Chapter 3 : Brother

Sebastian's POV

"Brother, if you're listening, I regret to inform you that your fiancé is a stone-cold bitch.," I say as I look up at the ceiling.

"F*cking Furies!" It took everything in me not to howl my frustration like a barely whelped pup. But here I was, in the library that you and Mother loved, drinking whiskey alone like an old drunk. It wasn't even half past 3:00, and the day was already shit. "Goddess above me, strike me down where I rest. Please."

It was in poor taste to say that, Alex's death still so fresh and Father's grief still so raw, but what was I to think? To say?

Narcissa was bleeding our coffers dry with this sham of a wedding, Tartarus bent on whatever deranged goal she had in mind.

Originally, Father had given me the money as part of my inheritance, a way for me to show what a capable leader I could be. I had planned to use it to fix major structural issues in the surrounding villages, maybe even start a home for packless women and children.

I was not sure how that would have been received; I knew most of the nobility would rather such women beg in the streets, a cautionary tale to those that would ignore decorum in polite society.

But Mother didn't raise her sons like that; she didn't raise us to spurn people or act as if we were their betters.

But Narcissa, oh, Narcissa—she was a piece of work, that one. "Whatever did you see in her, Brother? Was it solely her beauty, or did she once have a heart? Perhaps that was before your passing...." I muttered aloud.

Nevertheless, I thought this pity party should stop. If I was ever to be the true Alpha of the Obsidian Moon pack, then I had to have the respect of everyone in the pack, and that included Narcissa.

My mind made up, I left the library and headed for the throne room.

Father was on the throne, a couple of Diamond Spring sycophants leaning into him, trying to weasel more land treaties, no doubt. He looked…tired, haggard in the way of his that had become the norm since Alex's passing. Like his heart just simply wasn't in it anymore.

"Father," he startled, like a schoolchild who'd been caught daydreaming, and looked so thankful as to have an excuse to end the eternal droning of those around him.

"My boy!" Father stood, shaky at first, and I rushed to support him before the other vultures could. "Leave us."

"Your Majesty," the men bowed before turning opportunistic eyes at me. "Your highness."

I raised my hand in a sign of acknowledgment, rolling my eyes only when I was sure their backs were to me. Rude, certainly, but their posturing left me with little else to feel than disgust.

"Father, you should be in bed. Resting."

The doctors had been very clear that my father was a man of a certain age who'd been through a traumatic event. The strain on his heart worried them immensely.

At first, I'd brushed it off. True, Father was in the middle of his golden years, but he was hardly senile! Hale was the man who'd sired me, I argued. But looking back… looking back I think I'd blinded myself with the worry of losing another member of the family so soon.

First Mother, then Alex… Father was all I had left.

Even now, he felt feather light to my touch as I guided him back to his throne. He sank into the gilded wood, knuckles bone white as he held onto me.

"Bah! What do those eggheads know? Why I'd like to see any of them survive one year in court politics." He shrugged me off him and cracked his spine.

"Fetch me my goblet, lad! Then we'll see what you want."

I fetched his glass of watered-down wine and watched him bring it shakily to his lips. He jerked away from me like my kindness had burned him, and I moved a respectable distance back to give the man some space.

"How is it that you know I want something?"

"You never come to me otherwise," he said with a sardonic slant to his thin lips.

"I take it it's about the girl."

"Narcissa." Father looked at me, bored, waiting to get on with it. I fidgeted, suddenly feeling foolish and young. "She's been frivolous with her spending, ignoring my requests to curb her shopping. She's—"

"Stop, stop!" Father raised a hand, and my arguments died on my tongue. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, consternation written all over his face.

"Sebastian, you are going to be the Alpha one day. That day is coming sooner rather than later, my son. The court is not what it used to be. Loyalty can be bought, and the people want change."

"You fear there will be an uprising?" There had been talks, rumors really, but nothing that had weight to them. Heft. To hear Father speak about the matter so bluntly....

"I fear nothing, pup!" Father slammed a fist against his armrest, and a burst of Alpha energy quaked through him, rendering his eyes an acidic lemon yellow.

"And you forget your place! Narcissa comes from a strong pack, second only to ourselves. An alliance between the two packs would foster a force not even the Great Moon Goddess herself could ignore! A lineage like that could rule for centuries—no—a millennium! Long after I am dead, after you. Just think of such a legacy, my boy!"

But it was a legacy I'd never wanted. I wanted to help protect the kingdoms, unite the packs, not—not rule with an iron fist. Lead a reign forged by fear and ill will.

Father coughed, harsh wet hacks that had him wheezing into his fist, doubled over on his throne.

"But you?" He coughed again, face blood red and hateful. "You would probably pick some Omega slattern with some other bastard's pup in her belly. This role was never meant to be yours. It was supposed to be Alex's right," Father seethed, throwing the goblet at me, but it didn't have enough force to make it to me, let alone hit me.

I side-stepped out of the way when it finally rolled down the steps, and that only vexed him further. "I can see the look on your face, boy. You haven't the mettle—the fortitude—to be like me, like my father, like his before him. Too much like your mother, Goddesses bless her, but she made you boys weak. At least Alex had the ambition, the drive. You? Why, you'd rather wallow in the mud and play peasant! No wonder the girl walks all over you."

The barb would have stung more when we were younger.

I'd always known that Alex was Father's favorite, that I was the spare. Alex's shadow. He teased me about it, but I knew he'd never taken it really to heart like how I did. I don't think Alex ever realized how little Father cared for me when he—the golden child of his first mate—was around. But Mother and I never made Alex feel unwanted like how father had spurned us. Resented us. Hated us.

"At least Mother wouldn't have allowed the pack to suffer!" I could feel my hackles raise, the wolf in me snapping to correct the blatant disrespect. "You with your wreckless spending of the budget over the years, then demanding high tributes from the people. And you wonder why they speak of a revolution?"

"At least Alex—"

"At least Alex, as irresponsible as he could be, as careless as he was, was never cruel! Stupid! Prejudiced! If Mother hadn't died—"

"But she did, Sebastian!" Father exploded from his seat. Hands gripped me then claws. I felt a shift take me partially, snapping fangs at the shaggy gray wolf head in front of me. He hadn't shifted totally though, and he quickly shifted back to his human form.

Father's voice filled the room, angrier than I'd ever seen him. Far more infuriated than when the guard came back with the news that Alex's killer was still at large. "But, she did die, boy! Your mother died as she lived, a lowly little breeder of packless stock, who bled like a sow when you were six."

I hit him.

I know I shouldn't have, but I wasn't thinking when I'd struck Father.

All I could remember was how Alex had held me, how he cried with me when they laid Mother on the funeral pyre. I don't think I'd ever seen Alex cry since, not even when he'd laid there—bleeding—as I held his innards in my hand. Mother wasn't detritus, just something to be cast aside.

She was warm and kind and full of light.

'Kind of like that servant girl,' my mind treasonously snarked before I banished the thought away.

Father rubbed at his nose, a bright sheen of crimson on his forearm, and I tensed, ready for a brawl.

Instead, the old man did the most baffling thing I could think of; he laughed.

"We may make a man out of you yet." Blackened giggles curled by madness made him look like The Great Deceiver, the tainted God Fenrir of the Eclipse.

Unease settled in my stomach like a leaden weight, bruises on my knuckles already healing. Father spit out a fang, still cackling, "Now leave me, boy, and don't return for the rest of the night."

I didn't have to be told twice.

The unexpected outcome and the hint of respect I saw in him, coupled with the rush of violence in my veins—left me giddy. The rush of power through my veins was intoxicating; the pull of half full moon called to me. Before I knew it, my feet had taken me to Narcissa's door.

I knew why I was here.

To catch a glimpse of the new maid.

The one with bewitching eyes, innocent as a doe, eyes like no wolf I'd ever seen. With the most generous mouth…

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Ah, Nicolette! A maid Andreas had pointed out on several drunken occasions.

She curtsied, doing better than she had yesterday, though her back was still not straight enough. Such trivialities I could care less about, but she was mopping not far from Narcissa's quarters, and I knew how particular she could be with the help.

"You Highness," her voice was like the tinkling of a little bell, tiny and evanescent. That ever-present blush staining her cheeks a dusky rosewood.

"How can I assist you?"

"There was a girl—a woman," I corrected. "She's new to the castle, I think? She stands about this tall." I motioned to my chest. Nicolette tilted her head, imagining the girl. "Dark locks and skin a tawny fawn?"

"Oh, that could be any number of girls," Nicolette twisted her fingers together.

"Do you happen to remember what she was wearing?"

'Too many clothes,' my mind gleefully supplied. Ugh, don't be a pig, man. Out my mouth, I said, "An olive skirt and a cream-colored shirt."

"Oh! That's Ayda!" So that was her name. It sounded almost familiar in a way. Like I'd heard it somewhere before… "She was hired by Narcissa to be her stylist for all the upcoming events."

"Ayda," even the taste of it on my mouth was familiar....

I was pulled into a memory—of the night Alex died.

It was fragmented by grief and drink. Of chaotic light and hypnotic sound, of leather and smoke. Gunpowder and bawdy songs and fat-bottomed Omegas squealing on laps. My brother, full of life, golden head back as he laughed.

Andreas was in the corner, scraping his shoe. A woman, a woman! There was a woman! The press of her petal-soft lips against mine. The way I ground into her feminine plushness as we danced, intoxicated by wine and each other. The smell of her perfume, of oud and rose and sweetness—

The way she felt around me when I—

And just like that, with a blink, the memory was gone.

I was left with nothing but the smell of her perfume, a longing, and a tightness in my trousers.