The Littlest Light

#Chapter14-01

#Chapter14-01Oliver Brand was not an unreasonable man, and as though to emphasise that point, he slid me a finger of whisky over the bar counter, offering a somewhat nervous smile, his eyes bouncing around at the mass crowd that had gathered behind me.

Without turning, I necked the liquid, savouring the burn. "Hit me again," was my only command as I slid the glass back across the counter. Adhering my request, another was soon poured. I didn't turn, despite the hundred-plus people that waited for me to; true power lay in the subtle details, and making sure they were all aware that they were on my time was a method I often enjoyed.

Their emotions stained the air of the large, somewhat dingy, bar, burning across it in such a multitude of variety. It seemed to alternate and adapt with each person, but still, the base emotions were the same.

They feared me.

Above all else, they feared me.

My reign had been one of ruthlessness; I didn't molly-coddle them and ask them how their f*****g mothers were, as the man who had come before me had. I didn't care. Results and efficiency were all that mattered to me. Everything else? So not on my radar.

Hate came next.

Some hated me. The number of members that resented me was quite high; I had been a complete bastard to some of them over the years. But the number of members that hated me was significantly lower. The ones who hated me, the ones who made it that personal were all part of William Asher's 'you killed my daddy' club. They were his loyalists. The ones who had stood with him through his rise to manhood, and then had been there during his fall.

And what do you know, as I turned around, finally granting the active members of my pack my attention, William Asher and his posse stood close to the door, glaring.

Surprise, surprise.

Malcolm Asher, in his prime, had been very much like a Viking. Huge, blonde and supposedly terrifying. William Asher was very little like him. Of slender build and brown hair, with eyes that were so dark they appeared almost black, the only thing his father had seemed to pass down to him was his arrogance.

Our eyes met. He looked away first.

I smiled. Born to be an Alpha or not, certain positions in the pack held a certain power, and demoting Asher to Omega, despite his heritage, brought with it certain forced customs. It may not have worked if it were a Delta or Zelta challenging him, and certainly not a cub, but coming from an Alpha, rank played in and the outcome was inevitable. I was quite positive that a Beta would have been able to draw that response, too.

By his side, Peter Lang stood. He was one of Asher's loyalists, and in turn, had also taken a drastic demotion. His glare matched Asher's, but like his, it also dropped beneath my own.

There were a few others, but most had the common sense not to openly defy me.

Oliver Branch's bar, a member of my pack who didn't care either way who he called Alpha, so long as his business was kept up and running and he could provide for his family, had become the go-to place for meetings. It had since I had refused to host at my home, as the previous Alpha had.

There were only two other packs this far north that were bigger in size, The Blackwater pack and the Meadow Creek pack, but even with their additional numbers, my own stood to an impressive volume. I had over fifty warriors, with an equal amount of hunters/scouts, and then there was the useless shits — sorry, civilians —who did nothing but waste time when not following orders. Those unfit for duty did not count towards pack numbers, so the cubs, elderly, and injured were considered, by me, as just a drain on recourses.

The meeting didn't take long. It was me telling them how useless they all were for not being able to pinpoint, or offer me fresh information on the vanishing scent that had been hounding our land for the past few months. It was them being told how they had to up their game, blah-blah-blah. But I very briefly, and very carefully worded, mentioned the kid.

It was in their right to know, and as rumours had already spread, tit-bitting them information seemed the best way to avoid handing Asher ammunition to his 'the Alpha is unfit' plight that he had been trying to sneakily kick-start for years. I had been aware, and whilst it was an act punishable by death, I had been waiting for it to weed out the others who shared his views. So far, besides his usual crew, not many had seemed to hold in agreement.

By the time I had left, they were left with the illusion that I had told them far more than I had; they knew that we had found a child, and it would be kept in my care until its parents were found, or until it came of age.

Having opted out of the meeting to watch said child, Jonathan was sat in the car, a few blocks away from the main town. I hadn't wanted to risk anybody catching sight of the kid, as I hadn't been ready to spill the beans on his overnight transformation.

Lumen had not been happy when he had realised that I had planned on leaving him alone with Jonathan, and he had kicked, screamed and cried, shouting for me as I ignored him and walked away. It seemed like he had gotten over it as I returned. Jonathan was in the back seat with him and they were both smiling.

"Star!" Lumen squealed happily once I popped the door to the driver's seat, sliding in. "Cummy backed?"

At least, I assumed that was what he said. I was still struggling to understand him, and some of his words I had to repeat in my head to give them the addition of sense that they were so clearly lacking. Jonathan sniggered at the putrid nickname, but otherwise remained silent.