Forty Five

For as long as Ethan could remember, he had despised his family but none more so than his own father.

Michael had never been a good father nor a sane one. He had just turned fifty-one when he got some poor she-wolf by the name of Catherine pregnant after a drunken night and quickly found himself lumbered with a pregnant nineteen year old. He had tried to squirm his way out of it like the snake he was but things were done differently in the Night Stalker pack and despite being the nephew of a high ranking wolf, he was forced to take Catherine as his mate and provide for her.

Except it wasn’t Michael providing for Catherine but rather Catherine providing for their pup and her pathetic excuse of a mate.

Ethan was grateful he didn't inherit Catherine's mud coloured hair or sallow complexion. He took on his father's golden skin and wheat-blonde hair but his mother's brown eyes. This would prove useful in the future.

Michael was a cruel man when he wasn’t drunk and blubbering about a life he once had where he was the Alpha of a prestigious pack and could have any woman he wanted. It wasn’t uncommon for him to fly into fights of rage and take it out on his poor mate who was simply too timid to protect herself. She never once went for help when he laid his hands on her or forced himself on her at night when he had stumbled home from the pub. If others noticed then they said nothing, blind to the misery that brewed and festered like gangrene in the dilapidated old farm house on the edge of the pack territory.

One of Ethan’s first memories of his father was of Michael locking him in a closet then taking a belt to his mother so brutally she had been left limping for a week. That tiny closet became his prison and his haven on those nights where his mother’s pleas and cries echoed through the house only to be answered with another blow of Michael’s fist or belt on her pale skin.

Then, when Ethan was five, the old fool got Catherine pregnant again.

Bethany was born nine months later and for a while things seemed to settle down. Michael was still drinking but would now disappear for days on end leaving his sad little family to fend for themselves.

Ethan was just seven when Michael beat him for the first time. Catherine had been out with Bethany foolishly thinking Ethan would be safe at home with his unconscious father yet Michael’s mood turned on a dime (as it usually did) and he beat the boy with his belt so badly Ethan couldn’t leave his bed for several weeks and Catherine was convinced her little boy would die. She couldn’t call for a healer because if she did Michael would surely kill her and their pups.

Now Michael had two punching bags.

Catherine tried to protect Ethan but it made little difference to Michael who would lock her in the bathroom or beat her bloody then move onto Ethan. For years the torture went on and on. Bethany was only spared because she was more timid than their mother. She was tiny like a mouse and easily blended into the background but Ethan wasn’t so lucky. As he grew, he became resentful of his father, anger slowly bleeding into him. He took the beatings and punishments without a complaint, silently planning the day he would get his revenge.

It was when he was eleven that Michael started to lose his mind a bit more. Whether it was old age or alcohol that brought it on, Ethan could never be sure but the old man soon started forgetting things and mumbling about a past life where he had been an Alpha and could have any woman he wanted but it was stolen from him by those two-faced ungrateful bitches. He complained that he was betrayed and had what was rightfully his stolen from him.

“I was an Alpha, boy.” Michael slurred one night, eyes glassy and skin red from drinking continuously for years. “The Alpha of a great pack until they double crossed me with the help of those bastards, the Hellhounds.”

Ethan had no sympathy for his father. He was pathetic and weak and his stories simply made Ethan despise him all the more. How could this man regard himself as a great Alpha if he couldn’t even defend his title? He clearly wasn’t worthy of such an honour but perhaps Ethan was.

At some point, Catherine had started an affair with one of the warriors.

The warrior had a mate but apparently that meant nothing to him. He was a tall, well-built man with thinning hair and dull grey eyes. He would sometimes come over when Michael was out on one of his benders and smoke cigarettes before taking Catherine upstairs to fuck for hours on end. The carnal sounds of their illicit copulation was barely muffled by the closed door and thin ceiling, but neither cared that downstairs sat two children who could hear everything even with the TV on.

Michael of course was oblivious, too drunk half the time to see what was going on under his own nose. So Ethan gave him a helping hand and told him about what mummy dearest had been up to while Michael wasn’t looking. Michael was furious of course, his rage tumbling down on Catherine like a tonne of bricks.

“You filthy whore!” He had screamed over and over as he beat her, Catherine’s cries and pleas for mercy ricocheting off of the walls of the isolated old house like bullets.

The Mad Alpha's rage went on for hours with no signs of relenting.That was until Catherine fell silent, her body finally succumbing to her horrific injuries

When people started to question where Catherine went, Michael told everyone she had left. No one truly bought it but there was no evidence that something nefarious had happened to Catherine and the children were tight-lipped.

Shortly after that, Michael moved them to a small pack of misfits where people minded their own business and kept to themselves.

For a while things were quiet. Michael was never around though so Ethan was stuck looking after himself and his sister. It was hardly fitting for one with Alpha qualities like Ethan now believed himself to have.

His hatred for Michael simmered and matured as Ethan aged. He kept to himself in school and took part in training. It turned out he was really good at fighting and hunting. Sure, there were a few boys at school who tried to bully him but they left him alone pretty quickly when he beat one of them to a bloody pulp.

He was top dog around these parts.

At the age of twenty Ethan was a warrior for the Night Stalker pack but was still living at home, watching his father drink and his mind wither.

Ethan had grown and bulked out with muscle. His good looks and golden blonde hair made him popular with the ladies and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he took advantage of that whenever he needed release. He didn’t care that he was defiling someone else’s mate. In fact, it took great pleasure in it knowing that he was these young women’s first, something their mates would never be.

Bethany was pretty much useless as far as Ethan was concerned. She was spooked by everything and stuttered whenever she spoke. Thankfully she knew her place, cooking and cleaning and staying out of the way.

Michael barely acknowledged her but Ethan was constantly aware of her like a gnat that buzzed in his periphery. When his temper flared (which wasn't often) it was Bethany who bore the brunt of it. Broken ribs, bruises and cuts littered her torso but Ethan was smart enough not to go for the face. It sickened him how much she resembled their mother with her brown hair, chocolate brown eyes and fair complexion. She even had the same pale pink lips and small straight nose.

It was on New Years Eve when things finally took a dark turn for Ethan. He had been working long hours with little reprieve. Christmas was celebrated in this pack but it has been a pitiful affair of soggy roast potatoes and overcooked chicken. The weather had been miserable, raining freezing droplets every day to the point Ethan's fingers were numb and his socks and boots full of water.

On this particular day Michael had been in fine form. He had been drunk before midday and sat in front of the TV either passed out or yelling insults and complaining about how he had been betrayed by his own pack. When he had knocked over his drink, Bethany had gone to clean up the mess only to be struck by the belligerent old man.

Later, Ethan would admit that it wasn't that Michael had hit his sister but rather he had made a mess and there were now more bloodstains on the carpet that turned his mood. Tired and cold from patrolling, Ethan felt the last of his patience burn up like a leaf to a flame.

Using his belt and his training as a warrior, he snuck up on Michael as he lazed in his chair. It wasn't hard to kill the old man and Ethan sat and watched curiously as Michael fought against the belt tied around his neck, eyes bulging and face turning red then purple. His fingers tried to pry the leather strap from his turkey neck but only succeeded in scratching himself until eventually he weakened and slumped in his chair, body twitching and piss staining the crotch of his filthy jeans.

The Mad Alpha was finally dead but a new one was born.