The Pack Competition

Asher’s POV

“Learn how to fucking drive!”

I hit the horn as the idiot ahead of me swerves across the lane again. Instead of correcting himself, he slows down, making my temper flare. “Brilliant,” I mutter, sinking into my seat.

“Why hurry? It's not like I have a life.”

My phone buzzes on the passenger seat, but I ignore it. If this coach is calling to complain about me leaving before his usual lecture on discipline, he can talk to himself and if my  professor wants to remind me about Thursday's research deadline then he can do that too but I'm done dealing with people today.

Practice was a disaster, my academic work is piling up with assignment due tonight, and I have another early-morning training session tomorrow with a sponsor photoshoot I've postponed twice and three unanswered messages from my father, and it's safe to say my day couldn't get any worse.

All I want is to go home, shower, eat, and sleep without hearing anything about sports, school or my future as an Alpha but apparently, the universe has other plans because by the time I reach my apartment's underground parking lot, my anger increased. I grab my sports bag and head upstairs, already imagining the hot shower waiting for me but the moment I unlock my front door, something feels wrong because the lights are on.

I distinctly remember switching them off before leaving,  "Your father." Onyx, my wolf informs me as I push the door open but I don't need him to tell me because my father's scent has already reached my nose and there he is, comfortably seated on my couch as if he owns the place.

A glass of water sits on the table before him, while two bodyguards stand nearby, I drop my bag onto the floor. “Making yourself comfortable in my house, aren't you?”

I shut the door behind me. “How the hell did you even get inside?”

He doesn't answer. Instead, his eyes travels over me, pausing at the bruising on my elbow and the darker mark spreading across my knee.

For a moment, I wonder whether he's concerned then I remember who I'm dealing with.

He's probably preparing another speech about how hockey is distracting me from my responsibilities as Silvercrest's future Alpha.

Funny how he has another son, yet somehow every aspect of my life remains his personal business.n“That knee looks terrible,” he remarks.

“I'll survive.” I slip my hands into my pockets.

“Now, how did you get my access code?”

He ignores the question and points toward the opposite couch. “Sit down.”

I stare at him, In my own apartment?

“No, thanks.”

His expression tightens, but he eventually waves away my refusal. “Suit yourself. You need to stop shutting me out, Asher. A father and son shouldn't behave like strangers. The Moon Goddess intended families to respect and support one another.”

I suppress an exhausted sigh because family, tradition, and the Goddess...tose three words always appear whenever my father wants to be in control of something. “What do you want?”

“My grades are fine,” I interrupt before he can begin another lecture.

“I'm handling my research, and nothing has gone wrong. So unless the pack is on fire, tell me why you're here.”

His face becomes serious. “Have you heard about the revisions to the Promotion Trials?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, you've got to be kidding me. He invaded my privacy to discuss that ridiculous competition?

Once a year, the next generation of Alpha leaders faced off in a series of trials that tested their fighting abilities, strategic thinking, and understanding of pack traditions and laws, all to prove who deserved to stand above the rest.

The whole event had always struck me as an elaborate contest for powerful families to show off.

The heirs competed for a week, the organizers announced the rankings, and everyone returned home with a trophy or a bruised ego but my father insisted I participate every year, leaving me little room to refuse.

I attended, completed the challenges, and got on with my life.

There was another reason I kept showing up, but I had no intention of discussing that with him.b“What about the Trials?” I ask.

“The regulations have been revised.”

I give him an incredulous look. “You broke into my apartment because of a rule change?”

“This year's results will determine the political and economic standing of every participating pack.”

He sets his glass down. “The rankings will influence financial support, access to anti-rogue medication, trade privileges, and political leverage for the next five years.”

My irritation begins to fade because this is different. Previously, the Trials had been little more than a competition and whatever happened during the event rarely affected the established order.

Now, the outcome could determine which packs prospered and which struggled to survive.

Apparently, the Council had decided that family names and generations of influence would no longer guarantee anyone a place at the top, I fold my arms. “Who came up with this genius plan?”

“The High Council.”

He sat farther into the couch, watching me carefully. “Silvercrest's future now depends on your performance.”

Why wouldn't the fate of an entire pack be placed on my shoulders?

But before I can respond, he adds another detail. “And there's something else. The heir who finishes in first place will receive a provisional seat on the High Council.”

I stare at him because now, that changes everything.