Page 4 of Runt of the Pack
In one smooth motion, I unfasten my seatbelt and drop to the plush carpet on all fours. The primal stance focuses my senses, nerves thrumming with effort to receive Sam’s faint voice through the miles between us. Heartbeats slip past as I filter out the jet noise and push my hearing to its heightened limits. Like plunging into dark water, I strain everything searching for that one dim lifeline.
Bands of steel slowly encase my chest as each breath struggles harder against its crushing pressure. Echoes of chaos suddenly scream from the phone abandoned by my knee—shouts of pain and fury, gun blasts, and roaring flames. The sharp reek of silver cuts through the smoke. Then, louder than all the carnage—a resonant fatal roar of agony. Shock whites my vision for long seconds.
My brother’s roar.
No!
A ferocious snarl rips from my throat. That death keen heralds the most devastating loss imaginable—an Alpha robbed of their destined mate. The severed bond’s ruthless agony has driven weaker shifters instantly insane. What could have happened to so horribly wound my strong sibling?
I return to a human posture, hand shaking violently as I raise the receiver once more. But only a cold dial tone answers now, the brief unstable call terminated. Bloody hell, this barely controlled panic must stop! I brace my hands hard against the floor, harnessing sheer willpower to cage the terror-fueled wolf fighting my mental barriers. My quivering muscles labor against the restraint with lethal intent, recognizing the threat hunting our kin.
None stand with us when we defend our own! I must reach his side immediately and tear the responsible traitors apart myself!
With stubborn resolve, I force the wolf back once more. Savage vengeance cannot manifest untethered at 30,000 feet, no matter how fiercely it claws for release. I need answers, not reactions... and if catastrophe truly has come, I will need a clear mind to salvage anything from the aftermath.
Shakily, I resume my seat, eyeing the silent phone with renewed dread. Its brief fragmented message carried no details about what ripped such agony from my brother, whether Luciana and my sister still draw breath... I cannot lose them. Not when family bonds lay so dangerously frayed already. Forthcoming tears burn in my eyes. Maybe Gavriil yet survives, despite that terrible omen—please, let him endure long enough for me to save them all!
I inhale a steadying breath as Father’s voice echoes through my mind. “Family and duty come first, my son. Without them, no shifter can claim honor.” I failed my duties before, leaving Gavriil to pick up the pieces of our legacy alone when Father died. But I will not fail him again. If any chance remains to preserve what family I have left, I must seize it with both hands.
The jet shudders slightly in a patch of turbulence. I glance at the windows, but the night sky reveals no answers. Grim experience warns me such unsteady currents often portend a gathering storm. Raking my fingers roughly through my hair, I reach for my customary emotional control, forced to acknowledge circumstances now spiral far beyond my influence.
I detest disorder or variables muddling careful strategy. But chaos fuels Grisha’s insatiable ambition... how perfectly it serves his depraved purpose that I race blindly into the maelstrom left in his wake. Clenching my fists until my knuckles crack, I silently swear crushing vengeance against the mutt and any allied with him. For too long have our enemies hounded us without proper retaliation. No more. Any who dare bring harm to my family will drown in rivers of blood.
A hesitant touch grazes my arm. “Alpha?” Andre stands before me, concern and confusion darkening his brown eyes. My volatile reaction startles him. “We caught a bad altitude bounce. Please let me know if you need anything.”
No doubt he assumes the turbulence triggered my agitation. I inhale slowly, smoothing impatience from my tone before responding. “Give me an update on our flight plan. Have we crossed the Alps yet?”
“Yes, Alpha. We’re halfway over Austria right now.”
I nod. “Very good. Carry on then.”
As Andre withdraws gratefully to the cockpit, I steady my nerves once more. We are less than two hours from Russia now. Surely, my brother holds enough power and skill to sustain his defense that long. But if Grisha leverages black magic or demonic allies against him, even an Ursa King could fall without warning. Dammit! I should demand this aircraft fly faster.
I must keep faith in Gavriil’s smug confidence, if nothing else. He always bragged our family’s guardian star shone brighter than for any other shifter clan. I ignored his boasting as puerile myth when we were young, secure in Father’s might and status. Now, with an enemy’s venom spreading ruin through the heart of our lineage, what choice remains but to trust in luck... or destiny? Surely, the fates would never permit a mere cur like Grisha to sever the proud Alexeev heritage stretching back for millennia.
But fate did decree I rise to an Alpha when all branded me as a doomed omega. She also set brother against brother until the bonds of blood were no longer bound. I now defend the very pack I was once accused of betraying just because I fought to claim my own, rather than lick Gavriil’s fur and fill his mead cup… If he expects me to crawl whimpering back to the Ursa after this crisis, I will send his pelt as my reply. The pup threw me aside first—it shames my dignity to stand cold and begging at his door like some kicked stray.
Although... perhaps when he sees how fortune clearly favors me in the coming battle, he will welcome this black wolf home again. The pack always circles closest around the fangs that protect them. I must be the warrior the Ursa requires once more.
I quell my seething frustration to lift my gaze towards the shadowed heaven beyond the window glass. The stars dazzle brilliantly tonight, sharp enough to pierce even a wolf’s razor sight. One gleams slightly brighter than the rest—our shepherd Alpha Lupi, ever guarding his wayward children below. Standing witness as we rend each other again in the old vicious cycle. But no more... this time, a new moon rises for House Volkov.
Tonight, I will save them all and demand the honor rightfully owed. Gavriil can offer no further protest once my power restores what his weakness surrendered. The Ursa will joyfully acknowledge a fierce Alpha prepared to bleed in their defense. And my lost brother will finally welcome me home with pride. Fate promised me redemption... I have only to seize it.
We race towards destiny now, one foretold eons past yet somehow still mine to shape. I readily embrace the challenge, unafraid of any reckoning to come. The runt survives when the Alpha cannot, after all. When the battle rages and even Gavriil lies broken, I will prevail against the darkness.
Upon my life, I so vow.
4
VLAD
The tires of my white Audi scrape and slip over patches of black ice as I race up the serpentine mountain road towards the Alexeev dacha. The sprawling summer mansion is perched high on the hill, standing sentinel over our clan’s ancestral territory. Gavriil was meant to be safe here. If any harm has befallen him, retribution will be swift.
The iron gates of the dacha finally loom out of the darkness ahead, flanked by twin stone bears on the snow-laden path. I brake hard and throw the car into park, not even bothering to pull into the garage. The front door hangs open, a flickering light visible within. My hackles rise as I approach, my wolf senses detecting the lingering scent of violence in the air. I step inside and see the foyer in shambles—antique vases shattered, mahogany furniture overturned and splintered. My hands clench into fists.
“Gavriil!” I bellow. My voice echoes through the cavernous rooms but there is no answer save for the howling wind outside. I follow the destruction into the main hall, unease coiling tighter with each step. Smears of blood mar the once pristine marble floors. Its metallic tang violently fills my nostrils. A growl rumbles in my chest. Whose blood is it? My brother’s... or his enemies’?
The blown-open French doors at the end of the hall show snow swirling beyond onto the deck. Boot prints track crimson stains across the threshold into the night. So, the confrontation began inside before spilling into the open wilderness. Gavriil is out there, somewhere. Wounded, or hunting. And he’s not alone.
