Alphess: An Angel of Death

The Devil's Den

“Well, that’s the season,” answered a second female voice, shaking me from my reverie. This one was a bit deeper, with just the hint of a Boston accent. Sasha.

            I listened a moment longer but Taryn’s sloshy footsteps faded down the south hallway and away from the main room. I stepped out of my room, surveying the living area. Seven of us called this little place home. It had one main room with a kitchenette and two hallways, each hallway with two bedrooms each and a bathroom. Everyone else shared a room and I lucked out with my own. (Alright, “lucked out” isn’t the best phrase – I am their Alphess and I use the room as the pack office too.) We scrounged for furniture from time to time. By now, we’d managed to snag a lumpy couch and a scratched-up coffee table, along with a small dining table and four mismatched chairs. Some of our rooms were outfitted with mattresses without frames, some had frames by now. I’d managed to provide every room with a dresser and my own with a desk. My girls didn’t ask for much, but I still felt bad not being able to give them more than that. Our home was a plain stone building nestled in the middle of the forest, originally abandoned when we found it. But it provided the shelter we needed and that was enough for now.

It was a far cry from the sprawling palace I was raised in back in eastern Washington. In fact, my childhood bedroom probably swallowed the entire abode inside of it. Sometimes, I miss the home I grew up in. I miss the vines of ivy crawling up the western walls, the glistening lake on the north side of the property, the training fields and the space to get away from people. And if I’m being honest, sometimes I miss wanting for nothing. But that home no longer welcomed me inside its walls, or even on its territory. That life no longer was mine. Nine years ago, about four years after I discovered my ability, tragedy struck, and I was at the center of the scandal. It damn near broke my parents’ hearts to run me off their land, but even they couldn’t argue with the Wolf’s Council in regard to my punishment. Every single Highborn in our pack voted to send me running, with a promise of death should I ever return again. That was just the beginning of my long journey to becoming the Harbinger of Death, a nightmare that keeps young wolves tucked into their beds at night.

            “Ah, there she is,” Sasha said, looking up from her place nestled on the couch. She had Jaime’s head in her lap, softly stroking the other woman’s blonde hair fondly. “Another late night?”

            “Couldn’t sleep,” I mumbled. It was a well-known fact after living with these women for the past eight years that I would leave the pack house to roam far out into the wilderness most nights, returning by the first rays of dawn and then sleeping for a few short hours before breakfast. On the particularly bad nights, I wouldn’t return until mid-morning and I would sleep long into the afternoon. Today was one of those days. My own nightmares of my past plagued me, making sleep far off.

            “Well, nothing to report here,” Sasha said. “It’s been quiet all day.”

            I nodded, settling into the armchair beside her. “Doesn’t surprise me. Always is this time of year.”

            Sasha was quiet for a few minutes, looking lovingly at her snoozing mate. Jaime had found us only about a year ago, stumbling into the territory looking disheveled, malnourished and abused. I had been the one to find her, welcoming her into our home. There was protest at first – another mouth to feed, another wolf to nurse back to health, another person to find room for. Our resources were stretched thin as it was, and at the time, threats seemed to come from all directions. But her story resonated with me – a tale of abuse at the hands of those that should have taken care of her, kicked out for not living up to expectations. The usual for my group, really. Sasha had been the last to meet her, just a scrap of a wolf laying curled up and scared in our living room. One look and the rest became history. The pair have been inseparable since and their happiness has honestly become infectious.

            Sasha finally looked back up at me. “Are you going to go?”

            I heaved a sigh, knowing immediately what she meant. The tri-annual Conclave was fast approaching. It was expected that every Alpha in the world either attend or send a representative, along with an advisor of the pack. In addition, most packs took the opportunity to bring their unmated of-age young, in the hopes of matching them up. I had never attended. I had no interest in alliances, no interest in selling off my girls, no interest in hearing the tedious tales of pack politics. I pursed my lips and looked at Sasha. “I’m not an Alpha. I’m not technically expected.”

            But I was going to go. We always went, we just didn’t dress up, parade around and mingle with the others. We had one objective – the Auction.

            She looked amused, just giving me a shrug. “You remember its set to be held just 40 miles south of us, right?”

            “I do. What is the issue you have?”

            “Its going to bring a lot of new eyes and ears our way.”

            “They won’t be looking for us here, Sasha. No one knows where we actually reside. And even if they did, do you think anyone would be keen on walking straight into the Devil’s den?”

            Sasha shook her head. She knew I was right, but still I was worried. The Conclave was usually much further away, making our mission all the easier. Being so close was nice for preparation, but it made the risks grow higher. Even still, I knew the reputation we had and trusted in our skill. The rest of the werewolf community only heard whispers of us. We mostly lived tucked away in peace, but occasionally when there was a battle to be fought, we showed up. My girls and I were all skilled warriors, better than the majority of the armies even the most brutish of packs could muster. Our appearance was never announced, and we came in to end wars that needed an ending. Very few ever lived to tell the tale, cloaking us in mystery. No one knew our names, what we looked like, anything about us for sure. It was all gossip and heresy, just quiet mutterings throughout the community about the Slaughter Pack. The one thing that was known was that I, the Devil herself, was the leader.