Always And Forever | ENG

Chapter Three: Shadows of Leadership

The morning sunlight spilled through the thick canopy of trees, painting the forest floor in patches of gold. I'd spent most of the night tossing and turning, haunted by fragmented dreams of Dean's glare and my father's unshakable gaze. Now, as I trudged back toward the pack house, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin.

I hadn't wanted to return, but avoiding it wouldn't solve anything. If I was going to figure out what my father saw in me-or how to convince him he was wrong-I couldn't hide.

The air was crisp and cool, carrying with it the hum of pack life. The steady rhythm of footsteps, the sharp snap of commands from training sessions, and the occasional burst of laughter blended into a symphony of activity. Normally, it was comforting. Today, it made my stomach churn.

Every glance felt sharper, every whispered conversation a reminder that they were talking about me.

I hated it.

As I approached the pack house, my father was waiting for me on the front steps. His presence was as steady as ever, his shoulders squared and his face unreadable. He always had a way of making himself seem larger than life, like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and still stood tall.

"Good morning, Finley," he greeted, his voice calm but firm.

I swallowed hard, trying to summon some semblance of composure. "Morning," I muttered, avoiding his gaze.

"We need to talk," he said, gesturing for me to follow him inside.

The last thing I wanted was another conversation about the Alpha title, but I nodded anyway. What choice did I have?

Inside, the pack house was bustling, the scents of breakfast mingling with the earthy warmth of the wooden walls. My father led me to his study, a space that always felt too formal, too full of history to be comfortable. The shelves were lined with books about leadership, pack law, and the history of our kind, their spines worn from years of use.

"Sit," he said, motioning to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

I obeyed, sinking into the leather seat and folding my arms tightly across my chest.

He sat across from me, his steady gaze fixed on mine. For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

"Do you know why I chose you?" he asked finally, breaking the silence.

"Because you're insane?" I offered, my tone sharper than I intended.

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "No, Finley. I chose you because you have something this pack needs-something Dean doesn't."

I scoffed. "Like what? Clumsiness? A talent for avoiding responsibility?"

"Empathy," he said, his voice firm. "Understanding. You see people for who they are, not just what they can do for you. That's what makes a true leader."

I blinked, caught off guard by his answer. "Dean understands people," I argued. "He's... better at everything."

"He's better at following the rules," my father said. "At strategy, at combat. But leadership isn't just about strength or skill. It's about knowing when to listen, when to fight, and when to stand down. Dean has always focused on the how. You, Finley, understand the why."

I didn't know what to say to that.

"I've seen it in you," he continued. "The way you protect those you care about. The way you think about the consequences of your actions, even when you don't realize it. That's what this pack needs-someone who leads with their heart as well as their head."

I shook my head, my throat tightening. "You're wrong. I can't do this."

"You can," he said, his tone gentle but unyielding. "You don't have to believe it right now, but you will. And until you do, I'll be here to guide you."

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away. I didn't want to cry-not here, not in front of him.

A knock at the door saved me from having to respond. My father called for them to enter, and Ace stepped inside, his usual easy grin replaced with a rare seriousness that made me pause.

Ace had always been my father's right hand. He was the Beta, strong, reliable, and commanding. He had a natural authority that came from years of loyalty and trust-traits I admired, though I often felt out of place under his watchful gaze. His dark hair fell just over his forehead, his sharp eyes scanning the room before they settled on me.

"Sorry to interrupt," Ace said, his voice low. "But there's something you should see."

My father frowned, rising from his chair. "What is it?"

"There's a situation on the training grounds," Ace said. "It's... Dean."

My heart sank.

Without another word, we followed Ace outside, the tension crackling in the air like a storm on the horizon.

The training grounds were a wide, open space on the edge of the pack's territory, surrounded by tall trees and dotted with sparring circles. A crowd had gathered near one of the circles, their murmurs filling the air as they watched the scene unfolding.

Dean stood in the center, his fists clenched and his face twisted with anger. Across from him was Logan, one of the younger members of the pack. Logan's lip was split, and he held his arm like it had been wrenched too hard, his eyes wide with fear.

"What's going on here?" my father demanded, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

Dean turned to face us, his eyes blazing. "What's going on is that this pack is falling apart. They're questioning your decision-her leadership-and they're right to do so."

"This isn't the way to handle it," my father said, his voice calm but firm.

"Then what is?" Dean snapped. "Letting the pack lose respect for us? For you? If you won't defend your decision, I will."

Ace stepped forward, his imposing presence filling the space between them. "Dean, enough. This won't solve anything."

Dean's jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring, but he didn't respond. Instead, he turned and stormed off, disappearing into the trees.

The crowd began to disperse, murmuring among themselves, casting wary glances at me as they went. The weight of their stares pressed down on me like a thousand-pound boulder.

My father's hand fell on my shoulder, his touch grounding me as always. But this time, it didn't feel as reassuring.

"You handled that well," he said quietly.

I wasn't so sure.

Ace stood beside me, his expression unreadable. "That was a close call," he muttered, glancing in the direction Dean had gone. "Your brother's anger is clouding his judgment."

"I know," I said softly, my gaze lingering on the trees where Dean had disappeared. "But I don't know how to fix it."

Ace met my gaze, his eyes steady. "You don't have to fix it alone, Finley. You have us. And that's more than Dean realizes."

His words, though comforting, didn't change the sinking feeling in my stomach. The shadows of leadership were already closing in, and I didn't know how long I could outrun them.