The forest, my usual refuge, failed to grant me solace today. Perched in the treestand, I was more than just Orion Hawke, Alpha of the Night Hawke Pack.
I was the ultimate predator.
The compound bow in my grip was an extension of my lethal intent, my focus laser-sharp on the deer below.
As I released the arrow, it sliced through the air.
And missed.
A surge of rage bubbled within me. Without hesitation, my form shifted, my human features giving way to the powerful, savage werewolf. I pursued the deer with a ferocity that was both exhilarating and terrifying.
Still, it escaped, igniting a wildfire of fury within me.
Racing back to the packhouse, I was a blur of anger and brute strength. I crashed into the kitchen, my presence as a wolf a storm of untamed power.
I shifted back to my human form and pulled the clothes sitting on the steps on with a growl. Wolves don't speak.
But Alpha wolves demand to be heard, and they were about to listen to me.
Once filled with warmth, Korie's eyes now held a flicker of fear as she faced me. "Where is Cady? I need her right fucking now!" I demanded.
"I don't know, Orion," Korie stammered.
Frustration boiled over. "You have one job, mother!" I roared, my fists slamming against the wall. The impact reflected my inner chaos, a reminder of the control I wielded.
I stormed out, my eyes scanning the surroundings with predatory efficiency. The pack members averted their gazes, their bodies tense with fear. They respected me, as they should.
Fear was the currency of my reign.
I finally spotted her, carelessly nestled in a tree, lost in a book. Her serenity was an insult to my inner rage.
She should have known better.
She should have been there, waiting for me, not lost in her own world. In another one of her fucking books.
In a fit of rage, I knocked her from the tree, watching with a cold detachment as she hit the ground. Her book, a meaningless object, fell into the mud, its pages ruined.
Good. It served as a reminder of the consequences of defying me.
I dragged her back to the house, my grip in her hair unforgiving. She should have anticipated my needs and been there to subdue the storm within me. Her failure to do so only fueled my anger.
Once inside, I released her, my breath heavy with the struggle of restraining my rage.
"Fix this," I growled, the words a command she dared not disobey.
As she hurried to comply, quickly removing my sweat-soaked clothes before I sat on the bed, a part of me loathed that her presence, her fear, had a calming effect on me.
I needed her, yet despised this dependence. In her fear-filled eyes, I saw a reflection of what I had become.
A tyrant, ruling with an iron fist and an unyielding heart.
"Fix this," I repeated, my voice a low growl. The command was not just about my physical need but a demand for her to quiet the disruption inside me, the relentless storm that my failed hunt had unleashed.
Cady understood. She always did. Her eyes, wide with fear and resignation, didn't meet mine. She began to undress, her movements hesitant yet resigned. There was no romance here, no tenderness.
Just the raw, unvarnished reality of what I needed from her.
I watched her, my emotions a tangled mess of anger, need, and a twisted sense of satisfaction. I refused to admit it, but her submission, her fear, calmed me, and brought me back from the edge of the beast I could become.
That I often did.
As she finished undressing, I kept my voice cold and detached. "Turn around, Cady," I commanded. "You know what's expected. How many fucking times have we done this?"
I couldn't bear the thought of looking into her eyes. Seeing my reflection in them. The monster I felt like, was more than I could handle. She remained silent, accepting the routine we had fallen into.
The lack of verbal response was typical. Words were unnecessary in the well-worn script of our encounters. Her actions, silent compliance to my command, spoke volumes about the nature of our twisted relationship.
I needed her, yes, but on my terms, in a way that didn't force me to confront the part of me that was still human, still capable of feeling something.
She turned away from me silently, her movements mechanical, conforming to the routine I had always imposed. Without a word, she positioned herself on the bed on her hands and knees, aligning perfectly for me if I stood behind her. This placement, which minimized our contact, had become our norm, serving my need for detachment.
I watched her for a moment, taking in the sight before me. Then, spitting on my hand, I rubbed myself, preparing for what was to come. From the corner of my eye, I noticed her body shivering slightly.
My movements were calculated as I stood behind her, each reflecting the inner rage I was battling. My hands, unyielding, grasped her hips tightly, an exertion of dominance, of control. I entered her with a force devoid of gentleness, a physical manifestation of the rage struggling to explode from me.
The room was silent except for the sound of our bodies slamming together, a harsh and unforgiving rhythm I controlled. There was no room for softness, for tenderness in these moments. Such emotions were a luxury I couldn't afford, a vulnerability I couldn't expose. This was about dominance, about grounding myself in the primal act of possession. Possession of something that I wouldn't say I liked wanting to begin with.
With each thrust, my grip on her waist tightened, my fingers imprinting on her skin. I moved with increasing intensity, trying futilely to escape the relentless storm in my mind. My body was acting on a raw, almost animalistic instinct, trying to outpace the madness that threatened to consume me.
Then, in a sudden movement, I reached out and grasped her hair, pulling it back sharply. I leaned down, my lips and teeth finding the nape of her neck. The sound she made in response was a mix of a gasp and a moan, resonating in the room, echoing the turbulence of emotions I was desperately trying to suppress.
The act, however intense, was quick, a release devoid of any genuine connection. It was an attempt to find solace and momentarily silence the chaos within. But as I climaxed, the wave of relief that washed over me was laced with a sense of emptiness, a realization that this physical release did little to soothe the deeper unrest in my soul. The unrest that was starting to consume me whole.
As I pulled out, leaving her on the bed, I was left with a lingering sense of hollowness. A reminder of the complexity of our relationship, a relationship built on control and a refusal to confront the emotions beneath the surface.
I fell back on the bed beside her, still trying to catch my breath. She remained perfectly still, minus the trembling I could clearly sense rippling across the bed. I lay there momentarily, my breathing still rapid, my mind a chaos of conflicting emotions.
"Get lost," I muttered harshly without looking at her.
The words were a dismissal, an end to the transactional nature of our encounter. There was no room for softness or lingering connection in my world. Cady stood silently, her back still turned to me, yet another sign of the detachment I demanded that she so willingly complied with.
I heard her move, the soft rustling of her clothes as she dressed, and the barely audible sound of her footsteps as she left the room. The click of the door as it closed behind her was like the final note of a sad melody, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling, I was left to confront the turbulent chaos of my own psyche. The anger that had driven me earlier had subsided, replaced by a hollow void.
I knew what I was.
A tyrant, a ruler by fear, a man who used others to sate his own needs and desires.
Yet, in these quiet moments, the weight of my actions bore down on me.
I thought about Cady, about the look in her eyes — fear, resignation, maybe even a hint of understanding.
It was a look I had seen often yet chose to ignore. She was an Omega, low in the hierarchy of our pack, but in her, I found a strange sense of solace, a reprieve from the chaos that was my life.
It was a paradox I couldn't reconcile.
I needed her, yet pushed her away, using her yet despising myself for it.
As the Alpha, I was expected to be strong, unyielding, and emotionless. Yet, lying there after getting off, I felt isolated. I had power, respect, and fear, but at what cost?
My father, the previous Alpha, had led with a balance of strength and compassion. But I had chosen a different path, one of dominance and control.
The night pressed on, and the silence of the room was a stark reminder of the solitude that came with my choices. My pack feared and obeyed me, but no genuine loyalty or love existed.
It was a kingdom built on fear, and I was its undisputed ruler.
As sleep finally started to claim me, I couldn't shake the feeling that this cycle of rage and remorse, of dominance and isolation, was a trap of my own making. A trap I was unsure how to escape, or if I even wanted to.
