The Replacement Aplha

When I saw the oh-so-familiar road that lead into the Rocky Mountain Pack, any worry that I might accidentally fall asleep at the wheel of the car seized. An anxious knot twisted in my stomach. For a moment, I felt like I forgot to breathe.             Tucked into the base of a large mountain known to the pack’s members as “Wolf’s Tooth”, the medium sized town was home to one of the largest Canadian packs. It was also one of the more isolated wolf societies in North America. On one side of the town, jagged rocks guarded the outskirts while the other side was protected by a thick, old forest with trees more ancient than some of our pack’s traditions. My little Kia car hugged the last curve on the road that lead in to town. It was packed to the brim with my worldly possessions. I couldn’t even see out the back- I had to rely on the side mirrors for the entire trip to make sure I didn’t slide into an oncoming vehicle when changing lanes. And if I was being honest with myself, there would have been no hope for my tiny car winning a battle with any of the massive northern trucks that I passed along my journey. I had a weird sense of pride when it came to my vehicle. It was not a brand-new car, or an expensive one, but the pride came from the manner of which is was paid. Years of hard, degrading labor working at one of the pack’s most popular dinners, Molly’s, finally summed up enough to pay for the car in full. In cash. I thought to myself. I smiled at the memory of handing the stack of bills to the car dealer as he watched with wide, astonished eyes. As I reached the edge of town, the trees grew sparser and houses began to replace them. Streetlights illuminated the Main Street Road. I passed downtown; noticing all of the buildings that looked as if they had not been touched in the two years since I left, including the pack’s pub.  Even though it was still dark in the early hours of the morning, the pub’s red door was visible in the streetlights. The sight of it left a sour taste in the mouth. The door reminded me of blood.   Thank the Moon Goddess that even the unruliest of the local pub regulars would be fast asleep in a drunken slumber by now. This idea brought up a flicker of memory to the back on my mind: Ben. I didn’t dare let my mind wander back to him. Instead, I took a left and drove up across the train tracks to the west side of the pack that had the reputation for being the poor, rough side of town.  The Omega side.  The tiny houses with dirty, grease streaked windows were in terrible shape. The state of the Omega houses were not the top priority to the Rocky Mountain Pack.     I passed fences of peeling paint that had, at one point, once resembled a white colour. Rusty cars that were long out of service littered some of the driveways. It was obvious that some of the residents had tried to maintain their beloved homes; wilted flowers had been planted in a flower bed in the front of one house with a fresh coat of paint. But the poverty was still evident even with the extra effort made. 80% of the income made by members of the pack, whether they are rich or poor, went to the pack committee. The committee then decided where the funds were needed most. Unsurprisingly, the Omegas saw a very small amount of the money. I started grinding my teeth with rage before I even realized it. The entire system was completely corrupt. The majority of the funds went to the Alpha, Betas, and Deltas. The elite. It made me furious. I pulled into the familiar driveway of my childhood home. Unlike a few of the houses in my neighbourhood, there has been no effort made to make it into a decent living space. The house was a small, brick dwelling with crumbling blocks strewing the weed infested yard.  My anger was replaced with the once again feeling of sickening dread.  Here I go. I thought to myself as I opened the car door and stepped out of the car.    The lights were out, and I wasn't surprised. Dad knew I was arriving today, but I didn't think he would have expected me this early. Even if he had, it's not like he would have woken up, anyway.  I fumble for my house key - something I haven’t used in two years - and opened the front door. The rusty hinges squealed. The house was dead quiet. I reached for the light switch. The single ceiling light illuminated the dusty, cramped living room. The house smelled like it always had - stale. I made my way into the kitchen and threw a handful of my belongings on the kitchen table. I was far too tired to retrieve the remainder of my items from the car. Instead, I crept into the hallway towards my room. I passed Dad’s closed bedroom door, hearing light snores drifting from behind the wooden structure.  I tried to drown any of my recollections that started to swarm me as I entered my room and switched on my lamp.  The walls were faded pink colour - a colour Mom helped me pick out when I was no older than eight. My bulletin board was filled with snippets of the past; photos, keepsakes, high school awards and honours. A desk, bookshelf, dresser, and single bed were the only pieces of furniture in the small room. I turned my attention to the single photo resting on my desk. Mom. It was one of my favourite photos of her. She was standing in a canoe on Lake Wolf's Tooth. Her hand was above her eyes, shading them from the summer’s sun. She was tanned, long legged, and gorgeous. But more importantly, she was happy. I loved this photo so much as it had such a good background story behind it.  It was not long after my Mom and Dad had mated. Dad was so eager to capture a photo of his beautiful mate that he convinced her to paddle herself out on the lake while he stood ashore to take the photo. Although he had managed to snap this once-in-a lifetime shot, Mom had lost her balance seconds later and plunged into the cold water. For even though was a warm day, the icy waters of lake Wolf's Tooth never warmed up enough to comfortably swim in them in human form. Dad had to shift to rescue her. Mom was a great deal of many things, but she was quite clumsy, and a poor swimmer at the best of times.  Even though she was clinging to the flipped canoe in human form, freezing, and fully dressed, Dad said she couldn’t stop laughing. When he finally pulled her out of the water, she laid outstretched in the sand, one hand on her stomach, cackling with laugher. Dad said Mom’s laugh was so additive, it was impossible not to join in. He shifted back to human form. The two of them rested in the summer’s heat, holding hands and laughing into the open air. Dad used to take such beautiful photos. He took many of Mom, but also of the rugged and fantastic surrounding mountains. He gave that all up after Mom passed. It looked like Dad had washed the sheets for me in anticipation of my arrival. My bed looked so welcoming after so many long hours on the road. I set my alarm for 8 o’clock and crawled into bed.   A gentle nudge woke me up. I had always been a light sleeper and it didn't take much to wake me up.  I opened my eyes and was staring back at Dad’s grey ones. He was smiling, even if it was a thin, sad one. “Scar,” Dad whispered, “welcome home.” I sat up in my bed, realizing that I had been too tired to change into a pair of my old pyjamas. Instead, I was wearing an oversized sweater and a pair of yoga pants. “Hi, Dad,” I mumbled. Dad pulled me into his arms. He felt scrawnier and lighter than when I last saw him. I didn’t like it. He was frail enough as it was after Mom died, I didn’t think he could possibly get worse. I hugged him for as little time as possible and pulled away as soon as I knew I wouldn’t hurt his feelings. “Sorry, I’m not a big hugger,” I lied. Dad’s smile faded. “It’s okay, Scarlett. I’m just glad you are home.” I looked down at my alarm. My Dad caught me doing so, and asked, “so when does your residency shift start at the pack’s hospital?” “9:00 am, so I better get moving.” I slid off the thick covers and hopped of the bed. I was about to run out the door to grab the supplies needed to get ready from my car, but Dad caught my hand. “Hold on. There’s something I need to tell you.” I froze. His voice, although quiet and meek, sounded serious. I turned and sat beside Dad on my bed. He looked at me with a teary expression. Goddess, he looked old. The wrinkles around his eyes had deepened. His face looked so hollow. “Although I am very happy to have you home, I am not sure everyone will be so… excited to see you.” No s**t, Sherlock. Two years ago I had rejected the Rocky Mountain Pack’s Alpha-to-be, Ben Cauley. I was probably, and understandably, the most hated person in the entire pack. “Sure, Dad. I knew that coming back here to complete my Healer training would not be easy. If I had another option, trust me, I would have taken it.” Since the pack paid for my schooling over the last two years, they had a tight leash on me, so to speak. Basically, they owned me. The only pack I could become a Healer for was the Rock Mountain Pack.  Those were the written pack rules. In fact, it was unbelievable to me that that Alpha Demetri had accepted my application to become the pack’s new Healer after I had rejected his son.  I had pondered this over my many hours of solitude at Healer’s College and the only explanation I could think of was that he had wanted to get rid of me. For two years, anyway. He must have known I would have had to return after I completed my courses. “Has Ben become… Alpha yet?” I asked, dreading the answer. “That’s just it,” Dad said sternly, “Ben’s dead.” SR