Wait

Death was never an easy thing to deal with, knowing death was near and lingering just out of reach was even worse.

In a large bedroom fit for royalty a small group was gathered around a four post bed. Death had taunted and teased for many months and a bedridden man had called all those important to him to gather one last time.

He sat, propped up by many pillows, and stared at those who had arrived. Their many faces were grim and filled with sorrow, all eventually bowed their heads in respect.

All but one.

One person in the room dared look him in the eye which brought an instant smile to the lips of the dying man. The man was tall and broad shouldered with shoulder length black hair and amber coloured eyes. He had a handsome face and olive skin but an attitude that repelled many around him.

"You're the spitting image of me." The sick frail man laughed and then coughed. "If only I were thirty years younger and filled with a little more life."

His son, his only child, stood stone faced and cold. But that was not the least bit surprising. He would have been shocked if his son showed any sorrow or emotion.

"As you all know," the bedridden man struggled to speak, his throat was dry but no amount of water could quench his thirst, "the end for me is near." Despite the grim reason for why he had called the bedside meeting he felt positive and somewhat joyful. The old man struggled as it became difficult and uncomfortable to speak.

Those gathered around the bed looked up from the floor, they had never seen the man in such a state. He had been powerful and strong and loved by many, as he lay in his bed he was a shell, a shadow of his former self.

Motioning for his son to sit next to him he dismissed all others. There was only one that truly needed to be in the room.

Many lingered, unsure of whether or not they should leave.

Another young man stepped forward, a harsh scowl twisting the features on his face, "leave. Everyone leave now. The Alpha wishes to speak to his son in private." The man growling all those left in the room was dark haired, light eyed and ill tempered. After corralling everyone out the door and in to the corridor beyond the young man returned.

"You leave too," the frail voice made the young man stop in his tracks. Looking up at the old man and his son he waited, "I wish to speak with my son, you are not my son Reid. Leave."

The man's scowl darkened, his heart was crushed at the harsh rejection but he turned on the ball of his heel and walked from the room. Pushing past those he had forced out earlier their calls for his return went unanswered.

In the now quiet bedroom the elderly man looked up at his son sitting next to him, "my time has come Maxen, I'm sure you'd be pleased to hear that."

The younger of the two men frowned, his brow pulled together in frustration, "how can you say that you old coot."

Another weak smile graced the old mans lips, he'd struck a nerve with his son. "As much as I want to sit here arguing with you, you must end my life and take the mantle of Alpha." His voice was just a whisper but with no others present he could hear his father with ease. His words and intent behind his words was obvious.

"I cannot," Maxen responded with a whisper. He had been trained and groomed his entire life for the moment he was in and he could not bring himself to do such a despicable thing to the man that raised him.

"You must, if you can grant me this one mercy in life I would be forever grateful son." The old man looked up at his only child lovingly.

"You realise you are asking me to murder you father?" The words tasted foul in his mouth and made his stomach churn.

"It is not murder if I am consenting to it. I am in such pain Max, help me." The plea to end his life only heightened all the emotions swirling within Maxen. He was scared, fearful and frightened but he understood his father's wishes, despite not wanting to carry them out.

No one as strong as his father wanted their death prolonged as his had been. The illness was a mystery that no one could solve, it moved rapidly and deteriorated his body faster than anyone could imagine, he had been bed ridden for many weeks and it had pained Maxen greatly to see his father in such a state, so he rarely visited.

"There, on the nightstand, the Doctor prepared a concoction to help me on my way. Do this for me please, let me rest in peace."

Maxen faltered as he reached for the small vial, "will it hurt?"

"Boy!" The old man's weak voice croaked in disapproval, "are you a child or a man? I am beginning to think I made the wrong choice in naming you my successor."

The anger in his father made Maxen stand from the bed, his head was a jumble of thoughts, he didn't want his father dead at his hands but he wanted to take the pain away. Striding towards the nightstand he took hold of a small vial, the clear liquid inside was a mystery but if it did what his father said it would then the old man would be free.

"Don't let fear cloud your judgement Maxen, be strong, trust in yourself and those you hold nearest. Your intuition, your smarts and your strength are your greatest traits, use them wisely to help you through this life you inherit from me."

His father coughed again, this time there was blood. Maxen gripped the vial and rushed to his father's side, "you have a good heart son but hearts are easy to break and difficult to mend. Guard yours fiercely."

Removing the cap from the small vial Maxen didn't have much say in when he gave it to his father, the old man nudged him weakly until he acquised.

Placing the small vial against his father's lips Maxen locked eyes with the old man once more, "do it son."

Without another thought Maxen lifted the vial and emptied the contents into his father's mouth. He closed his eyes one last time, "I'm proud-"

The sick frail man grew silent, Maxen noted his father was no longer breathing, he was gone.

For a long moment the younger man sat on the edge of his father's bed with tears in his eyes. His heart pounded ferociously in his chest, his breathing was short and somewhat panicked as he struggled with his thoughts and struggled to contain his emotions.

Closing his eyes he remembered his fathers words, the pain he was in and his pleas for freedom from his illness. He recalled the long nights he had spent helping to care for his father and how difficult it had been.

Opening his eyes slowly Maxen looked down at the vial in his hands he dropped it on the floor and watched it roll under the bed, "travel well old man."

Maxen let his sorrow linger for a moment before standing from the bed, he looked down at his father, the man was finally at peace, he had entered his eternal slumber which meant two things. Maxen was now Alpha and he would soon have to bury the only family he had left.

Walking towards the doors of the bedroom he pulled both door handles and let the double doors swing open.

Stepping out into the corridor beyond he saw all those who had previously gathered stand at attention, "Alpha Dorian?" One of the group asked.

"He's dead. I killed him."

Everyone bowed their heads in his presence, "long live Alpha Maxen, King of the Wolves."

A ripple of fear washed through his subjects, he felt it. As soon as he mentioned his father's death and that he was responsible, he felt it.