Chapter 1
Carter
Thwack - Thwack - Thwack
The sound of my axe hitting the log echoes around the yard. A pool of sweat has already been building across my back despite the cold day, and the constant labour has caused the dampness to seep through my shirt.
It’s hard work but I don’t care, this is one of my more relaxing chores.
The loud thuds calm me and cancel out the thoughts running through my mind. With every blow, I can forget about the worries my pack currently faces, I can ignore how our alpha is getting old and how his son is hardly fit to take his role.
Nevermind the fact that it’s not my job to worry about these things, I wasn’t born a Beta, never mind an Alpha. I’m a glorified handyman, happy to pick up the pieces where I can and keep this place running without any of the credit.
I mean, seeing the toll it’s taken on Alpha Erik, credit is the last thing I’m after these days. He looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders and it pains us all to know that there’s nothing we can do to help.
Our pack might be one of the oldest, but we’re slowly disappearing. Our people keep finding mates far away and leaving, something we can hardly judge them for. Finding our other half is what we all dream of, but there’s no denying the strain left on those remaining behind.
A lot of our men have had to take jobs with the humans, something our kind prefers to avoid. But it’s our only option when the bills come in and the income of our land isn’t up to it. The only reason I haven’t done the same is because Alpha Erik needs me here, he practically raised me after my father died 15 years ago and his son, Danny certainly isn’t stepping up to the plate.
So I’m left with the mending, the gathering, the building and whatever else this place needs from me. Believe me, I’m happy to do it, but it’s hard not to see the bigger picture.
Alpha Erik confides a lot in me, probably because he still thinks of me as the scrawny young boy asking for more jobs to distract himself from the loss of a father. He liked that I did that, that I asked for more and never complained about what was given to me. So I was able to gain his respect quite early.
I didn’t know much, but I was a good listener and so it’s almost second nature for him now to think aloud when I’m near. It means that he can get things off his chest and if the price of that is a bit of added stress on my side then so be it.
He’s our alpha and it’s the least I can do.
Flakes start to fall from the sky as I place the last stump upon my chopping block. It feels selfish to say but I’m glad we’re having a cold winter, because like I said, this is one of my more relaxing tasks.
People know to leave me be when I’m out here, they know that all of this wood is needed to heat our cabins and I’d be lying if I said I was receptive to small talk when trying to get in the zone. No matter how much I pile up, it never seems to be enough anymore. But I’ve had a productive day and will have another chance tomorrow to go out and source another load.
I carry my last batch over to the stand where it’s kept and half-heartedly brush off the splinters coating my clothes and the majority of the stone yard behind me.
The window of the kitchen facing me is steamed from the heat inside, and I feel a small sense of pride in knowing that it’s able to do that because of my hard work. My pack is warm and my job is done.
When I enter, Luna Gracie is bending down to take a couple of trays out of the oven, and to save her the strain, I quickly swoop in and take over. Like her mate, she’s starting to get to the age where I worry for her. Nevermind the fact that her role among us is not just of Luna but as cook for our people too. That would be a lot for anyone.
She swats me with her tea towel however, as this is an opinion we clearly don’t share, “You’re sweating all over my casseroles!”
“It’ll add to the flavour,” I smirk as I close the oven door and reach for a paper towel to wipe my face. I’ve forgotten that I’m not exactly kitchen-friendly right now, but my instinct to help her always comes first.
“And you’ll burn your fingers doing it that way!” She adds as an afterthought when noticing my habit of grabbing things with my bare hands. But what’s the point of the advanced healing with being a werewolf if I can’t use it to save time?
Besides, I hardly feel those sorts of things anymore. I’m used to it.
“I’d take a dozen more burns if it meant you’d let me help,” I say knowing she’d far sooner burn her own fingers than endanger anyone else’s.
Rather than reply though, she rolls her eyes at me and busies herself by finishing the meal for tonight. The smell of the casseroles, the buttered greens and the mashed potatoes have my mouth watering already so I hurry to leave and clean up.
There’ll only be 30 or so of us at dinner tonight, 50 of us in the pack in total which is a tough number to swallow. But it means sitting down together always has a homey feel to it. I’ll be able to ask how my sister’s university class was (Remote, of course) and if my mother is finally warming to the human children she’s had to go out there to teach.
A part of me hates that she has to do this, and thinks that a real man shouldn’t let his mother take such a risk as exposing herself to the humans, but like a lot of things, it’s not something I can control.
The good of the pack comes before my pride, and maybe eventually it won’t sting so much to accept it.
