The Flame Trilogy (Books I, II & III)

2.16

Arashi

Aleksandr nods, approving of whatever bullshit it is that I manage to spew with a confident flick of my quick witted silver tongue. All the while the only thing I can think about is how easy it would be to just elongate my claws, in this silent privacy of his office, and rip his heart out.

I wonder what his face would look like; I can see the disbelief in his eyes, the air tasting of betrayal as he realises that I, his closest confidant, would take his life so mercilessly without batting an eyelid.

Only I can't, because I'm smart enough to know that killing Aleksandr would not end this. Not really. He had created a host of mindless soldiers, brainwashed to do his bidding; and whilst I didn't doubt that there were a few like me who survived out of malice, I also knew for a fact there were plenty here that survived to deliver malice. At this point, cutting Aleksandr down would probably only give rise to the next power hungry, murderous bastard that could reach his position first.

That, and the fact that the stakes were far too high. I may be the one person that Aleksandr trusted most, but I wasn't foolish enough to think that he actually trusted me as far as he could throw me. And I doubted that was very far. There was still plenty that I didn't know; that he was hiding here, things that could very well affect the outcome of this war. It would be callous to throw it all away for the momentary satisfaction of feeding my desire for revenge. Even that pleasure would not rival an orgasm at Dimitri's hands; or so I try to convince myself.

"I wanted to hand pick each member myself." I assure the man; if there's anything I've learnt being Aleksandr's bitch for the last few years of my life is that it's better to quell his suspicion from the start than have it pop up later. I did after all receive a purging after my stint in White Claw. "But of course you know best, if you want to make sure that I'm making the right choices you're more than welcome to, Alpha."

"That won't be necessary, you've never failed me." His hand reaches out and caresses my face, my skin burning icy hot under his touch. My body freezes, my heart practically stopping. It makes me sick, my stomach curdling like spoilt milk, churning in sour clumps.

In the back of my mind my eyes still sting from the scorching suffocating smoke, as is curled about like a snake. I can still smell the scent of bloody singed flesh, my people, my pack crushed to nothing more than ash and dust. I can still see his hands bloody as they rip the heart from my fathers chest. Now he touches me, like my father might have once, like he has the fucking right to.

In a second, with one touch, he brings me to rage, and grief, and guilt and loss. Emotions that once all blurred into one aggressive violent rage, channelled towards his cause; emotions that now gave me the resolve that I would be the one to put an end to this man's cruel existence.

And he doesn't even notice.

"You my dear, are my greatest treasure." His face twisted into something remnant of a smile, though all I can see is a snake baring its fangs. "You are not like the others here, you have drive, ambition. Only you show the promise of a leader, one day I will show you the true fount of our power."

I school my features, feeling his beady eyes scrutinising every twitch, every micro movement that I might give away. I can't help but to feel that this is some kind of test, and I can't, won't, give him any reason to doubt his trust in me.

"I don't know about being a leader, but if there was anyone who I would hope to learn from it would be you."

He nods, as if satisfied by my answer, though his gaze lingers still. There is a part of me that finds it disconcerting to have him staring at me, that wonders what he sees— can he see my hatred burning me up from the inside? Can he see the fear eroding the lining of my stomach? Can he somehow sense all my plotting and betrayal?