Shielding the Beast (discontinued)

Four | Confined

A/N:
This chapter starts out in a different point of view than the usual main character's. I didn't know quite how to make that clear other than an author's note because if I listed it like most books do then it would take away the reveal of his name.

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The scratching of the black-tipped marker on paper is the only sound to be heard in the otherwise dead-silent office.

I repeat the same movements; marking another 'X', another 'O', another line along the path which my wolves would travel.

The battle plans scrawled on the map before me are a risk. No matter what I devise the outcome is always the same; our defeat.

Hard knuckles rap heavily on the dark redwood door closing this room off from the hallway. Without waiting for my word of acknowledgement, my father invites himself in. Never in his life has he ever waited for the permission of another. He simply gives a second's warning before proceeding with his intentions.

"Son, give it up. You've been at that for hours. No matter what you come up with now it won't change what happened 8 years ago."

He stands at 6 foot 4 inches, the same as I do. His hair is comparable to dark smoke; painted a lighter shade of black. His mild brown eyes are outlined in a darker brown as if representing the metaphorical armor he puts around his real personality.

A stressed sigh expels from my lungs as I stretch my legs from their sitting position to stand at full height. A casual clack is heard as the marker is tossed onto the surface of the desk that had seated me for so long.

My voice is laced with bitterness, "They were wiped out like they were nothing more than rabid dogs. There has to have been a way to stop something so wrong."

My father remains at the door, his broad, thick shoulders leaning against its frame.

"There isn't. Even if there was finding it now would only evoke regret." He reasons in a calm, wise manner, "Besides that an Alpha like yourself has bigger things to worry about than dwelling on a battle he wasn't even old enough to be in."

My head hangs over the desk as I brace my weight on the object with my hands.

They didn't deserve that. Without them all we would be is weak souls trapped in weak bodies. But they died anyway.

"Nothing goes unpunished. Their Hell is coming. And mercy won't be a word conceivable to it."

His words sink into my brain like water in a centuries' dry desert - every drop is used, and the meaning of every syllable understood.

A feminine, anger-invoking voice cracks the quietude like a rock through an iced-over pond.

"Why are you so obsessed with that? You're acting like your mate was killed in that battle or something. It's not like you even knew those stuck-up royals to care about them."

I don't have to move a muscle or shift my gaze the slightest bit to know who the shrill, inconsiderate voice belongs to.

My response comes out rancorous and filled with irritation for this girl. "Nobody asked for your fucking input, Venya, so get it the hell out of my house."