Alastair Carstairs Novels & Stories

The room was heavy with the smell of old leather, fine brandy, and the bitter sting of desperation. Alistair wasn't drinking. He was just sitting in his tall-backed chair, staring at a single sheet of paper on the massive, bare desk. His face, usually ruddy with energy, was a grey, slack mask. "Father?" Alistair didn't raise his head. His voice was a rasp, lacking its former commanding presence. "Jonathan Crestwell." He said the name as if it were both a curse and a prayer combined. "My oldest friend. We started this company together. Did I ever tell you that? We built the first circuit board on his mother's kitchen table."

He was his only comrade. "Come in!" He invited cheerfully, slowly walking back to his mattress, swallowing the cries of pain that yearned to erupt again. He slowly sat down and watched as a happy Alastair walked bounced into his chambers, carrying a tiny basket, Caesar chuckled when he saw how the basket was bigger than him but carried it with no sweats, just the way a normal Lycan child was supposed to be, something he failed to become. Alastair halted on his little feet when his little blue robs landed on the patterns on his big brother's back.

I gritted out. Alistair's face twisted. "Because that geriatric asshole refused to give me the Carlisle residence! He said I was rotten at heart and wasn't worthy to marry into your family! Since he wouldn't hand it over, I took it from him! Zoe Carlisle, everything you have now is built on your grandfather's corpse!" I shot to my feet and slammed my fist against the glass. "Alistair, you monster!" The prison guards immediately stepped forward to restrain me.

Only a few elder wolves stood near the perimeter, talking in low, muted registers. “You can't stand the smell of the corporate dens either, can you?” Alistair asked, a faint, genuine smile returning to his lips. “To be honest, I can't endure it. I only agreed to step onto the red carpet tonight because my mother used every guilt-mark in the book to force my transport.” He didn't belong in this world of scheming franchises and blood-debts; his spirit was born for the quiet safety of the medical wards, far from the greed of the Herbert dynasty.

When he wanted something someone else had, the difference for him was that it didn’t matter what age he was, he would always find it in his grasp sooner or later. Miss Mage would be no different. When Hector had left, Alastair turned to his brother whose appearance here had been suspiciously regular, he felt a threat when ever Dwayne came by and when he noticed the stare he gave Alexis he realised what was happening. Memories of small Alastair playing with his only toy which was crafted by Amelia from wood, it was a carriage and he would take it everywhere. That also meant to the main castle when there was a ball that all royal blood had to attend.

“Yes, princess. Let’s eat. And you can tell us everything you want to do on the trip.” ×. ×. × Alastair arrived at the mansion just as the sun was setting. He parked his sleek black car and stepped out with a bright smile, carrying a large gift bag filled with toys. Declan opened the door before he could knock. “Brother!” Alastair said warmly, pulling Declan into a tight hug. “You look so much better. I’m glad I could stop by.” Declan hugged him back with his good arm. “Come in. Everyone’s waiting.”

Cole and Brett flanked Carr as he walked to the first car to welcome the distinguished looking gentleman who stepped out of the back seat. Alistair Alexander watched the approaching Alpha. He was young, untried. This would either solidify his hold on this pack, or destroy it. Alistair had come to this country from Scotland along with Carr's grandfather. He'd known Carr his entire life and liked the young man. He hoped he was up to the challenge and the tough decisions he would have to make. He stepped out into the sunlight and squinted as Carr reached him, holding out a hand. Alistair smiled as he gripped it. "Hello Carr, sorry I have to see you in such dark circumstances. The Council decide

Alistair Sterling was already there. Alistair was old money in a way that made my wealth look like nouveau riche aggression. He was heir to a shipping empire, a man who viewed chaos with the amused detachment of someone who had never had to fight for a meal in his life. He was also the only person who had known me since boarding school. "You look like you just won a war, or started one," Alistair drawled, lifting his glass as I slid into the booth opposite him. "I ended one," I corrected, signaling the waitress. "Macallan. Neat. Leave the bottle."

"My Lady, please be careful." I ignored Osiris's warning. The moment May informed me that Alistair had come back from the monster subjugation, without thinking I abandoned the piano I was playing and ran as fast as I could to the entrance. There, I saw him. Alistair, still in his military uniform, got off of his tall white horse befitting a prince. His silver hair blown by the wind moved graciously, a perfectly sculpted face as beautiful as ever. It was like a scene from some ethereal illustration, or an amazing painting of some angel.

She elaborated and reached the last step. Calmly, Alastair walked forward and offered his hand to her. She gently took it and lifted her skirt. The perfect royal consort. Graceful. Poised. And Alastair as the perfect gentleman. It seemed as if she had grown closer to them as well. Miraculously.