Movement No. 4
Tempest
“Get up.” The sound of my father’s voice pierces the quiet before I can even open my eyes.
“What?” I groan, placing a pillow over my face. The fabric is soft against my skin, and I nuzzle further into it.
“Is that how you speak to your Alpha?” Fenris Capulet, his second-in-command asks.
I fight the urge to scream. “No, it’s how I speak to my father.”
Ever since the other packs migrated to Haeresis, I’ve realized our way of doing things isn’t the only way.
Most children of Alphas don’t speak to their parents as though they’re speaking to their superiors; their relationships are much more familial.
My father is different. He’s… traditional.
But I guess he’d have to be. He grew up believing that nothing was more important than the pack—not even family.
It’s why my mother left. It’s why my uncle is dead. And it’s why I’m so fucked up.
It’s thoughts like that I keep close to my chest, hidden from the rest of my pack, and the rest of Hel.
Lowering the pillow, I look into my father’s icy blue eyes.
“We are meeting with The Devil and Governor Raph today. You need to get dressed.” The door shuts behind them, leaving me completely alone to bask in my shock. Fear creeps into my bones, shaking me to my core.
I worked a late shift at The Cathedral last night, so I would’ve appreciated getting to sleep in, but I guess life has other plans for me. Honestly, life and death continue to surprise me.
The truth is, I’m scared. I was never supposed to succeed my father. I was raised with the knowledge that my cousin Tyrus was next in line for Alpha. I would run The Cathedral, help with general operations in Pack Escalus, and maybe, if I got lucky, I could aspire to be second-in-command.
That was until my cousin was brutally murdered by The Devil’s Masquerade. Now the expectation falls on me to take over when my father is no longer capable.
A burden I never wanted or asked for, but my burden all the same. I now have this massive responsibility on my shoulders, a weight I never imagined I’d have to carry.
I don’t really have dreams of my own these days, but I have hobbies.
I enjoy making drinks, playing around with aerial silks and rope, and I even have the occasional girlfriend or two from time to time.
Nothing serious—being the daughter of a pack leader makes that unwise.
If I care too deeply for someone, this cruel world will just take them from me, but I still allow myself to indulge.
Standing up, I make my way to my closet, which is full of mostly cargo pants and jeans, to pick out something appropriate for meeting our supreme leaders. It’s slim pickings, but I finally settle on a pair of navy slacks and a vest.
Between my cousin’s death and the political uprising and tensions happening on our continent, my twenties feel like a death sentence. Every minute I’m not working, I’m supposed to be exercising, running a job for my father, or observing his or another pack member's movements.
It’s exhausting and strangely isolating. I’m surrounded by my pack, yet I feel entirely alone. I’ll no longer be one of the pack’s members, or a second in training, but its leader. The person they’re supposed to follow—I will represent us and make every decision, and that is terrifying.
I’m afraid—afraid to take over, and afraid of what this surprise meeting could mean for my people, and selfishly, for myself.
Entering the conference room, we all get on one knee and bow for King Luc. “Our Infernal Majesty,” we all say in tandem. My father and I take our seats across from the hoard of demons, half-demons, and other beings.
I recognize some of them. Our king, Luc Morningstar, and his brother Governor Raph Morningstar, of course.
Both of them have a presence that is all-consuming.
They’re flanked by Draven and Gemma, the half-demon and his human partner who frequent my bar.
If they weren’t a part of The Devil’s Masquerade, I might actually like the young couple.
There are two more members outside the door, standing beside Fenris, my father’s second. The final member of The Devil’s Masquerade is directly across from me. Yasmeena Al-Khalifa. The felion I helped once during a barfight at The Cathedral.
Once my Alpha found out I did some of them a kindness, he told me all about the organization, and exactly why they executed my cousin.
I knew he was killed, but I was spared all the details of why.
Tyus was selling atra to The Legion against my father’s orders, something The Devil himself specifically forbade.
For that, his henchmen took my cousin’s life.
My father showed me photographs of them, too, so I would never forget their faces again.
I can’t imagine forgetting Yasmeena. With her deep tan skin, sharpened claws, and piercing golden eyes, she is quite the force to behold. I can only think of one word to properly describe her: fierce.
I hope she can smell the discontent radiating off of me.
As striking as her looks may be, her actions disgust me.
Had I known what she’d done, I would never have laid a finger on her at The Cathedral.
The fact that she could look me in the eye and speak with me, damn well knowing that her organization was responsible for my cousin's murder, makes my blood boil and vision go red.
“Good evening, Cain,” Governor Raph begins. “Tempest. It’s so nice to see you. It’s been years! Last I remember, you were just a small child.”
I don’t dislike Raph. He’s polite, albeit a tad over-the-top, but I think he does a good job taking care of the citizens of Haeresis.
Luc is a loser.
A loser that could probably kill my entire family with the snap of his fingers, but a loser all the same.
He initially allowed a few packs to flee the continent of Violenta, granting them sanctuary on Haeresis, and Pack Escalus graciously agreed, but this has gone too far.
Our resources are being stretched thin while other segments of the planet are fighting wars for entirely different reasons.
“It’s been a while,” my father says.
Luc is thin, thinner than any else here, almost as if he’s ill. “That it has.”
I really thought the death of Tyrus affected my father more, but I guess not if he’s willing to be buddy-buddy with his killers.
My relationship with Tyrus was more tumultuous.
Some days it felt like we were the best of friends, and others he was a total prick.
I never knew how to feel about him, but I didn’t want him dead.
And I really didn’t want to replace him.
The Devil cracks his knuckles. “Let’s cut to the chase. The conflict between the felion and lupion must be solved before it turns into a bloodbath.”
My father’s disheveled white hair falls into his face.
“It’s already a bloodbath, Luc. But this could become an all-out war.
The demons and half-demons are starting to pick sides.
” The part that Cain so graciously leaves out is that half-demons are siding with us because of the assistance we’ve provided The Legion.
I’m not sure why the demons are siding with the felion. Maybe it’s because they fear us, or because of the governor’s ties to various felion leaders… if you can even call them that.
Unlike the lupion, who live in formal packs, the felion have no official governing system outside of the monarchy. Governor Raph is a decent leader, but the laws here are vague. There’s no one to truly protect and lead the felion, or to help them navigate this new home they’ve clung to.
I almost feel for the felion, but then I remember that they’re one of the reasons my already shitty existence has gotten even worse.
Having a narcissistic, controlling father is awful.
Having to deal with that same father while our people are battling for basic resources is a whole other inferno of misery.
“We have a plan, but we’ll need your allegiance and assistance,” The Devil begins. “Draven and Gemma Orzath will be overseeing a council dedicated to restoration. It’ll begin with you and Yasmeena, but we’ll loop in Claudia DuBois and the other pack leaders as we make progress.”
My father nods in agreement. “What do you need from me?”
“Your daughter, sir.” Governor Raph states, and every hair on my body stands at attention. “We would like to arrange a political marriage between her and one of the felion representatives.”
My palms feel sweaty, heart beat crescendoing. I do not want to be saddled to someone I don’t know. What if he’s big and strong and forces himself upon me? Or what if he’s kind and wonderful and just as gay as I am, and I wind up stuck with him for life, only for us to never find our true loves?
I don’t want that kind of life. Not for me, and not for anyone else.
My father doesn’t seem to care whether or not I consent to this. “I’m assuming you’re not marrying her off to Claudia.”
Yasmeena shakes her head. “Your daughter would be marrying me.”
Time seems to slow, my heart thundering in my chest, and I can feel my magic buzzing beneath my fingertips. Does my Alpha really expect this of me? Knowing what was done to Tyrus?
“There would be no romantic or sexual expectations of Tempest,” Draven explains. “She would live with us and work for Hel’s Carnival. The engagement would be incredibly public, with mandatory interviews and public displays of affection, but they might not even need to marry.”
“A false engagement, then?” Cain clarifies.
Draven, Governor Raph, and The Devil all nod.
“We can renegotiate terms if we need to proceed with an actual marriage,” the human cuts in. “For now, she won’t be free to travel alone or be able to come and go as she pleases, but that could definitely change if this needs to become a more long-term solution.”
“I would require occasional proof of life,” my father says, feigning as though he cares for me, when we both know he only cares about his image.
Draven smirks. “Of course. We can certainly provide that.”
“How long will we be engaged?” I finally say, and all heads turn to me.
“It’s all dependent upon you and Yasmeena’s work in the community, as well as the other leaders’ cooperation. Could be six months, could be a year. We were engaged for a year.” Gemma points to Draven.
“After a year we can decide if the princess and I need to actually wed, or if our engagement was enough,” Yasmeena says.
Yasmeena, the felion who might have killed your cousin.
My stomach threatens to empty itself onto the cold tile floor, and I swallow it down, not allowing the pain of this moment to reach my eyes. I meet my father’s gaze. “I don’t have a choice in the matter, do I?”
Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, I think to myself. But it’s too late; the words have already left my lips.
He shakes his head, signing my sentence. “No, you do not.”