Chapter Three: The Blood of the Heir

Kaelen

“I hate this tie. Bring me the other one.”

Mandi scurried around the bed to fetch the alternative I’d laid out—the gold silk with midnight-blue stripes. She held it out with her eyes downcast, a trembling little bird. I snatched the tie from her hands and wrapped it around my neck, tucking it beneath my collar and knotting it with deliberate precision as I watched my reflection.

She didn’t seem to grasp the significance of the occasion. I needed to look the part.

I was about to be named Alpha.

I smiled at my reflection and smoothed a hand over my short-cropped hair. The white-blond stubble was baby-soft; it would curl like a halo if I ever abandoned my crew cut.

Alpha Kaelen.

The title sent a thrill through me. I’d once thought I would have to kill the old man to claim it. But after my mother died, I realized I wouldn’t need to. All I had to do was wait while he drowned in his grief, his strength bleeding out one day at a time. I simply stood by and watched him rot. His weakness had been a gift. As the pack wilted with him, it became clear a strong hand was needed to pull them back onto the right path—my path.

Watching him decay over the past year had been strangely satisfying, but it was nothing compared to the climax of finally taking Night Rising from him. The thought sent a pulse of genuine excitement through me. I forced it down. An Alpha didn’t fidget like a child before a holiday. I needed to appear calm, controlled, inevitable.

Mandi was staring again, those wide eyes darting to the floor whenever I moved. She was small, barely five feet tall, always cringing as if trying to fold herself out of existence. Her cheap floral perfume clung to the air like syrup, failing to disguise the scent of her fear. Pathetic.

Despite being dressed up for the ceremony, she still looked common. The blue dress hung from her narrow shoulders like something borrowed from another woman’s closet. It didn’t matter. She would never be on the stage beside me. She’d be lost in the crowd—exactly where she belonged. Her place was here, in the bedroom, in silence.

I adjusted my cufflinks and let my gaze sweep across the room. Starting today, everything changed. I decided how things would be—how people would act, how they would address me, how they would fear me. No more deference to that ineffectual excuse for a man, my stepfather, the former Alpha Julian.

I was already planning the renovations. Julian could keep his dark, musty cave on the far side of the house. My quarters would become the new Alpha suite. I’d knock out the walls, add French doors, and build a balcony overlooking the training grounds. The pack would learn to look up to me—literally. I’d expand the bathroom, too, install a jet-massage tub. 

Power deserved comfort.

I straightened my tie, rolled my shoulders, and headed out.

Outside, the pack house loomed behind me like an old monument, its brick walls half-swallowed by creeping ivy. The air carried the scent of pine and damp earth, sharp and alive. The portable stage gleamed ahead, set up across the training grounds, with neat rows of folding chairs packed with my future subjects—about a hundred and fifty in all. The hum of quiet conversation stilled as I approached.

Julian was already seated with the Elder Council. He had brushed his hair and tied it back, even shaved that miserable beard. His jaw looked naked, almost frail. Without the whiskers, his face was all bone and shadow. He rose when I reached him and offered his hand.

Even with the extra heel in my boots, I only came up to his shoulder. The reminder irritated me. I pushed my shoulders back, chin high, the picture of confidence. Behind him, the sunlight spilled across the field, bright and hot, washing everything in gold. It felt like stepping into my own coronation.

“Father,” I said, taking his cold hand. My mother had insisted I call him that, but it had never felt right on my tongue. My real father was dead. My mother was gone. Soon, Julian would be nothing but dust. The last restraint on my life was about to fall away.

Julian turned to the crowd and began his farewell speech. “It’s been an honor to serve you…”

Honor. He actually wept as he said it, tears sliding down those sunken cheeks. The sight turned my stomach. What kind of Alpha weeps in front of his pack? Weakness like that was contagious. And worse, others were crying too—grown wolves wiping their eyes, bowing their heads.

All that sentimentality gave me gas.

Finally, he turned to me. One of the elders approached with the ceremonial knife and chalice. Tradition demanded blood, though there was nothing sacred about it. Just another relic of the old order. Julian slashed the knife across his palm, squeezing until blood dripped into the cup. His hand shook. Pathetic. He passed the dagger to me.

I used the clean side of the blade and nicked my skin, but barely drew a drop. Someone in the crowd snickered.

Heat burned through my chest. I jabbed the point into my palm, cutting deep. Blood spilled freely, hot and slick.

“Night Rising, I present your Alpha!” Julian’s voice wavered as he lifted my hand. My blood ran down my wrist and into my sleeve, staining the cuff.

The applause was polite, subdued. Not enthusiastic. That stung, though I kept my face composed. They didn’t know me yet. They would. I would teach them to respect me—to fear me.

I stepped forward when it was time to speak. Their eyes were downcast, their grief heavy in the air. They were mourning Julian, not celebrating me. Fools. They’d learn soon enough who truly led them.

“I know we are all sad to see Alpha Julian step down today,” I began smoothly. “But I am honored that he has entrusted me to lead.” The words tasted like ashes, but they served their purpose.

In time, they would forget his softness and remember only my strength.

The ceremony ended. I stood tall as people came to shake my hand, offering congratulations, calling me Alpha. The sound pleased me. The word fit.

We moved into the dining hall for the banquet. I claimed the seat at the head of the table—the one that had belonged to Julian. He was nowhere to be seen. Disappointing. I’d wanted him to watch me sit in his chair, to feel the weight of his failure.

His absence disgusted me. Typical of him to vanish before the final blow landed. He was like a mangy dog rolling onto his back, belly exposed. Even before my mother’s death, he had been too soft—preaching about “unity” and “family.”

My gaze slid across the hall to Mandi, hunched at a back table, chewing in silence. Her mousy brown hair fell forward, hiding her face. If she represented the future of this pack, we were in trouble.

The dining hall itself was another problem. My mother had decorated it—warm maple paneling, cheerful curtains. Too bright, too domestic. Today, the air felt thick, heavy with unease. Conversations were hushed, the clink of cutlery timid.

Let them doubt. It wouldn’t last.

I stabbed my fork into the roast. Dry. I’d have words with the kitchen staff later. There were so many things to fix. But not today. Today, I’d let them adjust to their new Alpha.

Come Monday, I’d begin the reforms—training schedules, ranking tests, border expansions. Night Rising would live up to its name.

Under me, it would burn brighter than ever.