The Lycan King's Red Wolf

Chapter Five

Ajax's POV



"f**k. How long, exactly, do we have to stay here?" The thought was a low growl in my mind, a silent expletive aimed at the stagnant air of this pack house.

It had been two days since we arrived, since Alex had put Victor in his place and I’d dealt with his pathetic Beta. Yet, not a single wolf had dared to offer us sustenance. It was a slight, a subtle act of defiance, or perhaps just sheer terror-induced incompetence.

Either way, my Lycan hunger was beginning to gnaw.

It wasn't like us to rely on the hospitality of lesser wolves, but this was our territory now, and they should know their place. The thought of venturing into the main kitchen, however, filled with those cowering, gossiping females, was unappealing. Their fear was palpable, but so was their morbid fascination, their eyes darting, their whispers like buzzing flies. I preferred to avoid such... distractions.

My mind drifted back to our arrival, the initial confrontation in the main hall. Victor, this pack's so-called Alpha, had tried to play the fool, feigning ignorance, attempting to lie about their resources, their contributions to the greater territories. He spoke of dwindling funds, poor harvests, a pack struggling to make ends meet. Pathetic. Alex and I knew better. Our intelligence network was vast, meticulous. We knew their true wealth, their overflowing stores, their selfish hoarding. Alex had simply watched him, his golden eyes unblinking, until Victor's bluster began to crack. Then, with a voice as cold as mountain ice, Alex had called him out, detailing every lie, every misappropriated coin, every ounce of neglected duty.

Victor, cornered, had bristled, a foolish flicker of his former Alpha arrogance returning. And then Vitali, his Beta, had stepped forward, a low growl rumbling in his chest, his eyes flashing with a desperate, misguided loyalty. His muscles had begun to bunch, his bones to shift, the first signs of a partial transformation, a pathetic attempt at defiance. Before he could even fully commit, before his form could truly change, I had moved. A blur of Lycan speed. My claws, sharp as razors, had sliced across his belly, a deep, rending cut that spilled blood and guts across the polished floor. Then, with a swift, brutal follow-up, my fist had crushed his chest, the sound of splintering bone sickeningly loud. He'd dropped, a broken, whimpering heap, his transformation aborted, his life clinging by a thread. I then took Victor by the throat, lifting him clear off his feet, his own eyes wide with terror, making sure he knew there would be no further problems. That had been enough to break Victor, to send the rest of the pack into terrified submission. A necessary display.

I decided to seek out the storeroom myself. It would be less crowded, less... seen. As I made my way through the quieter back corridors, a flash of vibrant red caught my eye. It was the omega, the one Alex had spotted earlier, the one with the unusual hair. A little red wolf. She was slipping down the creaking wooden stairs that led to the basement. The storeroom, then. A faint smirk touched my lips, not of amusement at her, but at the thought of finally finding something to eat in this godforsaken place.

I descended quietly, my Lycan senses picking up the faint clatter of something falling just as I reached the bottom. I pushed open the storeroom door.

And there she was. Kneeling amidst a scattering of dried fruit and cheese, her face flushed with mortification and that angry bruise blooming on her cheek. The same bruise I’d seen earlier. Veronica’s handiwork, no doubt. The scent of her fear was sharp, but so was that intriguing, almost wild scent of her.

"Well now, Little Red," I murmured, the nickname rolling off my tongue with a curious, almost observational cadence. It wasn't a question, but a statement. A statement that chilled her to the bone, I could tell. Her eyes, wide and terrified, squeezed shut, bracing for the inevitable. The punishment.

But it didn't come.

Instead, a shadow fell over her. I opened my eyes cautiously. I had stepped into the room, my large hand reaching down. He didn't touch me, but instead, he picked up a scattered block of cheese, then a handful of dried apples.

"This won't do," I said, my voice surprisingly even, devoid of the usual Alpha contempt I was accustomed to. I bent, not easily because I am huge and this room was so damn small, and began to systematically gather the spilled provisions, placing them back into the overturned boxes. I worked quickly, efficiently, my movements precise. Within moments, the scattered items were neatly returned to their crates.

"Lead the way, Little Red," I said, a hint of amusement in my amber eyes. "Unless you plan on having dinner down here."

Still in a state of shock, she scrambled to her feet, grabbing the last, lighter box. She led me back up the stairs, her mind reeling, I could almost feel it. This was unprecedented. Unheard of. A Lycan prince, helping an Omega.

As we entered the kitchen, the few lesser wolves who were already there preparing dinner froze. Their eyes, wide with disbelief, darted from me, effortlessly carrying two large crates, to her, trailing behind me, her face still bruised, her own small box clutched like a lifeline. The silence was deafening. Their jaws hung open, their expressions a mixture of terror, confusion, and utter shock.

I simply placed the boxes on the counter with a soft thud, my gaze sweeping over the stunned faces of the other wolves. I offered no explanation, no comment. I merely turned, my amber eyes meeting hers for a fleeting second, a flicker of something akin to detached pity in their depths. Then, with a casual nod, I turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving behind a stunned silence and the lingering scent of my power.

I found Alex in Victor's former study, now ours. He stood by the large window, his back to me, his posture radiating the cold, calculating power that was his hallmark. He was the mind, the strategist. I was the force, the implementer. We were a formidable pair, forged in the shadow of our father, Kane.

"The kitchen staff are quite... surprised," I commented, leaning against the doorframe, my arms crossed.

Alex didn't turn. "They'll adjust. Fear is an excellent motivator."

"Indeed. Though I found a small distraction in the storeroom."

He finally turned, his molten gold eyes narrowing slightly. "Oh? And what might that be?"

"The little omega with the red hair," I said, a faint smile touching my lips. "She was making a mess. Called her Little Red. She seemed... startled by my assistance."

Alex's expression remained impassive, but I detected a flicker in his eyes, a subtle tightening around his mouth. He remembered her. He had seen her too. "A rogue, then. And clumsy. Keep an eye on her. Loose ends can become tangled."

"She's hardly a threat," I scoffed, though the memory of her vibrant hair, so out of place, so unprotected in this pack, was oddly persistent. I felt a faint, unfamiliar stir of... something. Not desire, but a quiet recognition of injustice. She was clearly mistreated, a fact that resonated with a distant, almost forgotten sense of fairness. Veronica, that nasty b***h, had a reputation that preceded her even in our circles. Petulant, temperamental, demanding, and altogether a horrible wolf. It was clear who had put that bruise on Little Red's face, and the thought of her continued mistreatment stirred a flicker of genuine concern within me. And her scent... it was unlike any other wolf I'd encountered. Not the heavy musk of an Alpha, nor the cloying sweetness of a pampered female. Hers was clean, like sunshine and fresh air after a mountain rain, even though she was clearly the child of a rogue, born to dirt and hiding. My Lycan instincts, usually so focused on power and dominance, found themselves drawn to this anomaly. I considered getting her full story out of one of the pack's warriors – the hard way, if necessary – but thought better of it. Better to keep tensions low for now. Father's arrival was too close.

"No, not a threat," Alex agreed, his voice low, almost a purr. "But a distraction. And we tolerate no distractions. Especially not with Father's arrival imminent."

King Kane. The name resonated with a power that even Alex and I, his sons, felt in our bones. Our father was not merely a ruler; he was a force of nature, a living legend of conquest and absolute dominion. He was the reason we were here, paving the way for his final inspection, his ultimate claim. This pack, this territory, was merely another piece in his ever-expanding empire.

Father. Kane. A hard king, yes, but fair in his own way. At over three hundred years old, he had seen everything – the rise and fall of countless packs, the ebb and flow of wars, the myriad ways lesser beings could squander their potential. He feared nothing, and that fearlessness had forged an empire. His philosophy was simple, yet absolute: the greatness and integrity of an Alpha, or a King, is determined by how well they protected their people. Their pack. While ruling with unquestioned authority, Father did not condone the abuse of lesser wolves. They were still part of the pack, still under his protection, and their well-being, even if only for the sake of efficiency and order, was paramount. Alex would be Lycan King one day, though Father would likely never actually die. No Lycan had ever been stronger than Kane, or lived as long. I was just glad I would never have to rule. All the politics, the endless demands, the constant vigilance – it was a burden I had no desire to shoulder. We were only here because this pack, under Victor's increasingly lax rule since the old Alpha Vincent died, had become a drain on our family's resources. They were more interested in playing and spending than contributing to the overall needs of the larger Lycan territories. Kane demanded order, contribution, and respect. It was a simple, brutal truth.

I thought of the lesser wolves' whispers in the kitchen, their fear of Kane, their morbid fascination with us. They spoke of him as a monster, a three-hundred-year-old force of destruction who left graveyards in his wake. They weren't wrong. Father was all of that, and more. And his interest, once piqued, was absolute.

"Victor is still plotting," I informed Alex, shifting the conversation back to more pressing matters. "Veronica believes they can 'get rid of us.' Pathetic, but potentially annoying."

Alex finally moved from the window, walking to the large desk that had once belonged to Victor. He ran a hand over its polished surface, his gaze distant. "Let them plot. It will make their eventual submission all the more satisfying. And it will give Father something to... observe, when he arrives." He paused, then looked at me, his golden eyes cold and sharp. "Ensure the pack understands the new order. No dissent. No resistance. We need this territory quiet and ready."

"It will be," I assured him. The image of Little Red, her wide, terrified eyes, and the bruise on her face, flashed in my mind. A small, insignificant detail in the grand scheme of conquest, yet her obvious mistreatment stirred a faint, uncharacteristic disquiet within me. For some reason, it lingered.

My stomach rumbled again, a more insistent demand this time. Alex, despite his focus, would also be hungry. I pushed off the doorframe. "I'm going to get us some food. No one here seems to grasp the concept of feeding their guests."

Alex merely grunted in agreement, his gaze still fixed on the window, lost in his own calculations.

I headed back towards the kitchen, the lingering scents of fear and the lesser wolves' gossip still hanging in the air. This time, I didn't care about avoiding eyes. I strode in, ignoring the immediate stiffening of the few wolves still there, and began to quickly assemble a tray: some of the dried meat, a few loaves of bread, and a jug of water. It was basic, but it would suffice.

I returned to the study, placing the tray on Victor's old desk. Alex glanced at it, a flicker of approval in his golden eyes, before taking a piece of meat.

"Good," he said, his voice low. He chewed slowly, then looked at me, his expression serious. "There's something else. A message came through while you were... occupied."

My attention sharpened. "From Father?"

Alex nodded, his gaze piercing. "He's coming. To the Crescent pack. He'll arrive within the next two days."

A cold thrill, a mix of anticipation and the familiar, deep-seated respect for Kane's power, ran through me. The game was about to get much more interesting. This pack, this territory, would soon truly understand what it meant to belong to the Lycan King.