The Mysteries Begin

POV: Cormac Brennan

Location: Brennan Townhouse, Kensington

Time: Night of Death

I lock Father's study door behind me and lean against it.

The paramedics took his body an hour ago. The pack's still here, filling the house with whispered conversations and nervous energy. They're waiting for me to tell them what happens next. Waiting for their Alpha.

I'm not their Alpha yet. That's the problem.

The study smells like him. Leather and tobacco and old books. This room was his sanctuary, the place where he made the decisions that kept the pack running for three decades. Now it's mine. Except it's not, not officially, because he died before finishing the ceremony.

I move to his desk. Mahogany, older than I am, covered in papers he'll never finish reading. Territory maps. Financial statements. Correspondence with other Alphas. The mundane work of leadership that no one sees.

I should be going through these systematically. Making lists. Being practical. Instead, I'm standing here feeling like an imposter in my own father's office.

The desk drawer's locked. Father kept it locked always. I'm his son. I know where he hid the key.

Behind the false panel in the bookshelf, there's a small safe. Father showed me once, years ago, made me memorize the combination. For emergencies, he said. In case something happens to me. He never thought something would happen this soon.

The safe opens. Inside: documents, a lockbox, and three leather journals.

I take the journals first. Father's handwriting. Private records, the kind Alphas keep for themselves. Pack secrets too sensitive for official documentation.

I sit in his chair and open the first journal.

January 1988. The Manchester pack challenged our eastern border today. Declan handled it without casualties. I'm getting too old for this. Sixty feels ancient in wolf years.

My father was forty-three when he wrote that. Not sixty. I flip through more entries, reading his thoughts on pack disputes, on territory negotiations, on wolves he trusted and wolves he watched carefully.

Then I find the entry that changes everything.

March 1975. Twenty years since my turning. Twenty years of lying to everyone about what I am. Sometimes I forget the lie myself. I've been Alpha so long, been "born wolf" so convincingly, that the truth feels like someone else's story.

But Marcus knows. He was there when I was turned. He's kept my secret all these years, but he holds it over me like a blade. One word from him and my authority crumbles. Born wolves don't follow turned wolves. That's the law. That's pack tradition going back centuries.

My sons don't know. Cormac and Callum believe they're pureblood, born wolf royalty. I've lied to them their entire lives. Better they never learn their father's a fraud.

The journal falls from my hands.

Father was turned. Not born. Everything about our family, our authority, our legitimacy is built on a lie. The bloodline I'm supposed to inherit is fake.

I grab the second journal. More entries, more details. Father was human once. Twenty-five years old, working in London, got bitten during a random attack. He survived the turning, joined a pack, proved himself strong enough to challenge for Alpha, won, and then spent the rest of his life pretending he'd been born to it.

The current pack doesn't know. Most of them weren't alive when it happened. Marcus knows. That's the leverage he has, the reason Father tolerated his criticism all these years.

I'm not born wolf. Not really. Father was turned, which makes Callum and me born wolf by technicality, but our bloodline's tainted. If this gets out, traditionalists will tear me apart. They already question my authority. This would end it.

I read faster. Deals with vampires. Father paid Lord Mordaunt for discretion, for political backing, for smoothing over supernatural politics. Money and favors spanning decades. We're in debt to vampires, to dragons, to creatures I didn't know we had relationships with.

The financial arrangements are worse. Pack assets mortgaged. Territory leases instead of ownership. From the outside, the Brennan pack looks wealthy. From these journals, we're barely solvent. One bad year and we lose everything.

Father built an empire on deception and debt.

And now it's mine.

Voices from the next room. I freeze, listening.

"The pack needs clarity." That's Beta Declan. My uncle, Father's brother, the wolf I'm supposed to trust most.

"We're all grieving." Marcus. Of course he's still here. Of course he's steering this conversation. "But grief doesn't change pack law. We need proper succession."

"Cormac's the heir. Ronan was clear about that."

"Ronan died before completing the ceremony. The inheritance isn't official." Another voice. Elena, I think. "We should at least discuss whether automatic succession is wise."

"You want to discuss overthrowing Ronan's wishes the night he died?"

"I want to discuss what's best for the pack. Cormac's young. Inexperienced. Hot-headed."

"Callum's the same age."

"But steadier. More thoughtful. Less obsessed with proving himself."

My hands clench around the journal. They're talking about Callum. They're suggesting Callum could be Alpha instead of me.

"Callum doesn't want to be Alpha," Declan says.

"Have you asked him? Or are we assuming born order settles everything?"

"Birth order matters. It's tradition."

"So is strength. So is temperament. So is pack approval." Marcus again. "I'm not saying Cormac shouldn't be Alpha. I'm saying we should consider both twins before making it official. Let them prove themselves. Let the pack see who's actually better suited."

Silence. Then Declan, carefully: "You're suggesting a challenge."

"I'm suggesting a proper process. Interview them both. Assess their capabilities. Maybe even let the pack vote."

"We don't vote for Alphas."

"We do when succession is unclear. This is unclear, Declan. You know it is. Ronan died mid-ceremony. That's unprecedented. We're in uncharted territory."

More voices joining. Agreement, disagreement, debate. The pack's fracturing over this. Over me.

Over Callum.

I stand and move to the mirror above the fireplace. I look at my reflection. Dark hair, amber eyes, the face I've seen every day of my life. Father's face. Alpha's face.

Except I see Callum looking back at me.

Same features. Same build. Same everything. We're identical. Most wolves can't tell us apart unless we're in the same room. That's the problem. Every time they see me, they're reminded that Callum exists. That there's another option.

Father made me heir because I was born first. Seven minutes. That's the only reason I get the pack and Callum doesn't. Seven minutes of biological accident.

What if Marcus is right? What if birth order isn't enough anymore? What if the pack wants to choose?

They'll choose Callum. He's likable. Patient. Doesn't need to prove anything because he's never expected anything. People trust him because he doesn't threaten them.

I threaten them just by existing with authority.

The journals sit on Father's desk. Evidence of every lie, every secret, every compromise. Evidence that our bloodline's tainted. Evidence that I'm not the born wolf heir everyone thinks I am.

If this gets out, I lose everything. Marcus knows about Father's turning. He's kept it secret for decades. But what if he decides to reveal it now? What if he uses it to support Callum's claim?

"The pack deserves the best Alpha," Marcus is saying in the other room. "Not just the eldest. We should examine both candidates carefully before deciding."

They're not going to let this go. Even if I'm named Alpha, there'll always be questions. Always be whispers that maybe Callum should have been chosen instead. Always be challenges to my authority because I got here by seven minutes and not by merit.

Unless.

The thought appears fully formed. Cold and clear and obvious.

Unless Callum's not an option anymore.

Not dead. That would be too suspicious. But discredited. Ruined. Turned into someone the pack would never follow. Someone they'd be embarrassed they ever considered.

I look at my reflection again. Same face. Same blood. My brother.

My twin.

My threat.

Father built everything on lies. Maybe that's the real inheritance. Not the pack, not the territory. The willingness to do whatever's necessary to hold power. To protect what's mine.

I gather the journals, lock them in the safe, close the panel. These secrets stay buried. Father's turning, the debts, the deals with vampires. No one needs to know. Especially not Callum.

Especially not the pack who's currently debating whether my brother should replace me.

I straighten my jacket, check my reflection one more time. Alpha face. Confident. In control. Not afraid.

I unlock the study door and step into the hall. Declan's there with Marcus and Elena and three other pack elders. They stop talking when they see me.

"We need to discuss succession," Marcus says.

"I know what you need to discuss. I heard you." I meet his eyes. Marcus knows about Father's turning. He's been holding that secret as leverage for decades. He thinks I don't know. "But here's what's going to happen. Father wanted me to be Alpha. I'm firstborn. Pack law supports me. This isn't a democracy."

"The pack has questions," Elena says.

"The pack can ask them. But the answer won't change. I'm the heir. If anyone wants to challenge that, they know the process. Formal challenge, combat, winner takes all."

"No one's talking about challenges," Declan says quickly. "We're talking about procedure."

"Procedure's simple. I'm Alpha. You're Beta. We lead. Same as Father and you led." I look at Marcus. "Unless you have something to say that changes that?"

He holds my stare. Calculating. Wondering if I know what he knows. Deciding whether to reveal Father's secret now or hold onto it.

He chooses silence. Smart man.

"We'll need to hold a pack meeting," he says finally. "Get everyone's buy-in."

"Fine. Tomorrow night. We'll make it official." I turn to leave, then pause. "And someone should tell my brother. He'll want to know the succession's settled."

I don't wait for responses. I walk down the hall to my room and close the door.

My room. Not Father's. I'm not moving into the Alpha's quarters yet. That feels presumptuous. Like I'm stealing something that might not be mine.

But it will be mine. I'll make sure of it.

Callum trusts me. That's the advantage. He has no idea I'm a threat to him. He thinks we're on the same side. Thinks we'll lead together, him as Beta, supporting my rule.

He's wrong.

There's only room for one of us at the top. And I was born first.

Seven minutes. That's all I have over him. Seven minutes and the willingness to do what's necessary.

Father lied for decades. Deceived everyone. Built authority on fraud and maintained it through compromise and manipulation.

I can do the same.

I will do the same.

Whatever it takes, the Alpha position is mine. And Callum cannot be allowed to threaten it.