Chapter 6 Rogues and Clarity
1177 Words
Alpha Heir Raymond – Blood Fang Pack
After my latest “lesson” from my father, Alpha Philip, I could still feel the bruises pulsing under my shirt as my wolf Alex began to heal them. He didn’t use silver—no, that would leave marks. But his fists and paddles were discipline tools, as he called them. The "secret cellar" beneath his office was where he handled disobedience in private. Where my title as heir meant nothing. Where love had long since rotted into resentment and control.
What did I do to deserve the lesson?
I didn’t wake my sisters for training.
That’s it.
He said I was making them weak. Said I was sabotaging the legacy. Said I was becoming soft like a weak omega.
He beat me until I bled. Not enough to kill me. Just enough to remind me I was his to mold.
But whatever control he thought he had left shattered the moment the rogue attack hit.
It wasn’t sloppy or desperate like the others. This was coordinated. Clean. Surgical. Our Western lands were ravaged, and while our core pack only lost a few—just a few, as they keep saying—it was the sovereign packs under our western royal banner that suffered the worst. Some were gutted. Half their members dead or missing. Their homes reduced to ash. Their children parentless. Two Alphas slaughtered in their own dens.
And my father? He stalled. Waited for orders. Waited for the King.
But the King never came.
So I made the call.
I reached out to Eli, my friend—once a royal guard of the Western Kingdom, now back with the Eastern Pack royal guard. A pack that raised killers and leaders. A pack with Alpha Jason at the helm—a true king, not just a title-bearer.
Within minutes, Gamma Colin was mobilized. They were already en route while my father still sat in his office, reeking of whiskey and arrogance.
When I told him, he was livid.
"You went over the King?" he spat into the mind-link.
"The King went over himself. He didn’t show up."
“Your next lesson will make the last one feel like a lullaby.”
Let him try.
Because while he sulked in his office, I was burying our dead. I was holding the hands of widows. I was comforting pups who watched their parents die in front of them.
And my pack? They looked to me, not him. They felt safe around me. That was power. That was legacy. And it sure as hell didn’t come from his beatings.
By the time the convoy of black SUVs arrived, I was ready.
Three of them pulled up first—Alpha King Magnus, the man my father worships, stepped out. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a black dress shirt rolled at the sleeves and gray streaks peppering his dark hair. He exuded power—raw and primal. You could feel his wolf ripple beneath his skin like a tide barely held back.
Kieran, his heir, followed. Still strong, but… dimmed. There was a fatigue to him. A tightness around the eyes. His wolf was struggling, barely holding the reins.
Then the second convoy.
King Jason.
And where Magnus exuded brute power, Jason embodied fear. The kind that made men fall to their knees without a word. He didn’t need to growl. His presence stilled the world. The air around him changed. Thickened. He was accompanied by Beta Reid and Gamma Colin, and even their royal guards moved with surgical precision—like their blades had names and their steps were already pre-counted.
My father stood there, arms crossed, chin lifted arrogantly.
I stepped forward and bowed.
Only I bowed.
Jason’s gaze found me instantly, as if he'd already known my name before asking.
“Are you Raymond?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m Alpha Jason. This is my Beta Reid and Gamma Colin.”
“An honor to meet you, all of you,” I said, straightening.
Magnus’s gaze flicked to me next, curious but guarded.
“You’re the one who requested help?”
“Yes, Alpha.”
I didn’t flinch.
He studied me for a beat longer, and I saw it—the flicker of respect.
“Then you’re smarter than your father,” he muttered under his breath, not caring who heard.
Jason’s expression didn’t shift, but the way he moved closer to me, stepping around my father like he didn’t exist, spoke volumes.
“Show us what you’ve got, son. Rogues. Casualties. Damage.”
“Yes, sir.”
As I walked them through the burned homes, the damaged perimeter walls, the mass graves, I spoke clearly, without emotion—but with truth.
I felt them watching me. Listening to my cadence. My delivery. My control.
When we arrived at the cells, my mother and sisters finally appeared. Dressed like club rats. My mother’s ass cheeks were nearly hanging out of her dress, and my sisters were pushing their cleavage like they were advertising a new line of perfume.
They giggle-flirted with the guards as if this was a mixer.
I nearly vomited from embarrassment.
But the Kings? They barely acknowledged them.
Jason kept his eyes on me.
Magnus looked like he wanted to slap someone.
“Rogue bodies are being loaded for burning outside the territory,” I informed them.
At that moment, Beta Tom approached with a respectful bow.
“Alpha heir Raymond. Final count is 56 rogue kills. Thirty-five of them were yours alone. The two females were captured on your orders.”
Jason blinked. Reid whistled under his breath.
Magnus raised a brow.
“Thirty-five?” Jason asked.
“Solo?” Reid followed.
“That’s almost impossible for an Alpha heir,” Colin muttered.
My wolf, Alex, surged in my chest—proud. Dominant. Fierce.
Jason tilted his head slightly, eyes glazed a bit. Probably, he was talking to his wolf.
“Your wolf… Alex, is it?”
“Yes.”
“He’s not just strong. He’s surgical. Efficient. Calculated. My wolf Ty can feel his strength.”
“He’s born for war,” I answered simply.
Magnus nodded slowly, a faint smirk lifting his lip.
“So is mine. Titus says your wolf moves like a general, not a soldier.”
Jason stepped closer, his voice low but sharp.
“Tell me, Raymond. Why aren't you the one wearing the Alpha crown yet?”
Before I could answer, I felt my father’s rage hit my spine like a stake.
“Office. As soon as they leave.”
“You just embarrassed me in front of the kings.”
Good.
Let the embarrassment drown him. Because the truth was clear now—everyone saw it.
These kings came for answers, for strategy, for results.
And I gave them all three.
Not my father.
Me.
And for the first time in my life, I didn’t fear him.
I feared what I’d become if I stayed loyal to a man who would rather beat his son than protect his people.
- Writer
