Alpha X

The Blind Gambit

While Herod waited, he traced the seal of the USCA with his thumb. The embossed edge stated, 'President of the United Shifters Coalition of the Americas'. He was the High Chair of the Council run by six Premiers. He, the seventh vote, could veto them if he deemed fit.

Those giants in their field didn't cause him such grief. Nor had his controversial adjudications. Premiers, directors, ministers, primes, and alphas who ran packs heeded his edicts. The council had even welcomed his radical decree to invest in their alternate economy to bolster their coffers. Setting up a department to train skinwalkers to live and work amongst humans faced fewer arguments.

Yet his inner circle turned on him at every step.

They forget he had created a merit-based, modern empire, much to the outrage of Europa. No, it was a democratic republic, the largest in their history, spanning two continents. The USCA grew into the biggest concentration of therianthropes ever to coexist. He couldn't hand its reins to anyone, not when the enemy lurked at the gates, rather at their shores. The Olden Bloodlines hankered to destroy them. If not for his uncompromising stances, the Americas would share the Romulus and Romanovs' fates.

Herod needed an heir to bind the USCA leadership and its citizens. A beacon of his values and principles so he could retire and die in his true mate's arms. Except he hadn't found a worthy successor to fill his shoes.

In spite of the soundproofing, he intuited an impending disturbance.

As he forecast, on cue, the mechanical doors parted. Footfalls on the wooden floor came closer. They stopped on the other side of Herod's table. The intruder didn't utter a sound. As the steady tapping stopped, a scent mired in hatred filled his nose.

Herod steadied his trembling tenor. "Áine. What do I owe for the pleasure of this unexpected visit?"

Something flew towards him, but Hans intercepted whatever she had thrown at him.

"Oi, that's a Yongzheng reign-marked, copper-red Meiping ceramic vase from the 18th century. It costs more than your precious Stradivari," Hans protested.

Another item, a book, hit Herod's shoulder.

He'd held his breath, but she'd tracked and targeted him with unerring accuracy.

The attack ceased. Herod detected a scuffle, punctuated by grunts, feet dragging on the floor, and ragged pants. The struggle ended with a hoarse declaration, "Let go, Hawky. I'm done."

There were whispers... Some disgruntled fans complained she was arrogant. But virtual strangers silenced them and defended her with passionate loyalty. She blessed very few with the huffy familiarity she bestowed on Shadow Hawk.

Hawk released Áine and hugged her, muttering gibberish to bless her. And Hans abandoned Herod to stand beside her.

She'd tolerated his presence at seminal events during her childhood, but never warmed up to him. Once she figured out his alleged culpability in her parents' deaths, she banned him from her life. For her, he didn't exist.

Hans and Hawk had witnessed every milestone. They met up for weekly dinners with her and watched her grow. He knew about her from them and her adoptive mother, who threw him scraps when she dropped by to yell at him for 'interfering' with their lives.

He had defeated or reasoned with the Dragon Lords, Lycan Queens, Gurahl Kings, and various nobles with powerful beasts. In his prime, he quelled the Ancients. His diplomatic victories earned him the nomenclature of 'silver tongue'. But nothing he did and said to an unimpressed Áine had changed her outlook.

"Why?"

If Herod had a heart, her soft, raspy question would have broken it. He'd endured far worse experiences that'd crushed the fragments into a fine powder. When they sliced open his chest next week, they might find an empty hole within.