintain control of my barriers against Cleo without my anxiety being heightened by the arguing.

  I catch a few glances as I look around, and I’m surprised as people smile at me or wave when we make eye contact. I make it a point to return the smile and wave, no matter how many times I have to do so, because it’s important. There are more people on board with my presence than there used to be, and from my current vantage point, they seem to see me as one of their own.

  They seem to… accept me.

  Fighting for them in the battle using my magic, and saving numerous lives in the process, must have buoyed their trust in me. A low-level tingle of happiness suffuses me as I continue looking around at the gathered shifters and acknowledging anyone who acknowledges me.

  But despite their acceptance of me, the question still remains of whether the packs should stay together or split back up into their respective villages. And that question is debated in loud voices for a long, long time, until my feet grow weary and my eyelids want to close.

  Why can’t a group of grown men and women just come to a decision?

  In my opinion, we should stay together. We only beat the witches in battle because we joined forces. We managed to hold our own and come out on top in a fight that would have destroyed a single pack in a matter of minutes. If we split up again, each pack will go back to being vulnerable.

  Even though the crowd is making their support of me known, I don’t feel like I have a platform to blurt out my opinions. I’m a shifter, but I wasn’t raised on pack lands. All three packs existed for years before I came around, so the decision has to be something they work out amongst themselves without the half-breed sticking her nose in.

  Grady, a big man with a shiny bald head, stands up and booms, “I side with Ridge. Our alpha knows best how to ensure our ongoing safety.”

  Ridge nods once.

  Amora, who’s been silently watching from behind the seated elders, speaks up. “Grady’s right.” She inclines her chin toward the bald man. “Banding together seems like the safest route for our families and the children of our pack. Our future safety and security could rest on the decision to combine forces.”

  The mention of “children” and “future” seems to stir the crowd into a sudden torrent of agreement, specifically from the North and East Packs. Each pack begins murmuring amongst themselves, looking more amenable to the idea that if it’s safer for their children, and their children’s futures, then perhaps they should decide to stay together.

  But the chunk of unfamiliar West Pack shifters seem undeterred.

  “Staying here would just mean trouble,” a hard-faced man snarls as he launches to his feet and points at Archer, of all people. His gaze is on Trystan. “We were doing just fine on our lands before this shit. If we stay here or invite the other packs to our territory, we’ll be asking for trouble.”

  “Yeah,” the woman beside him agrees, standing to address the elders. “We had the witch threat handled and were doing fine prior to this. I say we go back to doing what we did before and let the other packs deal however they need to. Otherwise, we’d just be putting ourselves in danger.”

  A North Pack shifter stands and glares at the couple. “So the other packs are nothing but a liability to you?”

  “Aren’t you?” the first man shoots back.

  The noise that breaks out at this slight is intense. It explodes over the clearing like a bomb, and even the mountains several miles away are probably echoing with the blast. I can feel all my old panic and anxiety fluttering in my stomach, and I close my eyes, trying to block out the shouting and arguing. The last thing I need right now is to lose control of the barrier in my mind because a bunch of grown adults are pointing fingers and tossing blame.

  There’s probably some kind of spell I could use. Something to ease the tension or to calm tempers. Maybe if I had been raised a witch and had some training to fall back on, I could’ve spent the meeting surreptitiously calming everybody like a human oil diffuser. Yet another way I fall short as a witch.

  Ridge sighs and I open my eyes to see him glance over at Archer. His voice is low as he says, “We clearly won’t be reaching a decision this evening.”

  Archer nods, grimacing slightly. “This is going to be harder than we thought.”

  On Archer’s other side, Dare nods his agreement too, but Trystan is zoned out as he stares at the arguing crowd. Judging by the glare on his face, his thoughts are dark and bothered.

  “Let’s call it for the night,” Ridge murmurs. “Before someone draws blood.”

  “Silence!” Archer yells louder than I’ve ever heard him bellow before, though there’s no anger in his voice.

  To be honest, the only emotions I’m getting from him through our mate bond are frustration and despair. I don’t blame him for feeling that way either. I’m not even in charge of these packs, and I’m definitely frustrated.

  His shout lowers the tide of noise just enough for him to speak and be heard. “We don’t need to come to a consensus tonight. Everyone take a day, calm down, give it some thought. We’ll reconvene tomorrow.”

  As one, the West Pack members look to Trystan, and the North Pack wolves all look to Ridge. If it wasn’t so divisive, it would be funny.

  “Dismissed,” Ridge orders, backing up Arc
her’s decision.

  Trystan nods and gestures for his people to leave. His silence bothers me; it isn’t like Trystan to stand back and stay mum, especially in the middle of a fight.

  As the crowd begins to filter slowly out of the clearing, I circle up with Dare, Ridge, Archer, and Amora, but my eyes are on Trystan. He stands several feet away, his back to us and his gaze on the sun setting over the mountains.

  “Is he—” I start to say.

  Archer lifts a hand and gives me a small, silent nod.

  When I turn back to Trystan, he’s already shifting. Magic shimmers over him like a mirage, and his sturdy, muscular body morphs from human to wolf with a kind of stunning beauty in the rosy evening glow. Then he turns to look back at us.

  I walk forward and bend down toward his massive form, nuzzling my face into the soft patch of fur beneath his ear. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I give him a squeeze.

  It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk about whatever’s going through his head, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to try to make him. He obviously needs some time to think. I’m pretty certain he doesn’t want me trailing after him this time either.

  Trystan makes a little noise deep in his throat and turns to snuffle at the side of my head. Then he pulls away from my arms.

  As he races off into the distance, I go to join my other men for the short walk home, already counting the minutes until my fourth mate returns.

  4

  Sable

  I wake up early the next morning—so early I can taste dawn on the air, even from inside the house and surrounded by a cocoon of warm arms and legs.

  Ridge and Dare cuddle me from either side, their hands resting on my body and their faces buried against my skin. They’re both still dead asleep, breathing deeply, eyelids moving as they dream. I wonder briefly what they’re dreaming of, and if maybe I’m a part of it. They’ve both played host to dreams in my mind too, many of which were more than a little R-rated.