My Lord Alpha

Waylon Wyatt

Quick-paced footsteps echoed off stonewalls as arc doorways twisted and turned in different directions in the form of a maze.

Sweat beaded up his lips, his heart pounded loudly, and tension strained his muscles as he ran the length of the Dragon Fortress. Coming into a large opening, a huge bed finely dressed in red linen sat on the ground and in the middle. A large wooden barrel stood next to it filled up with red wine, more than half a dozen bronze goblets were tossed around on the floor. Fruits like grapes, apples, and strawberries were served bountifully on a large metal tray. Lumps of cooked meat occupied a wooden bowl, and different varieties of savory sauce sat prettily in white jade bowls.

Alcohol filled the air with the distinctive smell of s*x.

On the huge bed was a tangling mass of seven women sleeping soundly, as their arms and limbs were set in every direction.

"Master! Master!!" the man who had just entered called out.

There was a slight stirring on the red linen coverings on the bed, then a major rustling as something was trying to come out from under the tangled bodies. The women grumbled from their sleep as they were being shoved aside, making way for a man who was fully naked to rise from the bed.

"What is the matter? Why do you disturb my rest?" Waylon drawled at the man.

"There has been a development, things did not go as planned," the man said.

"Speak!" Waylon commanded.

"Once we were able to get her location, we went to her apartment that night. But it seemed that the king, your nephew, was ahead of us. He had whisked her away from the earth plane before we could get a hold of her-"

In a flash, Waylon had crossed the distance between them and was grabbing him by the throat "Never ever refer to him as king again. He is no king of mine, I am the rightful king to the throne."

"Y-yes my lord, I w-would never again," the man struggled to say.

"Why are you the one reporting to me on these matters? Where is Drac?" he asked still holding him by the neck.

"He-he is-"

"Fetch him immediately!" he thundered then shoved the man away.

The man quickly got to his feet and scurried away massaging his neck.

Waylon hated to be disturbed when he was enjoying one of his numerous orgies. The few things that actually gave him pleasure and allowed him some rest after many years of living in exile.

How could he? A royal bloodline, who was once a Beta to the Alpha, and next in line to the throne after his brother, is living in exile. Plane Woede was his home and would forever be his to rule, one day.

It was so close, within his grasp, only for his brother the former king, to name his right-hand man his new Beta on his sick bed. Removing him from authority and ensuring his son was made the new Alpha after his death.

After all the years he had served him and the kingdom faithfully, he was three hundred and fifty years old. He had lived way longer than his nephew and was more experienced in being Alpha and king. But his brother had done him dirty at the last minute and taken that opportunity away from him.

Nevertheless, he would still continue to strive to get what was duly his. Despite two failed attempts, he would give up. He would look for every weakness to attack his nephew with, including his fated mate.

At that moment, another man walked into the chamber. He looked to be more rugged and heavily muscled than the previous man, a jagged scar ran from his temple, across his left eye, to his chin.

"What is this I hear of Drac?" Waylon said to the scary-looking man.

"My apologies my lord, I should have reported to you myself. But I was busy taking care of some business. It is just as Smeden had said, our plans were put off by Wayne's interference. We missed her by mere minutes," Drac explained.

Waylon's fists balled into fists and he landed a blow on his jaw. Drac staggered a few steps back and immediately resumed his position before his master.

"That is for disappointing me." Waylon spat out "If you know the price I paid to Scry for her location. It was the life of one of my favorite nymphs, her blood was used to scry across planes and realms by a fey sorceress. Now her death was worth nothing."

Drac lowered his eyes "I am sorry to disappoint you, my lord. I will look for the fairest nymphs from all over the realms. A mixture of a variety of both tree nymphs, water nymphs, cloud nymphs, flower nymphs-"

"How does that serve my course? I want Wayne's mate! Here in my dungeons now!" he yelled.

"My informant tells me she is now on Plane Woede, in the safety of his mansion. There is nothing more we can do. We need to find his other weaknesses," Drac informed him.

Waylon slammed his fists into a pillar, the walls shook around them. The females lying on the bed grumbled as they lazily turned over in their sleep.

"I was this close to having my decades-old plan achieved but you ruined it. If my nephew had a lot of weaknesses, I would not be here living in exile, would I?"

"We have been able to gather enough individual allies from other beings in other planes, even though other wolf planes refuse to interfere in our local politics. They are still adamant about remaining neutral and will only deal directly with the throne on diplomatic matters no matter who sits on it." Drac notified him.

A slow hiss escaped his lips "Those boring old fools, I have tried to garner them over to my side over the century, but they still remain set in their ways. They would not even give me refuge from my exile for fear of conflict of interest between the Wolfen planes, how despicable," he said wrapping his bloodied knuckles with a strap of red linen.

"We should launch another attack at House Wyatt. This time around we would succeed because we have enough warriors," Drac insisted.

"Everything is not brute strength, after all the years you have spent with me, you have learnt nothing." He chided him.

"What else shall we do my lord? It seems our plans have failed this time,"

"I will be strategic with my approach henceforth. Subtle but cunning, meandering but focused, gentle but lethal, patient but progressive. It may be slow but I will definitely succeed in the end," A wry smile parted his blistering lips.

Drac gazed at him in awe, bewildered by his crafty mind. A deep sense of hero-worship clouded his mind.

Waylon was now a shadow of himself. He was once stunningly handsome, full of youthful exuberance, impatient with a fearless countenance. Now, he looked weary, lean, with a gloomy appearance. The years had taken their toll on him, all the things he had been through. The frenzy, the battles, the countless failures, depression, the torment of exile, the pain of loneliness. He had lost his kingdom, his throne, his mate, his royal bloodline, his respect.

Despite it all, he stood firm. Unwavering.

He still had the strength of an Alpha, the resources to thrive, and the determination to succeed. If not for Waylon, he would have been languishing in the dungeons of the Royal house, starving from persistent hunger and counting the days till his death. Because he was an outcast, a halfling between a werewolf and a succubus. Any werewolf who was not of pure blood was relegated to the hinterlands, never to set foot inside the capital city. It was a segregation of sorts, a classism between pure breeds and half-breeds. Drac had dared to enter the capital city without the required documents. He was arrested and thrown into the royal house dungeons, abandoned, and left to slowly die. But one faithful day, Waylon had visited the dungeons, fed him and all those who were there, and asked them to join in his fight. His rule would allow everyone to co-exist together, removing all barriers in their society.

Drac would serve no other but him because he had the qualities of a great leader. Someone who would lead his pack to victory one day. He was loyal to his course and would be right beside him when that glorious day came.

"I am done with these nymphs; their company does not comfort me any longer," Waylon announced, pulling Drac from his thoughts. He walked to a corner and picked up his red robe which had been thrown aside in the heat of their mating. Slipping his hands into it, he wore the robe and secured it around his waist with a sash.

"I will look for fresh replacements," Drac replied.

"Do that swiftly. And while you are at it, find me a siren!" he ordered.