Gallen Chaliceman sat alone in the luxurious comforts of a dimly lit study, a cigar left to smolder in the ashtray while his eyes, so purely blue, like those of his father and that of his sons, read over the daily news paper. Hair that was once of the deepest black now stood out a snowy white in contrast to the still youthful features. The man was handsome nearing into his fifties but he no longer possessed the strength he had as a younger wolf and he feared his eldest sons actions would soon push him from his birth right. Marik’s claims were hardly disputable; Gaerik was a wild card - his behavior still reactionary like those of a pup where as Marik had always been the son whose moral compass pointed true north.
Their petty fights over the years had created a rift between the brothers long ago and now as adults the twins were like that of mortal enemies to one another, but what could Gallen do to right those wrongs? Bringing the whiskey glass to his lips he could not repair his own mistakes in raising them. Almost pitting the two pups against one another for sport to see who was the strongest. Perhaps had their mother not died in childbirth they would all be different today?
Gallen saw both of his children going down two completely different paths and he was powerless to stop them. His relationship with Marik after tonight would never be repaired - but what could he do? He had forbid a hunting party to go after his own son, one that would be lead by his very own brother. Gallen knew his sons better than either gave him credit for. Marik would chase Gaerik to the very ends of the earth if need be to bring him to justice for his crimes, not only crimes that put the fate of their pack in danger but to those of innocents alike. Nearly over sixty years ago the status of Alpha was retired for a newer, more progressive way of handling their affairs and it had worked quiet well as the packs adapted to new ways. Gaerik would be the second son to carry on that legacy and he was throwing it all away.
Gallen did not want to believe that his son would be so foolish and so sloppy as to dispose of a body this close to their home where evidence of their existence would be linked back, and yet Marik was all but positive that he knew Gaerik had committed this crime. The pup had been dangerously close to exposing them countless times and Gallen let it all go with the promise from his son that it would never happen again. He was too easy on Gaerik where as he had ruled Marik with an iron fist.
He was left with the hardest decision of his life as he turned to the large bay window, his long legs stretched out before him, the coming blizzard outside swirling around him made the naturally hot blooded man shiver as he placed his finger against the contact of his smart phone. Marik would inherit the title of Council Head, it was the only decision he could make while he sent his other son to live the life of an a lone wolf, practically giving him permission to flee from his crimes for his heart could not take seeing his punishment carried out.
“Gaerik.” he spoke into the phone, the connection fading in and out as the storm built around them. “You must listen to your father, your Alpha and obey my word. Do not question me. The council will have you’re life if you do not heed my warning. Run, boy. Run.”
Without another word Gallen hung up the phone, the grumble of the Alpha, a natural instinct, not made or groomed into existence but born still lingered in his throat as he looked down into his lap. “God help me.” He whispered to himself for Gallen knew, his son no longer had protection within the pack.
His gaze searched deep within the swirling white of snow as he sat in the warm confines of his BMW, windshield wipers sweeping snow from the glass. Gaerik’s eyes saw through the snow at the late shoppers scrambling for supplies as Blizzard Colby pitched his fight against Connecticut. He wasn’t there to pick up bread and coco for the long winters night, but to watch the progress of his obsession as even she herself seemed to be unprepared. As a writer shouldn’t she have been more organized?
Distracted from his mission by the LED screen on his phone lighting up, his father’s name on the display he slid the screen placing the phone to his ear.
“Dad, I really don’t have the time to talk.” But before he could get another word in he was cut off by his father’s voice. The tone dropping from the deep baritone that was used in every day conversation to something deeper, harder, demanding of respect and obedience. The pupils of his eyes shrinking and beating with the rhythm of his pulse. Gaerik Chaliceman had never taken his father so seriously as he spoke the words, “Run boy. Run.”
Dropping the phone onto the passenger seat his heart raced, pounding like the wind that rattled the lamp posts and pushed empty shopping carts across the parking lot of their own accord. His exploits had never been anything but mild playthings but he had never killed any of them. Gallen had taught him better then that, you never so carelessly left a body on your own back step. How could Marik honestly believe he was capable of so much stupidity? Gaerik guessed that he had never given his baby brother reason to think otherwise of him.
Putting the car into gear he saw her then, her coat tied around herself tightly, her hair tucked under a white beanie and the draw strings of her hood tightly drawn in around her face to protect herself from the wind. Could his obsession wait or was he about to make the brashest decision of his entire life and actually kidnap a woman? There was something about her, she knew far more about his people than any human had a right to. How did she know? Who was her source? By the time she was standing in front of her car his heart was leaping from his chest. Valuable time was being wasted. He would get back to Elle Marshall if he lived, but Gaerik valued one thing much more than anything else. His life.
Hitting the accelerator he sped out of the parking lot, his reflexes swift keeping the car from skidding on the ice and snow already beginning to become packed on the parking lots slick surface. The blood pounding in his ears, chanting, “Run. Run. Run.” In time with the howling of the wind around him as he sped onto the open road. “Run. Run. Run.”
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