Chapter 161 – A Father’s Fury
Alaric
The chamber still reeks of Kieran’s insolence.
His voice echoes in my skull, all defiance and trembling weakness, daring to stand at my table and pretend his words carry weight. I should have struck him for it. I should have put him on his knees in front of the council and reminded him of his place.
But no. My disappointment is greater than my rage, and disappointment curdles deeper. Rage burns hot and fast, disappointment rots slow, seeping into every crack.
He thinks he can talk back to me. He thinks he can posture like a son who matters. The boy is nothing but wasted blood, a mirror cracked the moment it was forged. A son who flinches at words, who blushes at reprimand, who thinks sentiment is strength.
Weakness. All of it.
I pace the council chamber, fists curling at my sides. The contracts lie neatly in a stack where I left them, still damp with ink. Mercenaries waiting to be unleashed, alliances sealed with blood and gold. All ready to move at my command.
But Kieran has the audacity to question me, to act as though his cowardice has merit.
Perhaps I should confine him for the time being. Lock him in his chambers until this is done. Let him sulk behind gilded bars while real leaders decide the fate of packs. He’ll thank me for it later, when the Omega he’s all moon-eyed about is in my grip.
Or he won’t. Considering I intend to have the boy belong to me in every way. Gratitude is irrelevant anyway. What matters is control.
I cannot have my heir poisoning the air with doubt. Whispers are contagious. If one member of the pack hears hesitation, another begins to wonder. Soon the whole pack sniffs weakness where none should exist. And weakness is death.
I will not have death in Silvercrest. Especially not mine. Eli has to keep me breathing forever, or everything I’ve accomplished will go to hell as soon as Kieran takes over.
The thought of Eli sharpens me. That pretty little Omega Vale flaunts as though he were more than flesh. I can picture him in chains already. Stripped of bravado, stripped of insolent smiles, stripped of the fire that Vale mistakes for strength.
He’ll kneel in Silvercrest. He’ll kneel at my feet, his clever mouth gagged, his body broken down to what it was always meant for. Obedience, utility, breeding. Let Ronan Vale watch as I unmake his prize. Let him see how little his bond matters when I tear it apart strand by strand.
Yes. That is the humiliation Blackthorn deserves. Not death on the battlefield, not loss of land, but this. Watching the Omega he reshaped his life around, reduced to nothing more than a slave.
I will possess every part of him. That’s all people are, in the end. Tools. Pawns. Sons are investments. Omegas are currency. The strong take, the weak endure, and the clever write history to make theft look like destiny.
Ronan Vale doesn’t understand that. He thinks love is armor, thinks passion is power. Idiot. Love is a leash, and passion is a blade turned inward. I’ll cut him with both.
I move to the window and stare out across Silvercrest’s lands. The forests stretch dark and endless, rivers glinting in the moonlight. All of it mine.
Every wolf who hunts under those trees hunts because I allow it. Every child born in these walls draws its first breath under my rule. Dominion isn’t earned, it’s taken and held. Enforced with power and cruelty and fear.
Vale plays at being an Alpha. I am the Alpha. The king. Ruler of all I choose to own.
I imagine stripping Blackthorn stone by stone. Its walls razed, its banners burned, its warriors collared. I’ll drive their survivors into the snow with nothing but rags, let them crawl to Silvercrest begging for scraps. And I’ll give them none. Mercy is weakness, and I have none to spare.
Kieran’s face rises in my mind again. His pale defiance, his flinch when I named him what he is. My broken heir. He hates me for it. Good. Hatred is proof of truth. If he had any strength, he’d kill me for my words. But he won’t. He doesn’t have it in him.
He’s a burden, nothing more. I should have cast him aside long ago. But even burdens can be useful if carried properly. He’ll inherit what I built whether he deserves it or not, because bloodlines matter. Legacy matters. A flawed heir is better than none. But I’ll do everything in my power to assure it never comes to that.
And if he strays too far… well. Rooms can be locked. Doors can be barred. Wolves can be confined and punished until they learn obedience.
Eli won’t be confined, though. Not at first. His spirit will be bait, a hook to sink deeper into Vale’s pride. The more he resists, the sweeter the ruin when it comes.
I will parade him through Silvercrest’s halls to show every Alpha and every Omega what becomes of those who defy me. A prize. A warning. A crown of shame for Ronan Vale to choke on.
The image pleases me so much, it almost calms the fury still snarling in my veins.
I return to the table and sift through the contracts, feeling the last of my irritation drain away.
Soon the mercenaries will march. Soon the neighboring packs will shift their allegiances when they see where true power lies. Silvercrest gold buys loyalty. Silvercrest strength enforces it. And I am Silvercrest.
They will bow. Vale will break. Eli will be mine.
But I want more than possession. I want spectacle. When Vale comes to reclaim him, and he will, I’ll break him before his Omega’s eyes. I’ll pit him against the best gold can buy. Let him fight until his body gives out, let Eli scream himself hoarse from behind iron bars.
When Vale collapses, bleeding and beaten, on the verge of death, I’ll let him see his Omega carried away, used by every member of my inner circle, and he’ll know he failed.
That’s the moment I’ll savor most. Not the victory itself, but the destruction of everything he built around that bond.
Blackthorn thinks it can defy me. That a mongrel Alpha and a scarred Omega can stand against Silvercrest. Laughable. They’re children playing at war. And children must be punished when they forget their place.
I picture Eli in the collar my smiths will forge for him, silver links biting into his skin, burning with every breath he takes. No velvet, no adornment. Heavy enough to mark him. Heavy enough to ensure he never forgets that he belongs to me.
Kieran called him not mine. The words still grate. Everything is mine. The land. The packs. The blood in their veins. My son, whether he accepts it or not. And soon, Eli.
I close my eyes and let the promise sink deep, sealing it with a vow sharper than steel.
I will break them both. The Alpha and his Omega. I will grind their bond beneath my heel until nothing remains but dust and silence. And then the world will know once and for all, Silvercrest is supreme.
No one will ever dare defy me again. They will remember that King Alaric of Silvercrest does not forgive, does not yield, and does not forget.