Claimed By The Alpha

18

     I dove headfirst into preparations for Sam's memorial dinner, cooking dishes and cleaning up the pack house for the guests. Some other pack females were running around helping, too, but I kept my eyes down and focused on my own tasks. They all looked to me for their questions and directions, and I instructed where and what I saw fit. We found pictures of Sam scattered around the house and plotted them around the grand dining room. We lit some white candles and laid an expensive looking cloth over the dining table. I greeted Sam's mom with a hug as she came around the corner with an arm full of childhood pictures in frames.

     "It's good to see you, Mrs-"

     "Don't you dare." she cut me off with a playfully stern look in her eyes. "Call me Lucile, sweetheart."

     "Lucile." I smiled around her name. I showed her around the dining room and she grinned at what we had done. "I know it's not much, but I'm more than happy to honor Sam any way I can."

     Her eyes glistened as she fought back tears, clearing her throat to avoid any crying. "My Sammy would've loved it. He wasn't one for big parties anyway." She kissed my cheek before heading into the kitchen to check on her mate. 

     The dinner passed quickly in a blur of tasty food and somber faces as pack members of all ages mourned the loss of their friend and pack mate. Some ate in silence, and some told more stories of treasured memories they held of Sam. Even though the loss had cut us deep, I knew we would all be ok. The pack was emanating healing energy and pulsing with caring and loving thoughts. We would mourn, of course, and then start to heal together as a family, as a pack. 

     Once the pack females and I finished cleaning up, I thanked them for their aide and we parted ways. By the time I stepped out of the back porch for some fresh air, the sun was setting the world on fire with bright red and orange hues as it slowly sank beneath the tops of the trees. My head was so clustered and jumbled that I couldn't even pinpoint what was bothering me the most. My thoughts were so tangled and I found myself wishing for a certain type of comfort that only one man in my life has ever given me. I needed my dad. I found the nearest chessboard I could locate, and shook off the memories of Sam and I playing together before I headed off to find the relief I so desperately needed.

     The cells were dark and cold when I walked inside the heavy doors. I slipped down the stairs and put on a stern face as I came into the view of the wolves that were guarding the prisoners. Their eyes were already awaiting my arrival as I came off the last step and rounded the corner, they heard me coming. I set my jaw and they both bowed their heads to me instead of meeting my gaze.

     "Leave us." was all I said, in my best 'I mean business' voice. For all they knew, I was coming for an interrogation of my own. They didn't bat an eye or linger for a moment sooner. Before I could take my next breath, they were up the stairs and pulling the heavy metal door closed. I knew they would be waiting right outside in case they heard any signs of trouble, but I also knew there wouldn't be any trouble. 

     I took a deep breath and caught his scent in the air, along with a lot of blood. My heart was hammering in my chest at the thought of what he looked like behind the door. He could be badly injured or almost dead, and I didn't know if I was prepared to see my father like that. I needed to talk to him, but was I really ready to face the music just yet? The last image I had of his face was beaten and bruised, and I shuttered thinking of how much discomfort he was probably in. 

     Before I could stall any longer, I took a shaky breath and yanked the cell door open. The metal creaked and groaned against the weight, but when it closed behind me all was silent. I was holding my breath, eyes trained on the floor. I heard a shallow breath release from the corner of the cell, as he had been holding his breath, too. My eyes ever so slowly raised higher to graze over a figure sitting neatly on the edge of a battered cot. I was braced for the impact of seeing him barely held together, but what I saw was almost completely different. He was covered in blood stained clothes, but it had already dried down and I could tell that he wasn't bleeding anymore. The only signs of his abuse being the faded remnants of a swollen and bruised eye. The only people I had ever seen heal that fast were...