The heavy silence of the dining room was punctuated only by the distant, rhythmic clatter of the kitchen staff. The mahogany table, a vast expanse of polished dark wood, groaned under the weight of a feast—silver platters of eggs, smoked meats, and piles of warm pastries that seemed to mock the emptiness of the chairs.
Boris sat at the head, his presence looming but weary. He poked aimlessly at his plate with a silver fork, the metal clinking sharply against the china. Across from him, Raven sat like a ghost, her fingers curled tightly around a ceramic mug, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere past the steam rising from her coffee.
"It's funny... I thought this table would be full today," Boris said, his voice gravelly in the quiet room. He cleared his throat, the sound raspy. "My daughter has disappeared. And my mate... left for work early."
He leaned forward, his hands clasped over the lace runner, the white fabric bunching under his knuckles. "I hope you will be able to get to know my family better. Maybe on a less chaotic day. Trinity is unstoppable. There is nothing that she cannot achieve. I can see the two of you being great friends."
Raven didn't answer. She offered a single, mechanical nod, her gaze never shifting. Her mind was leagues away, anchored to the memory of a man who was no longer there. She found herself wondering what life would look like if her deceased mate were sitting where Boris was. She imagined the heat of his skin and felt the phantom ache of a mating mark that would now never grace her neck. The "what ifs" felt heavier than the breakfast before her.
"I know you're grieving," Boris added, his voice softening. "But I hope you will find happiness here. No matter how long it takes."
The swinging doors creaked on their hinges as Speed entered. He moved with a lithe grace, nodding respectfully toward Boris. "Beta," he acknowledged, before turning to Raven with a pleasant, easy smile that didn't quite reach her distant eyes.
Boris didn't wait for him to speak. "I have to leave," he said to Raven, his chair scraping harshly against the floor as he stood. "Forgive me for cutting this short."
Raven managed a small, sad curve of her lips—the best she could muster—as she watched him go.
Speed, eyeing the spread, reached out and snatched a cinnamon roll from a silver tray. Just as he went to take a massive bite, Boris paused at the threshold, his hand gripping the doorframe.
"Speed, you stay with Raven. Watch out for her. Don't stay cooped up."
Speed froze, mid-bite, the icing smudging the corner of his lip. A flash of irritation crossed his face, quickly buried under a mask of practiced neutrality. He looked at the half-eaten roll, then at Boris's retreating back. Realizing his fate was sealed, he let out a quiet sigh and dropped into Boris's vacated seat, resigned to his role as chaperone.
Boris stepped into the hallway, where the morning light poured through the open front door, illuminating dancing dust motes. Kale and Skip were already waiting at the threshold, their shadows long and jagged against the stone floor. No words were exchanged; the air was thick with the scent of pine and the electric tension of the coming hunt.
They hit the grass at a dead run. As they reached the tree line, clothes were discarded in a blurred motion, left behind in the tall grass. Then, the symphony of the change began.
It was a sound both violent and sacred—the wet, heavy snap of femur bones lengthening, the crunch of vertebrae realigning. Skin rippled and stretched until it tore away to reveal thick fur in shades of mottled brown and gray. Their frames expanded, muscles swelling and knotting until the men were gone, replaced by hulking, predatory shadows.
Their paws hit the forest floor with a heavy thud, kicking up damp earth and decaying leaves. They tore through the brush, leaping over fallen logs with a terrifying, fluid power. They blurred past other pack members—some still in human form, who didn't even flinch as the massive wolves thundered by, their solid black eyes unblinking in the forest's gloom.
The run ended abruptly at the concrete perimeter of the holding cells. While Skip and Kale remained in their wolf forms, pacing the perimeter like silent, shaggy sentinels, Boris shifted back alone. The transition back to human was a more calculated, silent affair. Standing nude in the morning chill, he moved toward the storage area of the underground prison to pull on a set of spare dark fatigues. Within minutes, the transition from beast back to Beta was complete.
"Watch the entrance," Boris commanded, his voice returning to its cold, authoritative edge. Kale and Skip took their posts, their wolf forms casting formidable shadows against the concrete.
Boris descended into the underground cells alone. The air here was damp, smelling of copper and old sweat. A guard stood at high alert near the base of the stairs, his hand hovering near his holster, eyes hyper-focused on the iron bars.
"Report," Boris muttered as he approached.
Inside the cell, Grayson lay sprawled on the cold concrete. He was naked, his skin smeared with the grime of the floor, yet he lounged with the casual grace of a king in a palace. Despite the bars, he felt strangely relaxed; after his brief release the day before, he knew he was simply biding his time. He was in a rather pleasant mood, all things considered, certain that his freedom was only a matter of hours away. He looked up as Boris approached, a slow, mocking smirk spreading across his face.
Boris wasted no time. Using his Beta's command, he spoke directly into the guard's mind: What happened on August 8th in the underground cells?
He watched as the guard's forehead creased and his eyes turned vacant, rolling slightly as if he was trying to recall a memory that didn't exist.
"Uh... nothing happened down here. But the high school, defective scum... he killed a pup!" the guard responded, his voice dripping with sudden venom.
Boris gave him a nod of approval, then turned his eyes to the boy in the cell. He could smell Trinity's scent down here—faint, but unmistakable. A few more hours and it would be gone.
"You're Grayson, right? The Elder Hunt boy?" Boris asked, looking at the lounging man who seemed completely at home.
"Yup," Grayson sighed. He shifted onto his side, resting his forearms over his eyes as he tried to get some shut-eye. To him, anytime seemed like a good time to sleep.
"I remember you. The day your parents fled the pack." Every time Boris saw Grayson, he thought of that family. How they had gathered what little they had and made a desperate dash to leave—to abandon the pack and become rogues. It was not something done on a whim.
Grayson stared up at him, already smelling the power resonating from the wolf. He knew the man held a position of high authority, likely a Beta. He couldn't imagine why this man would think he'd want to hear stories of the pack hunting his parents on what was one of the most terrifying days of his life.
Boris was the one who had found them all those years ago. He had been able to stop them before they fled the territory. But he had seen the looks on their faces—the raw determination and the "defective" boy they held tightly in their arms. Boris had envied them. At that time, Trinity wasn't officially named defective, but the diagnosis was coming. He had wondered then if he could make the same decision: to pack up his family and just run.
It was the first time he had betrayed the pack. He had turned and run off in another direction as if he hadn't even seen them, allowing them to escape. It had cast a light of suspicion on him for years, but it had been worth it. At least one family got to remain whole.
"I'll speak to the Alpha. I'm sure we can get you out of that cage," Boris told the boy with a small, knowing smile. He turned to leave; his daughter's secret was safe.
"I would appreciate some clothes!" Grayson called after him, his voice echoing off the damp stone.
"You heard the boy. Get him some clothes and a bucket of water to clean himself," Boris called over his shoulder to the guard while exiting the underground prison.
Fortunately for his family, they were saved from the Alpha's scrutiny only to be on borrowed time with the Council. This was enough to prove every doubt he had wished would come true: his daughter would be the next Queen
Author's note:
Late but here.