Chapter 107
Kassak's POV
I jolted awake, a silent scream trapped in my throat. The taste of brine and vinegar filled my mouth—a phantom sensation from thirty years ago when I'd been stuffed inside an oak pickle barrel at three years old. My tiny lungs had burned for air as I'd peered through the wooden slats, watching them butcher my pack.
Sweat drenched my back as I sat upright in bed, heart hammering against my ribs. Outside my window, Greenland's northern lights cast an eerie glow across my quarters, illuminating the walls covered with detailed maps of North American wolf territories. Red pins marked the locations of every major pack, with the Moonshade territory circled repeatedly in dark crimson.
I ran a hand over my face, fingers tracing the three deep scars that carved across my left cheek—a reminder of the day I'd fought my way out of that barrel after the slaughter had ended. Rising from the bed, I walked to the small desk where a single framed illustration stood: a family portrait I'd commissioned based on my fragmentary memories. A strong Alpha male with my same blood-red eyes, a beautiful she-wolf with a gentle smile, and between them, a small boy with no idea his world was about to end.
"Daniel," my mother had whispered as she'd pushed me into that barrel. "If you survive, avenge us."
"I did, Mother," I murmured to the empty room, my voice rough from sleep. "I'm not Daniel anymore. I'm Kassak Bloodrend, Alpha of the new Bloodclaw Pack."
The morning air bit at my skin as I stepped outside for training, bare-chested despite the cold. Thirty years of hardening my body had left me impervious to discomfort. I approached the wooden post we used for combat practice, my mind drifting back through the years as my fists connected with the weathered wood, sending splinters flying.
Eight years old, huddled in an alley behind a human diner, three teenage wolves cornering me, calling me "packless runt." Their laughter cutting short when I drove a broken bottle into the leader's throat. The first time I'd killed, the first time I'd felt power replace fear.
My knuckles split and healed with each impact against the post.
Twelve years old, curled in the corner of a freight train's dark cargo hold, crossing state lines, then country borders. Stealing food, learning that violence opened doors that begging never could.
Egypt at fifteen, making a name for myself in black market fighting rings where humans paid to watch "special matches"—unknowingly betting on a young werewolf who couldn't lose against human opponents.
I drove my fist through the center of the post, splintering it in half.
Eighteen, standing over the body of a fighting ring manager who'd tried to cheat me, taking his operation for myself, renaming myself Kassak Bloodrend, recruiting my first followers from the dregs of supernatural society.
"Alpha."
I turned to find Ravok, my Beta, approaching. Nearly seven feet tall with a body mapped by battle scars, he kept his eyes lowered as he drew near—not from fear, but protocol. Any wolf who made direct eye contact with me without permission no longer had eyes by nightfall.
"The raid was successful," he reported, his voice a graveled rumble. "We've secured enough supplies to last through winter, and three new strays followed our scouts back. They're being processed now."
I nodded, watching a drop of blood from my knuckles fall onto the snow. "Any resistance?"
"Nothing significant. A small pack of five. They're no longer a concern."
I smiled at the implication. More territory for us, fewer witnesses.
"Show me the new recruits."
Ravok led me to the edge of our training grounds, where we could observe the entire compound. Below us, one hundred and fifty wolves trained in formation, the sounds of combat and pain creating a symphony that pleased my ears. In a separate area, three battered wolves stood shivering, watching as two other recent recruits fought brutally in a ring of onlookers.
"The traditional welcome?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
Ravok nodded. "They'll fight until one submits or dies. The strongest joins the pack. The weakest becomes a slave."
I leaned against the wooden railing, satisfaction warming me more than the weak Arctic sun ever could. "It's been fifteen years of building, Ravok. Fifteen years of finding those like us—the cast-offs, the too-violent, the ones whose packs couldn't contain their nature."
Below us, one fighter slashed open the other's abdomen. Blood steamed in the cold air.
"I find them in alleys and prisons," I continued. "I find them hiding in human cities and skulking at the edges of established territories. I promise them power and belonging, and all I ask is absolute loyalty."
Ravok stood silently beside me, his massive frame blocking the wind. He'd been my third recruit, a dishonored Beta who'd killed his own Alpha in a rage. Together, we'd slowly built our army, starting with small outcast groups in Africa, then Asia, then moving to the isolated reaches of Greenland where we'd overwhelmed the small, peaceful pack that had lived here for centuries.
"Every wolf who joins us leaves their old name behind," I said, watching as the victorious fighter howled in triumph while his opponent bled out in the snow. "They take new names to symbolize their rebirth. We're not just a pack, Ravok. We're a covenant written in blood."
The fighter looked up toward me, his eyes seeking approval. I nodded once, and he grinned through a mask of blood—another loyal soldier in my growing army.
I returned to my quarters as dusk approached, settling into the massive chair I'd had carved from a single oak tree—a throne befitting an Alpha who would soon reclaim his birthright. The room smelled of pine and blood, a combination that stirred my senses.
From the shadows emerged Lyra, her raven hair falling in waves down her back, body poured into crimson leather that accentuated every curve. The tight bodice pushed her breasts upward, the short leather shorts revealing long, powerful legs. My body responded instantly to her presence, a reaction she noticed with a knowing smile.
I lowered myself into my throne, beckoning her with a single finger. "Lyra, come here."
She approached with graceful steps, then lowered her head submissively. "Alpha, I'm not worthy to sit beside you."
I laughed, pulling her between my legs. "I'm sitting, you're standing. You're taller than me now. How should we fix that?"
Without hesitation, Lyra sank to her knees between my thighs, her position one of perfect submission. I traced my fingers along her jawline, feeling her pulse quicken beneath my touch.
"Take off your clothes," I commanded softly.
Her fingers moved to the zipper of her leather top, pulling it down in one swift motion. Her breasts immediately sprang free, no bra. My cock was dripping inside my pants.