Chapter 4 #2
Great. The small hairs on his nape prickled as he started forward. He hated having that asshole behind him, and he wasn’t his fucking son.
The pack’s manor house was one of those newer McMansions in a neighborhood of postage stamp properties that’d started going up in the area a decade or so ago.
Granted, its overly cultivated grounds and pristine lawn backed up to the state forest, but the bald hillside to the east with its stalled installation of three massive wind turbines screwed them out of any view they might’ve had.
It was also screwing with the leyline if the coven in town was to be believed, though what that actually meant, Chase wasn’t sure.
The last meeting about the eyesores had devolved into everyone yelling over each other, and he’d left.
Too bad he couldn’t exit here as easily.
He clomped up the front steps to the veranda, frowning at the cookie-cutter craftsmanship.
For the amount of money they’d paid, the house was garbage.
But his mother had gotten the sweeping front staircase and ballroom she’d wanted, and his father had gotten six months of peace and quiet before she was harping on the next way to beat the Joneses.
Chase didn’t have to live in it, so he kept telling himself it was stupid to care, but when he thought of the pack manor, his mind always went to the group of log cabins deep in the western woods.
That’s where he and most of the other unmarried male members of the pack lived.
His parents didn’t like it, but they’d liked him going feral a lot less, and him being out there was a big part of what had kept him sane while waiting for Jena to come back.
Not that they knew the reason behind his breakdown.
“He in his office?” Another stupid question.
“Where else?”
Chase grunted, heading in that direction.
Had his mother changed the wallpaper again?
He swore last Sunday it’d been blue, not gold.
Made the hallway even uglier than before.
Chase shook his head. God, her taste was garbage, but what did you expect when you based an aesthetic on how much something cost, instead of how it looked?
The manor was suspiciously quiet, the servants absent.
Usually he caught sight of a brownie or two when he was here, and the gnome typically answering the door hadn’t.
Luke was probably on his boat, and Sue out with friends, but the dread in Chase’s gut got heavier with his wolf’s pacing. Something was definitely not right.
Malcom stepped ahead of him to knock on the office door, opening it at a grunt from within. A billow of cigar smoke rolled out as they went inside.
Wallace Montgomery sat behind his lacquered cherry desk with a Cubano clamped between his teeth.
Though it wasn’t quite six p.m., the mountain of a man swirled a snifter of brandy.
Chase was positive it wasn’t his father’s first, and it probably wasn’t his second, either.
In the chair across the desk from him, Mayor Chambers did the same, like they were celebrating.
Chase’s eyes flicked to his brother Patrick, standing off to one side.
He scowled back, rubbing the pack signet ring on his finger.
Shit. Younger by less than a year, his brother only did that when he thought his toes were being stepped on.
Whatever they were here for, it was pack business, and he wasn’t happy Chase was being involved.
Spoiler, neither was he.
“Ah, Chase!” his father said like they were buddies. “Come, take a seat.”
His chipper mood wasn’t a good sign either.
They’d never seen eye-to-eye, and that’d only become worse after Chase’s breakdown.
He had zero interest in becoming alpha and “taking his rightful spot” in the pack, whereas Patrick had a law degree and enough ambition for both of them.
As far as Chase was concerned, Patrick could have it.
Too bad their father didn’t see it that way.
Malcom shoved him forward when he hesitated, and Chase bit back a growl as he sat in the remaining chair, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I’ve had some disturbing rumors reach my ears today,” his father began, ashing his cigar on the carpet. “What’s this I hear about you and Crystal breaking up? Your mother’s beside herself.”
Seriously? “We were never together,” Chase gritted out.
His father pursed his lips. “So you didn’t fuck her?”
The mayor winced, and a low growl came from Patrick’s direction.
Chase’s eyes flicked from them back to his father. “Once. Trust me, it was enough.”
“It’s unfortunate you feel that way. Mayor Chambers and I have just come to an agreement.” He tossed a portfolio at Chase and sat back, far too smug.
It landed at the far edge of the desk with an ominous thump. Chase didn’t reach for it, already feeling sick.
“Your mother and I had hoped that you bedding the girl meant you’d come to your senses.
” His father’s eyes glittered behind the striations of smoke across his desk.
“However, after today’s events, it’s become clear that your refusal to step up and choose a suitable mate has reached an untenable juncture. ”
Chase palmed the brim of his cap, ripping it lower. Jesus fucking Christ, here we go. Asshole could never pass up the opportunity—“Don’t. Don’t fucking start on this again—”
“I am alpha of this pack, and you will respect me as such!” his father roared.
Chase’s wolf surged to the forefront. “You keep pushing about this, and you might not be,” he shouted back.
Patrick growled, taking a step forward, and his father raised a hand, forestalling him. His eyes narrowed, a grin slicked over his face. “Well. There it is. Finally. You want to challenge me, boy?”
He didn’t, but if this was going the way he thought it was, he wouldn’t have a choice. “Are you gonna make me?”
“How you react in any given situation is entirely upon you,” his father drawled, spinning his snifter on the desk.
“Tensions with the Fayet pack are coming to a head, and I’m not pleased with the increased presence of Eastsiders in town.
Haver’s leadership needs to present a strong, united front.
As scions of the two most preeminent families in the Westside pack, your marriage to Crystal—”
“I’d rather go rogue,” Chase growled.
His father shrugged. “Then I’ll be forced to have Malcom take you in hand.”
Chase paused at the threat. Wallace Montgomery held his position solely by blackmail and intimidation, but Malcom was another thing altogether.
The rangy were was dangerous, and Chase had no illusions as to what that would entail.
Malcom would hunt him down and drag him to the altar, or he’d kill him, and Chase’s father sanctioning it was par for the course.
The sly smile on his brother’s face wasn’t giving him the warm fuzzies either.
He knew damned well how much Chase hated Crystal, and Patrick had been sniffing after her for as long as Chase could remember.
Asshole was probably betting on Malcom killing him.
This scenario practically guaranteed to get Chase out of the way, permanently.
Unless he took alpha, but that meant he’d have to put Malcom down.
Chase ran a hand over his jaw, eyeing his father’s beta and running his odds. Malcom returned his gaze and smirked like he knew exactly what Chase was thinking.
Shit. As much as he didn’t want alpha, this bullshit ultimatum wasn’t gonna give him a choice if he wanted to keep breathing.
And if they knew how he felt about Jena, she’d be the one on Malcom’s hit list. Leaving Havers with her wasn’t an option, either.
His father’s goddamned pride would never allow it.
“Lemme think about it,” Chase said as he stood, hoping that would buy him time to figure something out. Damn it. How the hell was he gonna—
“You have until the next full moon to put an engagement ring on Crystal’s finger,” his father said like it was already a done deal. “Your mother wants a November wedding.”
Chase left the room swearing. The next full moon was in six days, on Samhain.