CHAPTER FOUR: A KIND OF WELCOME
1469 Words
The sharp bite of burning leaves hits me the second I step out from the treeline ringing my childhood home. It clings to my snow-dusted fur like some cursed cologne, thick and smoky, wrapping around the frozen night air. I halt at the forest’s edge, tilt my muzzle skyward, and let the wind rake over me. The scent drifts downwind straight from the direction of the house.
Only a **Stormfire wolf** carries that smell. But what the hell would one be doing on our land? Unless my parents had invited the bastard. Was that the reason for this sudden summons?
I shake off the snow and bolt across the open field toward the old red-brick monstrosity that’s housed my family for generations. Three storeys tall, slanted roof buried under fresh powder, icicles hanging like jagged teeth from the gutters. Dad’s car sits in the driveway. The shifting shed stands open, its door creaking in the breeze.
I slow my pace, eyes scanning the ground. Massive paw prints cut through the snow easily three times the size of mine. I lower my nose and inhale. Yeah, burning leaves, unmistakable.
Heart hammering, I duck into the shed, shift back to human skin, yank clothes from my bag, and dress fast. I lock up behind me and take the porch steps two at a time. Only the kitchen light glows inside. Mum’s probably at the stove. My gut twists with a cold wave of dread the instant my fingers brush the doorknob.
Magic. Someone with real power had been here. These days, only demons wield that kind of energy. Even the academy headmaster can’t cast on his own; he has to call up a demon to do his dirty work.
I suck in a steadying breath and push the door open. One step. Two. Then the scene in our cramped kitchen slams into me like a freight train.
Mum, dangling by her throat from the grip of the biggest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Dad stands frozen beside her, face drained of all color, looking like a ghost ready to fade away. The stranger towers over both of them, his hold on my mother casual yet iron-tight.
“Welcome home, Lila Thompson.”
His voice rolls out low and commanding, vibrating straight through my bones. He’s shirtless, every inch of his powerful torso etched with black symbolic tattoos that match the midnight color of his hair. Thick gold cuffs circle his biceps, and a heavy black medallion with a glowing ruby center rests against his chest. Those crimson eyes burn into me, bright as the jewel, slicing me open.
“I believe introductions are in order,” he adds, the edge of one fang glinting in a smile that never touches the rest of his face.
Mum’s terrified gaze stays locked on mine, wide and pleading. It guts me to see her like that. Even Dad has shrunk in on himself a clear show of submission before a stronger alpha.
“I already know who you are,” I say, voice steadier than I feel.
He arches a scarred eyebrow. “Do you know?”
I force my eyes away from his hand on my mother’s neck and glare straight at him. “You’re the alpha of Stormfire. Guardian of the Gates of Hell. Word is you’ve got a hell of a temper once wiped out an entire pack because their leader stole something from you.”
He gives a slow, approving nod. “The very same.”
Those crimson eyes narrow to dangerous slits as he studies me. There’s a faint shake of his head, like I’m already proving some quiet disappointment. He doesn’t just look, he dissects. Peels me apart layer by layer until I feel raw and exposed, nothing but meat and bone under that stare. From the flat line of his mouth, I’m about as interesting to him as a mildly curious rock. For some stupid reason, that pisses me off more than the rest of it.
Screw every lesson my parents and pack ever drilled into me. I hold his gaze, bold and unblinking, refusing to drop mine first. “What the hell do you want?”
Dad moves faster than I expect. His palm cracks across my cheek, sending me stumbling back into the door with a heavy thud. I’m no stranger to his temper or his fists, but the suddenness still shocks me.
“Show the alpha some goddamn respect!”
The slap breaks our stare, but not before I catch the alpha’s eyes flaring to a deep, dangerous black.
“Touch her again,” he says quietly, “and you’ll lose more than a hand.” He tightens his grip on Mum’s throat just enough for the tips of his claws to press tiny dents into her skin.
She doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t make a sound. Dad stumbles backward immediately, fear for his mate written all over his face.
The alpha’s burning gaze swings back to me. “Come.”
He hauls my mother out of the kitchen without another word. Dad trails after them, his expression darker, heavier than before. My heart pounds so loud their footsteps almost drown in the roar. For a second I just stand there, rooted, then I follow, each step feeding the hot, ugly hatred rising in my chest for this alpha, and for my father. How can he just let this happen? Stand by while some outsider manhandles Mum like she’s nothing? He’s always been cold to me, sure, but never like this with her. Even if it’s only because a stronger alpha is in the house, it’s still unforgivable.
If Mum didn’t look so damn scared, I’d snatch a kitchen knife and go for the bastard’s throat right now, then drag her somewhere far away where Dad could never touch either of us again. She’s always deserved better than him.
We both have.
By the time I reach the open-plan living and dining area, they’re already seated at the long table. The alpha occupies Dad’s usual spot at the head like he owns the place. Mum sits beside him, rigid. I glance at the settings with only one plate laid out, of course. Alphas eat first. Usually alone. With a lazy flick of his tattooed fingers, a thin silver chain snakes around Mum’s wrist and anchors itself to the table leg, tethering her to his side.
She shoots me one desperate look from the doorway, eyes huge with terror. Fresh rage boils through me, hot enough to burn.
The alpha kicks out the chair opposite him with his boot. “Sit.”
Everything about him grates on my nerves the way he moves through our home like it’s his territory, the curl of his lip when he looks at me like I’m something to be sized up for slaughter. Just another arrogant alpha, only this one feels ten times more dangerous.
He doesn’t bother checking if I obey. Instead, he drops into his own seat at the far end, reaches for the open bottle of red wine, and pours like he’s got all night. Dad takes the chair across from Mum, leaving the pulled-out seat for me at the opposite end.
Every instinct screams at me to shift and launch myself at him, but I’m not suicidal. He’s got my mother chained, and I’d bet my life his wolf is triple the size of mine. I’d be dead before my teeth even grazed him.
No choice, then. If I want answers and any chance of getting my parents out of this alive, I have to play the game at least for now. Something I’ve never been very good at in my eighteen years.
I slide into the chair. The silence stretches so tight it feels like it might snap. I lift my eyes from the glossy tabletop and meet his stare head-on.
“Why are you here?” I ask again, keeping my voice level and clear. “What do you want with us?”
Dad’s fist slams down on the table hard enough to rattle the glasses. He starts to rise. “Damn it, girl! How many times do I have to tell you do not speak unless ”
The alpha’s calm voice cuts him off mid-sentence. Dad freezes halfway out of his seat, eyes darting nervously to the head of the table.
“You’d do well to follow your own advice, Valerio.” The alpha’s gaze stays fixed on me, intense and unreadable. “Besides, I see no harm in answering her. After all… she is my mate, isn’t she?”
The words land like a slap I didn’t see coming. My mate. The claim hangs in the thick air between us, heavy with dark promise and something far more dangerous than simple possession.
- Writer
