Chapter 136 Keep Your Temper, Alpha
The bright, chaotic normalcy of the pack lunch had been exactly the deep, grounding breath of fresh air Fennigan needed. He watched Caspian and Briar get thoroughly spoiled by the pack one last time, soaking in the sound of their laughter before finally steeling himself for the long afternoon ahead.
Pressing a lingering kiss to Leela's temple, the Alpha reluctantly turned his back on the sunlit dining hall. He made the heavy walk back down the corridor, pushing open the mahogany doors of the study to face the rest of the evening. Damon, Jax, and the three Elders were already waiting for him, the oppressive, stuffy atmosphere of the room instantly swallowing him whole as they dove right back into the grueling work of dismantling Vane's loyalists.
While the men locked themselves away with maps and treason, the women reconvened in the safe, warm haven of the downstairs guest room.
Determined to keep Ginny from losing her mind out of sheer bed-rest boredom, Elana had arrived with a woven basket overflowing with brightly colored skeins of soft yarn. She declared that it was the perfect afternoon to teach the younger women a new, quiet skill: they were going to learn how to crochet.
Leela sat cross-legged at the foot of Ginny's mattress, staring blankly at the blunt metal hook and the tangle of pale yellow yarn in her lap. It was an almost comical contrast. Leela held the raw, untamed power of all four elements within her; she was, without a doubt, the single strongest elemental to have ever existed. She possessed enough magic to summon a hurricane, call down lightning, or crack the very foundations of the earth if she so chose.
Yet, despite all of that terrifying, god-like power, her heart was simplest when tied to the quiet rhythm of nature. She would much rather have her bare hands buried deep in the rich, dark soil of the pack gardens, coaxing tiny seeds to sprout and vines to climb, than sit still indoors trying to figure out how to loop frustrating little threads of yarn into a baby blanket.
Ginny looked equally skeptical, her fingers twitching clumsily as she fumbled with her own hook. She was far more accustomed to rapidly chopping roots and crushing tough medicinal herbs with a mortar and pestle for Magda than carefully counting delicate stitches.
"Now, pay attention, both of you. It's all in the wrist," Elana instructed brightly, her own hook flying through the yarn with practiced, mesmerizing speed.
Leela sighed playfully, watching Briar happily bat at a rogue ball of blue yarn like a kitten. "Why couldn't we learn to knit? I feel like having two needles would make way more sense than this one tiny hook."
Elana immediately stopped her stitching, giving Leela a deeply serious, maternal look. She pointed her blunt crochet hook directly at Caspian, who was currently attempting to scale the side of the mattress using the bedsheets as a rope.
"Absolutely not," Elana stated firmly, a warm laugh bubbling just beneath her stern tone. "I love those babies with all my heart, but I do not trust having that many sharp, pointy knitting needles in a confined space with them. They are far too fast and way too curious. Crochet hooks are blunt, safe, and completely toddler-proof. Now, loop the yarn over the hook, Leela, and pull it through."
With a dramatic, shared groan, the strongest elemental in the world and the pack's toughest human leaned in, determined to master the yarn if only to keep their minds off the war brewing in the study down the hall.
Down the hall, the atmosphere inside the mahogany-paneled study had grown utterly suffocating. The afternoon sun slanting through the windows did nothing to burn away the mounting, toxic reality of what lay scattered across Fennigan’s desk.
They had spent hours cross-referencing ledgers, coded messages, and the Elders' own testimonies. Staring back at Fennigan was a finalized, damning list of at least a dozen high-ranking High Council officials who had been directly, undeniably involved with Vane.
And the most sickening part? As they looked at the sprawling web of corruption, they all knew they were still only scraping the surface of the problem.
Fennigan stared at the names—men who had sat in his Alpha’s hall, men who had shared bread with his pack while quietly funding the slaughter of elemental children. The sheer, suffocating betrayal of it boiled over in his veins. The legendary Alpha control he usually maintained on a razor-thin wire finally snapped.
With a vicious, thunderous growl of utter frustration, Fennigan slammed his arm out and swept the remaining stacks of papers, inkwells, and heavy ledgers entirely off the oak desk.
They hit the floor with a chaotic, violent crash. Damon and Jax immediately tensed, their own wolves rising sharply in instinctual response to their Alpha’s sudden, explosive fury. But it was a much softer, sharper voice that cut through the heavy, ringing tension in the room.
"Keep your temper in check, Alpha," Elder Veda ordered, her tone laced with a strict, icy warning as she gripped the arms of her leather chair.
Fennigan’s chest heaved, his jaw locked tight as he turned his burning, golden gaze on the old woman.
Veda didn't flinch. She met his furious stare with calm, absolute gravity. "I know I thoroughly cleansed this room this morning, Fennigan, but you must be careful. There is a very real possibility that some lingering black essence is still trapped within these walls."
She gestured toward the center of the room, right where Vane had been contained just twenty-four hours prior. "Whether it is residue from Vane's necrotic rot, or the remnants of the incredibly dark magic I had to pull from to bind him... that kind of power is parasitic. It feeds on volatile, unchecked emotion. Do not give it a feral Alpha's rage to feast on. Do not give it a reason to wake back up."
Fennigan ground his teeth, his claws slowly, painfully retracting from his fingertips as he forced his breathing to slow, wrestling his wolf back under strict control to protect his pack.