Page 5 of The Wolf and the Witch

“Life is strange and the ways of nature are stranger. First there were Alphas, the first Lycans. Then Betas, born several generations later. A freak mutation perhaps. But, do you know what the real freaks of nature are, my boy?” Geralt would nod his head eagerly, bangs flopping into his eyes.

“Omegas,” Geralt would lisp between missing teeth. The male passed before all of Geralt’s adult teeth came in.

“That’s right,” Alaric crowed, lifting a hand to give Geralt a high five.

“Omegas are strange creatures, a rarity among Lycans. They possess the unnatural ability to calm even the most enraged Alpha, putting their beast to sleep.” Weathered hands stroked Geralt’s hair. “Once more Betas were born, packs were easier to establish and maintain. The key is to have fewer Alphas. They’d always salivate for the chance to challenge each other. It’s in their nature. But to maintain a pack, the Alphas had to agree on one among them to lead. It’s an uneasy alliance, one you’ll have to juggle some day, my boy.” Gnarled fingers tipped with aged claws tilted his chin up. Crimson eyes flared bright, searing into Geralt’s young gaze.

“Watch your back. Trust no one. Keep your enemies close. Too many young Alphas end up dead at the hands of their second, the selected Beta for the pack. Choose yours wisely.” Wrinkled skin kissed his forehead when Alaric leaned down to touch his to Geralt’s.

“I’d say choose a Beta for your Beta, but like I said, there’s no such thing as a submissive animal. In fact, Betas could be more dangerous because they’re calmer. A clear-headed Beta can plot your end easier than a hot tempered Alpha. An Alpha is more likely to attack you in the heat of the moment.” Leaning back, grandpa cupped Geralt’s round face.

“Trust your instincts. Just because it’s in the beast’s nature doesn’t mean the animal is always wrong for choosing violence first. It could save your life one day.” Grave words wormed into a young and impressionable mind.

Geralt toweled off absently. Instinct told him he couldn’t have chosen a better Beta than Gabriel. The younger Alpha never gave Geralt the impression he’d turn on him, but Ryker remained alert, even sometimes suggesting Geralt end the male.

The nature of the beast. His grandfather’s words drifted to him beyond the grave. It craved blood and violence, never sated. His heart ached for his mate. Her hands alone rendered Ryker into a pile of goo.

He pushed the melancholy thoughts away. Instead, as he padded out of the bathroom, eyes landing on the clothes Helen laid out for him, he pulled Ryker closer to his skin, leaning into the beast’s aggression. He’d need it to survive a meeting filled with hungry Alphas, sniffing for weaknesses, their beasts straining the confines of their human skin.

Voices blended together in a chorus in the spacious room of the meeting hall. The domed ceiling provided good acoustics, allowing voices to carry and Lycan hearing granted anyone present the ability to pick up on individual conversations. Geralt’s eyes scanned the room, making note of facial expressions and body language. Everyone talked animatedly over each other regarding the news of a new pack settling a couple counties over, nestled near Lake Erie. It provided the new pack with the unfair advantage of being safe from attack in the rear. It was a good defensible position if the new pack had nefarious intentions.

He stood from his seat upon the raised dais. Silence descended over the room. A few crimson gazes roamed over him, searching for weaknesses. An implacable mask shielded his expressions. He gave the attendees a wide fanged grin. A hint of menace seeped into his aura. The few Betas present averted their eyes and tilted their necks in his general direction. He didn’t wait for the Alphas to give him their submission. He demanded it, challenging each with the power in his gaze. His beast, Ryker, stirred lazily within his skin. A few years had passed since they’d ripped the throat out of their last challenger.

“Before we discuss matters of importance regarding the pack, I’d like to know if anyone is feeling lucky tonight and wishes to challenge me for my position as Alpha of this pack?” he asked the crowd of Lycans. He waited, body tense and poised for action. Fear, anxiety, and nervousness wafted toward him in waves. But no challenger stepped forward.

He made a mental note of the Alphas, whose red eyes stalked him hungrily just moments before he spoke. Cowardice was a disease and it would be a mistake waiting for the challengers to grow some courage. Weariness tugged at him, but he shoved it aside. He would confront the males later, he decided.

Turning to the row of seats to his left, he nodded at the Elders. Some packs killed off the weak and old. Geralt learned from them instead, letting wisdom guide his actions when bloodlust clamored for violence. It was a knee jerk reaction to want to eliminate a threat before it could cause harm.

He retook his seat, motioning for the Elders to provide their input. His step-mother, Helen, stepped up first. He forced his eyes away from her, ugly memories threatening to surge forward. His father never returned home from a “peace talk” with another pack several years ago. Bile stung his tongue. Déjà vu itched his skin. How quickly a boy could become a man when life demanded it, he thought sardonically.

Helen’s voice was clear and firm, echoing off the walls. “As you know, a new pack has settled near ours.” She paused, hands clasped primly in front of her. “It pains me to say this, seeing how I lost my mate, but patience may be the best course of action.” She waited, allowing her words to sink in. Hair streaked with gray tumbled in curls around her shoulders as she glanced around the room, gauging reactions the same way he did.

Paul rose slowly from his seat next to Helen, a wheeze easing out of thin lips. Claw marks in an even slash ran diagonally across his face. His lips twisted in a snarl as he voiced the opinion Geralt expected of him. “Waiting makes us look weak. If they think we’re easy prey, they’ll attack first—” A coughing fit interrupted what would’ve been a long spiel. Helen placed a firm hand on the male’s shoulder, urging him to retake his seat. He glared up at her while silently obeying.

Gunter stood up next, two seats down from Helen. The dark-haired male gave a respectful nod to both Geralt and Helen. If he’d wanted, he could’ve had Paul’s position as Beta to Geralt’s father, but he preferred not having the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Paul turned his hateful glare on Gunter. Geralt eyed the males speculatively, and Ryker’s excitement shivered down from their bond. The beast looked forward to the spilling of blood.

His nose twitched, whiffs of his mother’s scent drifting lazily off of Gunter. His father, Nate, rested in Selene’s embrace for two decades now. Helen’s private life was none of his business, but the redness in his gaze brightened. If Paul crossed a line, however, letting his petty jealousy rule his actions, then he’d suffer the same fate elders did in other packs, bleeding out around Geralt’s claws.

Gunter ignored Paul and seconded Helen’s voice of reason. “We’ve already lost one Alpha by reacting rashly. I’d like it if we could avoid that in the future.” He concluded his statement by shooting a meaningful look at Paul while retaking his seat. Red suffused Paul’s face, but the unpredictable male kept his seat. Kill him, Ryker urged in his head. He dismissed the animal’s seductive whispers. An elderly Lycan wasn’t the most prominent threat.

Geralt didn’t raise his voice, but it carried across the hall all the same. “Pack patrol rotations will double. Anyone not afforded the position as border warrior but is interested, seek out Gabriel. We’ll hold biweekly training and tryout sessions. If you wish to join the reconnaissance team, let either myself or Gabriel know and we’ll provide you with more details at a later date.” He waited a beat for the information to sink in before opening the floor for questions and suggestions.

A quick glance at his watch revealed it was only a quarter past one. He suppressed a sigh and massaged his temples. His intuition informed him it would be a long time before the meeting ended. He nodded at Gabriel to begin fielding questions. Helen shot him a wink before making her way to the exit. She’d said her piece and dinner would not prepare itself. He was almost envious. Relaxing some of the tension in his shoulders, he returned his attention to the gathered Lycans, reconciling himself to a long evening and a test of his patience.

The moon shone through the paned glass windows of the meeting hall when he gave his Beta the signal to close the meeting. His patience stretched taut.

A headache pulsed in his temples, and his jaw ached from clenching off and on for several hours at a time. Ryker prowled his mind, keeping his gaze a burning crimson, and the room bathed in shades of red and orange. If he chose, he could trace the path of blood flowing through the bodies of the Lycans surrounding him.

His canines ached to tear and rend, but he kept his claws pressed into the fleshy part of his thigh, the pain helping leash his aggression. Too many scents assailed his nostrils, all familiar, but the luminescent full moon enhanced everything. Eager feet led him swiftly to the exit once the attendees got the message and rose to their feet as well. One glance at his face, Ryker staring out at them, provided enough deterrent for most to step out of his way.

His skin rippled with revulsion when a soft hand wrapped firmly around his bicep, claw tips digging into his skin. A snarl twisted his lips, and red eyes bore into the face belonging to the offending hand. Evelyn curled lush lips at him, blinking brown eyes coyly.

His cock twitched at the blatant invitation. Bringing a hand up, he pried her fingers from his arm, eyes never leaving hers. Her arousal polluted the surrounding air at his rough handling. He sent a silent prayer for patience to the moon Goddess. His lungs craved fresh air and his body loathed the oppressive heat from so many bodies in one space.

Gripping Evelyn’s hand in his, he gave it an experimental lick. Ignoring her soft gasp, he assessed his body’s response. Ryker rushed to the surface of his skin, lengthening his claws to pierce her skin. With his wolf’s voice layering his own, his mouth shaped the words, “We’re done. Do not touch us again, or it will be the last thing you do.”

Releasing her hand, he resumed his linear path for the door. Fresh balmy night air slammed into him, ruffling his clothes and lifting his short dark hair. The moon’s glow kissed his skin and his desires bled into Ryker’s. Of one accord, their clothes shredded as their bones cracked, skin shifted, and body realigned into a four-legged form that sprouted fur. Once his paws touched the soft packed earth, they took off for the woods.

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