EMPIRE

14. Collisions

My father had invited the Alpha and the Luna to join us for dinner tonight, the pack cooks volunteered to create the food and serve it out to us in honour of the unity of our packs.

"The unity of Alpha Dreycov and Beta Prospero will be one spoken of for generations to come," Maye, the lead cook had cried out in glee. I distinctly remember scowling at her with distaste before storming off toward our home. Because life seems to hate me with a fiery passion at this point in time, Alpha Roman is also expected to attend this meeting.

So now I stand outside my room, I'm supposed to be preparing for it and putting on appropriate clothing for a formal dinner but I can't bring myself to comply to the task.

I inhale a shaky breath of air as my hand rests against the doorframe to my bedroom. I stare into the dimly lit room, eyes scanning over every object and piece of furniture. Each individual item screaming it's significance to my personal life. My jaw clenches involuntarily as the moment is stained by the memory of Alpha Dreycov; when he had tainted the rooms purity and peaceful nature as soon as he had stepped through the threshold.

How dare he?

I growl beneath my breath and step into my bedroom, moving towards the bed. I step over the suitcase half full of clothes, ignoring the clothes that had been removed from my drawers and placed neatly on the bed. I pretend that nothing is out of order as I lower myself to the ground beside my bed, dragging the bean bag to rest beneath me. I lean my head against the side of the mattress and simply sit still, relishing in one of the final moments of peace that I may get.

This room has been mine since birth, my mother had designed it despite the protests of my father. The room is a little on the dark side, only neutral shades or tones of darker colours being used on the interior and furniture; but my mother had been insightful. Darker colours had helped her find peace and relaxation, whereas for my father they created feelings of unease. She must've known I'd take after her in that department, call it a mother's intuition.

Now, because of Alpha Dreycov, I'd be forced to leave this room, this house... this pack.

"Accalia."

My head snaps up with widened eyes as the deeper voice startles me. I see a figure standing in the middle of the doorway and I inhale sharply, praying that it's not who I think it is. The person steps into the room, a sense of authority around them seemed to hint that it was who I thought it was. The light was against their back and their faces were shadowed but at a quick observation of their stance, height, build and walking pattern, I'm able to discern that this is not Dreycov, but is in fact, my father.

"Accalia," he repeats, shuffling forward but pausing a few metres away, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. I stand to my feet, wringing my hands behind my back and away from his view.

"Father," I tip my head in acknowledgement but the word sounds wrong to me, so formal and distant. There's a subtle wince from my father as it seems he doesn't like it either, not when we are sharing our final moments as a family together. "Dad," I try, amending my earlier call. It sounds infinitely better to call him by this, more familiar and loving-like. It was almost nostalgic, back to the days where I was young enough to evade violence and responsibility, before he had to desensitize himself to me and before I began to harden. Back then, before my mother died, that's when I called him Dad.

He steps closer and I can see the smile on his face, eyes creased with a tender gaze by the action. "How are you?" He questions, although it was said with light-heartedness, I can hear the genuine need to know about my well-being. I exhale heavily and a humorless chuckle slips from my lips before I can stop it.

"Just fine," I mutter sarcastically. I look away from him and return back to my previous seated position. I relax my head against the bed and close my eyes momentarily in an attempt to relax. My father, clenches his jaw, turning his gaze to the ground. He lowers himself to the ground beside me and leans his head against the side of the bed, both of us staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. I swallow lightly, memories of how my father would sit beside me at night when I was a child and lull me to sleep with stories and songs rise to the surface of my mind. How could it all have gone so wrong?