The Alphas Mate ( a world of werewolves short side story)

Another f.ucking shirt of my mine was ruined. Blood soaked through the white fabric like thick, wet syrup, still warm against my skin as I stepped away from the steel table bolted to the stone floor. The scent of iron hung heavy in the air, sharp enough to coat the back of my throat. Beneath it lingered the damp chill of the underground room itself—wet stone, old bleach, sweat, fear. Always fear. I’d just finished punishing a pack member for almost beating a human man to death for no other reason than he’d been dumped by his girlfriend and needed an outlet for his rage. Josie, my mate, called this my t.orture room, and well, who the f***k was I kidding? Of course it was. Washing the blade clean of blood, I set it back down alongside my other instruments of pain and then peeling out of my shirt I threw it in the bin. The silence after felt heavy. Oppressive. Above me, thunder rolled across the night sky, distant but violent enough to make the pipes in the ceiling groan. Rain battered against the ground outside, the storm scent drifting faintly through the vents, cold earth, pine, wet asphalt; I didn’t need to be in wolf form to use my wolf’s nose. Fitting weather for punishment. I took no pleasure in hurting my own pack, but it was nescessary if they were to stay in line. The pack feared me because of how cold and uncaring I came across, but contrary to what they whispered when they thought I couldn’t hear, I wasn’t cruel for the sake of cruelty. I did care about them, even if they didn’t see it. But fear kept order, and order kept monsters under control. Without discipline as harsh as mine, we would become like Angelo’s pack, r.aping women and killing for fun and power. Angelo. Even dead, the b.astard still haunted me. Rage flared hot beneath my skin at the memory of what he’d done to Josie. What they’d done to her. They hurt her in the worst way you could hurt a woman, just saying his f.ucking name sent rage coursing through me. The wolf part of me snarled violently inside me, desperate for blood that had already been spilt long ago. It still cut me up inside that I hadn’t been there for her, couldn’t save her from what they did to her. I gripped the edge of the sink until metal groaned beneath my hands. Water dripped slowly from my fingers, pink with diluted blood. Control. That was the problem with rage. If you let it consume you, it never stopped. I knew that better than anyone. At thirty years old, I looked closer to twenty-five thanks to the wolf blood running through my veins. I had a mix of thick blonde hair, a mix of light and dark blonde that was a tousled mess falling into my eyes. I had a muscular body that had been built more by shifting and violence, and the wolf than any gym. Broad shoulders, hard muscle, old scars silvering my skin beneath the harsh light. And then there were my eyes. Gold. Predatory. Not human in the slightest. Josie once told me I looked the most dangerous when I was p.issed off, that something in my stare turned cold enough to freeze people where they stood or have them tripping over themselves in their haste to get out of my way. At six foot five, my size alone intimidated most of the pack, but it wasn’t my height they feared. It was the look in my eyes that made grown wolves step aside the second I entered a room. I didn’t really give a f***k as long as it got the job done. Though, for some f.ucked up reason, the females seemed to find it attractive. They flirted outrageously. Touched too much. Smiled too sweetly. Some were bold enough to throw themselves at me outright, literally, and asking me for s**x. Their wolf instincts made them far less restrained than human woman were. A few had even pretended I’d ‘accidentally’ walked in on them naked. Which was impressive considering we’d been nowhere near a f.ucking bathroom. I never told Josie any of it. Not because I wanted the attention—I didn’t—but because jealousy burned fiercely in wolves, especially in mates. Even though she’s asked so many times about my past, I wasn’t telling her. Josie already carried enough scars inside her without feeding the insecurities that still lingered there from her human life. Before the turning. Before me. Besides, it was before I knew her, I had never been interested and tended to just ignore them, or if they got physical, shove them away. I was more wolf than human, unlike the rest of the pack. And something worse. Something older lay inside me. Demon blood ran through my veins like poison mixed with fire. My father—if I could even call him that—had a wolf form of his own, and he wasn’t of this world. Every few hundred years, he would find a female to mate with, who was capable of surviving his offspring, creating children strong enough to one day tear open the barrier between realms and help him cross into our world, or some s.hit, I didn’t know and I didn’t care. All I knew was that whatever lived inside me made the other wolves nervous. And it should. Unfortunately my actual parents were no longer around, they had died trying to protect me as a child from ridiculous wannabe werewolf hunters, and because of their stupidity about us, my parents had died slow and painfully. The memory still came in flashes sometimes. The smell of blood. My mother screaming. The smell of silver and burning flesh. Slow. Painful deaths for two people who deserved far better. The only ones who knew this story were Blaze, my uncle, and Josie. A cold draft swept through the room, brushing across my bare skin like ghostly fingers. Somewhere deeper in the home, wolves laughed faintly, music echoing through the halls above. Life continuing as normal while a storm raged outside and within me. The draft and the sound of my pack snapped me back to reality and I left the room of t.orture and punishment.