Alpha
Page 62
“I believe you,” Vic whispered at last. “I believe that you can do this. It’s going to be hard. This job is going to break your heart, Faythe. It’s going to bruise you from the inside out, and it may keep you from ever truly being happy. But I believe you will fight for us all with every breath in your body. I don’t think you’re capable of anything less.”
I choked on my next breath, staggered by his profession of confidence and loyalty, knowing what he thought of my personal mistakes.
With that, he sank to his knees and took my hand. “I swear my loyalty and my life to the south-central Pride, and to my Alpha, Faythe Sanders.”
I said my part, and when he let go of my hand, I stepped back and looked at them—my Pridemates. My fellow enforcers. The first brave souls to put their lives in my hands.
It didn’t feel like I expected it to. There was no rush of power or glory. My first moments as Alpha felt…heavy. Somber. Like I’d just taken on a colossal debt I could never hope to repay. Being Alpha was a burden and an enormous responsibility, not a license to push people around.
And that was what Calvin Malone had never really understood.
Seventeen
A wave of shock rolled over me when the guys stood, and I realized I was no longer their coworker. I was now their boss. But the term employer describes an Alpha about as well the word caretaker defines the concept of parenthood; it is a cold, one-dimensional word that utterly fails to convey the human element.
My dad had been much more than our boss. He was our leader, guardian, adviser, landlord, counselor, sometimes a confidant, and a father figure even to those with whom he shared no blood. He was a champion and defender of those with little power and soft voices. He was a fount of wisdom and a source of never-ending patience. He was so many things I’d never even considered, and I harbored no delusion that I could fulfill all of those roles right out of the gate.
But I desperately wanted to. I wanted to be what they needed. I needed to do this right, because they deserved better than I had to offer.
“Okay, so what now?” I glanced to my uncle for advice. “We go make nice with the council?”
He nodded solemnly. “But this won’t be easy.”
“Nothing worth doing ever is.” I took a deep breath, trying to get my thoughts in order. “How does this work?”
Marc gestured toward my chair, suture needle in hand, and I sat as my uncle stood, already pacing again. Most of the enforcers had gathered around another first-aid kit spread out on the coffee table, passing around bottles of hydrogen peroxide and bandages, a couple threading needles to sew up the worst of the gashes for fellow toms.
It was an odd sort of quiet ritual, so different from the other times they’d shared bigger bottles and passed bags of snack food. But the familiarity was there. We were family, friends, and allies, whether we were celebrating or mourning. Or preparing to face common foes.
Uncle Rick lifted a no-longer-steaming mug of coffee from an end table, and I could tell by the way he held it—making no use of the handle—that he wished it held something stronger than lukewarm caffeine.
“They’re nursing their own wounds right now, just like we are.” He glanced at the coffee table triage center, and I noticed that the Alphas had all already been doctored. That particular privilege of rank was born of a desire to keep our leaders alive and…well…leading. A point driven home for me when Marc began the second set of unanaesthetized stitches on the gash in my side. “And as I said, they’re just as eager for a cease-fire, though Malone would never admit that.”
“What do we know about their damages?” I asked, flinching when Marc’s thread tugged at very tender skin.
“They have a couple of unconscious toms and a few broken bones…” Neither of which we had. “And three casualties.”
One was my kill, one Elias Keller’s, and the third, if I had to guess, was Marc’s. Evidently Colin Dean had lived, an oversight I would soon remedy even if it took my dying breath.
“We benefited from the element of surprise,” my uncle continued. “But we’ve lost that now, and we won’t get it back anytime soon. And they’ll have the duration of the cease-fire to concentrate on healing and regrouping, but we won’t.”
Because we had to plan a funeral, as well as our next move.
“Did you tell them I’d come?” I asked, and Marc’s sewing paused midstitch as he waited for the answer.
“Yes. And they’re probably expecting you to come in guns ablaze. Literally.” He turned toward the breakfast table and I followed his gaze to find the tabletop covered in the clunky black remains of six handguns, now rendered virtually unrecognizable, thanks to Keller’s efforts. “Or not.”
“I’ll destroy the rest of them, too, if you happen ta get your hands on ’em,” Keller rumbled. “I don’t like guns, and it’s bad enough that humans carry ’em. I can’t have a bunch of cats up here, shootin’ up my mountain.”
“We completely agree,” I said. “And hopefully Malone won’t be stupid enough to actually use their few remaining guns against unarmed opposition. At least in front of the rest of the council.”
“He won’t,” Taylor said from an armchair across the room. “He’s not going to jeopardize his standing with the less loyal of his allies.”
“Good.” I closed my eyes, thinking as Marc clipped the thread from the needle. “Hopefully they’ll be caught off guard when I’m willing to play by their rules.” I frowned up at my uncle. “What are their rules, exactly?”
I choked on my next breath, staggered by his profession of confidence and loyalty, knowing what he thought of my personal mistakes.
With that, he sank to his knees and took my hand. “I swear my loyalty and my life to the south-central Pride, and to my Alpha, Faythe Sanders.”
I said my part, and when he let go of my hand, I stepped back and looked at them—my Pridemates. My fellow enforcers. The first brave souls to put their lives in my hands.
It didn’t feel like I expected it to. There was no rush of power or glory. My first moments as Alpha felt…heavy. Somber. Like I’d just taken on a colossal debt I could never hope to repay. Being Alpha was a burden and an enormous responsibility, not a license to push people around.
And that was what Calvin Malone had never really understood.
Seventeen
A wave of shock rolled over me when the guys stood, and I realized I was no longer their coworker. I was now their boss. But the term employer describes an Alpha about as well the word caretaker defines the concept of parenthood; it is a cold, one-dimensional word that utterly fails to convey the human element.
My dad had been much more than our boss. He was our leader, guardian, adviser, landlord, counselor, sometimes a confidant, and a father figure even to those with whom he shared no blood. He was a champion and defender of those with little power and soft voices. He was a fount of wisdom and a source of never-ending patience. He was so many things I’d never even considered, and I harbored no delusion that I could fulfill all of those roles right out of the gate.
But I desperately wanted to. I wanted to be what they needed. I needed to do this right, because they deserved better than I had to offer.
“Okay, so what now?” I glanced to my uncle for advice. “We go make nice with the council?”
He nodded solemnly. “But this won’t be easy.”
“Nothing worth doing ever is.” I took a deep breath, trying to get my thoughts in order. “How does this work?”
Marc gestured toward my chair, suture needle in hand, and I sat as my uncle stood, already pacing again. Most of the enforcers had gathered around another first-aid kit spread out on the coffee table, passing around bottles of hydrogen peroxide and bandages, a couple threading needles to sew up the worst of the gashes for fellow toms.
It was an odd sort of quiet ritual, so different from the other times they’d shared bigger bottles and passed bags of snack food. But the familiarity was there. We were family, friends, and allies, whether we were celebrating or mourning. Or preparing to face common foes.
Uncle Rick lifted a no-longer-steaming mug of coffee from an end table, and I could tell by the way he held it—making no use of the handle—that he wished it held something stronger than lukewarm caffeine.
“They’re nursing their own wounds right now, just like we are.” He glanced at the coffee table triage center, and I noticed that the Alphas had all already been doctored. That particular privilege of rank was born of a desire to keep our leaders alive and…well…leading. A point driven home for me when Marc began the second set of unanaesthetized stitches on the gash in my side. “And as I said, they’re just as eager for a cease-fire, though Malone would never admit that.”
“What do we know about their damages?” I asked, flinching when Marc’s thread tugged at very tender skin.
“They have a couple of unconscious toms and a few broken bones…” Neither of which we had. “And three casualties.”
One was my kill, one Elias Keller’s, and the third, if I had to guess, was Marc’s. Evidently Colin Dean had lived, an oversight I would soon remedy even if it took my dying breath.
“We benefited from the element of surprise,” my uncle continued. “But we’ve lost that now, and we won’t get it back anytime soon. And they’ll have the duration of the cease-fire to concentrate on healing and regrouping, but we won’t.”
Because we had to plan a funeral, as well as our next move.
“Did you tell them I’d come?” I asked, and Marc’s sewing paused midstitch as he waited for the answer.
“Yes. And they’re probably expecting you to come in guns ablaze. Literally.” He turned toward the breakfast table and I followed his gaze to find the tabletop covered in the clunky black remains of six handguns, now rendered virtually unrecognizable, thanks to Keller’s efforts. “Or not.”
“I’ll destroy the rest of them, too, if you happen ta get your hands on ’em,” Keller rumbled. “I don’t like guns, and it’s bad enough that humans carry ’em. I can’t have a bunch of cats up here, shootin’ up my mountain.”
“We completely agree,” I said. “And hopefully Malone won’t be stupid enough to actually use their few remaining guns against unarmed opposition. At least in front of the rest of the council.”
“He won’t,” Taylor said from an armchair across the room. “He’s not going to jeopardize his standing with the less loyal of his allies.”
“Good.” I closed my eyes, thinking as Marc clipped the thread from the needle. “Hopefully they’ll be caught off guard when I’m willing to play by their rules.” I frowned up at my uncle. “What are their rules, exactly?”
