Alpha of Death

Ayden Smoke, sweat, hangover breath, and piss assaulted my sensitive nose, twisting my stomach with nausea – but I didn’t care. The loud music and booming bass shattered my already fragile nerves, piercing my ears with unbearable pain – but I didn’t care. I welcomed every sharp, brutal sensation, any physical pain, desperate for distraction from the torturous ache lodged deep in my heart since the day my mate died. She died. When I reached her, she was still warm to the touch, but lifeless. Her life force had fled, never to return. I couldn’t bring her back. She grew cold and stiff in my arms as I wept for hours, raw anguish choking me. I didn’t let anyone near her, didn’t let anyone touch her. It was my fault. My fu.cking fault. I failed the one thing I was meant to do – protect her. I hated myself with a burning fury. I didn’t deserve to live, to breathe, to feel the pulse of life flowing inside me. I hated myself – hated, hated, hated! I should be rotting in the cold ground, worms feasting on my eyes. That’s all I deserved, I was a useless piece of sh.it, a joke, not an Alpha. Laila once questioned if I was too young to lead. Back then, I was arrogant and full of false confidence, but she was right. I see it now clearly. I was weak, slow, lacking intuition, leading a pack with no real defense, doing nothing to change it. I wasn’t fit to be Alpha, to lead the pack. I was too lacking in so many ways. My pack deserved better. My mate deserved better. She didn’t deserve to die. She was perfect. A lone tear traced down my cheek, but I brushed it away and took another sip of my Jackson. I was just a weak, pathetic, crying Alpha. For weeks I drank anything to feel the burn in my throat, the dizzy warmth in my head, anything to drown even a grain of the pain. But chasing away memories was impossible. She was ghosting every single thought I had. I couldn’t recall life before her; every second with her was burned into my mind, vivid and unyielding. I still remember the day I met her like it was yesterday, though it was over a year ago. I was visiting the Silver Moon Pack to strengthen our alliance and search for my mate. The moment I stepped inside their pack house, a wave of strong floral scent hit me, and I saw her at the foot of the stairs. Her eyes wide, mouth slightly parted. Long chestnut waves cascading down her shoulders to her hips. She wore a light blue dress, matching the clear, innocent eyes that looked up at me. She was so young – I wondered if she was even eighteen. Fear crept in, afraid I’d corrupt her, spill my darkness onto her purity. But I didn’t want that... yet that’s exactly what I did. I pushed her into the darkness of death. Back then, I was a selfish bastard. I wanted her. A fierce warmth filled my chest – something I hadn’t felt in very, very long time – and a smile spread across my face without my control. Slowly, I approached, seeing a shy smile bloom on her rosy cheeks. I was so happy – so, so happy. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt that way, maybe back in childhood when Asher was alive, and we played in the woods, imagining ourselves as hunters of old. The day I first saw her, it was as if the sun returned to my life, ending a long, cold, lonely winter. She was my spring, my summer. When I reached her, her eyes softened, and she smiled brightly, showing white pearly teeth that brought tears to my eyes. My chest swelled with overwhelming emotions – happiness, relief, hope, and terror that I might hurt her or damage her. Or even worse – lose her, because death liked to follow me. And it did. f***k. I slammed my fist on the bar, drawing the bartender’s curious glance. I was such a stupid i***t. I shook my head and kept on sipping my drink. Not now. I didn’t want to think of her death. I wanted to remember her life. That day, as I whispered “Mate” to her, I etched every detail into memory — her delicate frame, the lines of her face, her button nose, those bright, wide eyes. She was just a girl, barely a woman, but to me, she was the most beautiful being in the world. I cupped her small cheek in my hand – my palm dwarfing her face – everything felt extraordinary in that moment. I loved her long hair that fell like a veil. Sparks seemed to dance on my skin as I brushed her cheek with my thumb, then let my fingers thread through her soft waves. She smelled divine – like lavender cookies – something I never thought possible. I hadn’t liked lavender before, but I loved her scent. Another lone tear slid down my cheek, knowing I would never hold her again, never see her smile. Only hollow pain filled me now – pain from losing her, from missing her every second of this miserable existence. But pain was all I deserved. I had one task – one fu.cking task – and I failed. I was supposed to protect her and the pack, but they lost their Luna because of me. I was a failure – a stupid, irresponsible child. I was a loser. This pain was my punishment. I deserved to suffer every second of my existence. Actually, death was what I deserved most. Maybe I should pursue it. For the first week after she died, I hunted the nearby forests, killing every rouge I found. Once, five attacked me at once, but death didn’t come that day. I tore through them with rage, and their bites felt like pinpricks. Afterward, I returned to the pack briefly, then showered, changed, and left for the city. I didn’t deserve to be Alpha. The pack needed someone stronger, smarter, faster – someone better. I abandoned my duties, leaving the Beta to lead. He might become better than me with time. I should have known I was no good. I couldn’t save my brother either. Asher died because of me. Mom said it was an accident, but I blamed myself. I always thought I could’ve saved him. Instead of watching him fall from the tree, I should’ve jumped, caught him, shielded him. But I froze, helpless, watching him crash his skull on that stupid rock and bleed out. I screamed for help, but couldn’t link minds yet. I pressed my T-shirt to his bleeding head and cradled him, terrified and confused, until a guard arrived. “This is bad,” he said, heavy-breathing, lifting Asher gently but the boy’s head lolled unnaturally – his neck was snapped too. “This is very bad.” I heard the guard repeat as he gently pressed my brother's head to his chest and carried him slowly to the hospital. I followed the guard like a lost pup, bloodied and numb, hoping, oh, so hoping that the doctors would be magicians and save my brother. But Asher was already gone when we reached the hospital. Since then, guilt has been my shadow, a constant companion, especially when I remember Asher and our childhood adventures. The pack grounds are littered with reminders, memories invading me unbidden. My parents always said it wasn’t my fault, just an accident, but I knew better. Funny, I wasn’t even supposed to be Alpha – Asher was older by two years. The Moon Goddess must have known I’d fail. I wasn’t firstborn, but after his death, the burden fell to me. I was meant to protect, to save, to lead. But I failed grandly, losing my brother, leaving my parents to cry and grieve for weeks. I think my mother never truly recovered. I often found her lost in sadness, eyes far away. In those moments, I wanted to rip myself apart for causing her such pain.