Bygone Love For The Alpha

The Sinister Charge

"Why did you come back, Yoyo?" The words hissed out, laden with frustration. I didn't need to see his face to recognize the voice. With his forearm pressing against my neck, I could feel his presence, and the scent that accompanied it. It was distinct from Ezra's. Caleb carried a blend of bold notes of amber and wood, while Ezra's scent was bolder, a mix of robust spice, citrus, and earthy woodiness.

As he glared down at me, I noticed a change in his eyes. Gone was the playful mischief I once knew so well. This look was different, stern, and intense. Caleb was genuinely angry, though the reason eluded me. To be honest, I'd never truly comprehended the source of their resentment toward me.

Caleb's forceful act of pinning me against the tree with his arm at my neck didn't startle me. Even though the pressure against my throat felt delicate, it seemed like it could shatter me to pieces. Yet, no, I wasn't surprised. This was a reckoning I had anticipated, an inevitability creeping closer.

He hadn't resorted to physical torment before, but deep down, I knew it was only a matter of time. Back then, I held no hopeful expectations from him, and I certainly hold none now. The air was thick with tension, a storm long in the making.

I narrowed my eyes at him, weariness settling deep within me. This cat-and-mouse game had worn out its welcome. "Weren't you extending a warm welcome just this morning, Beta?" I stressed the title, a reminder of his newfound position. It stirred a simmering anger within me. How could the Pack leaders entrust such a crucial role to someone like him? Then again, he was never cruel to the other werewolves, just me. Just the omegas. After all, who were we in their eyes? Inconsequential.

Caleb's narrowed gaze bore into me, his jaw clenched tight. A twitch of his nose preceded the release of his grip on my neck, and he took a step back. I held my position, though my legs wobbled beneath me. It wasn't just the physical impact of Caleb's force against the tree. It was the sight of Ezra and the icy reception he'd given me. I berated myself for expecting something different. Eight long years had carved a chasm between us. So much had shifted in that time. He wasn't my best friend anymore. He was the Alpha. Logically, I shouldn't have been fazed by his reaction, but truthfully, it cut deeper than I cared to admit.

"Haven’t you learned anything in the past eight years, Jade?" Caleb's voice dripped with anger, his eyes narrowing at me. My brow furrowed in response, allowing him to vent his frustrations.

"Don't you understand that you and Alpha Ezra are poles apart? I know what's swirling in your head," he continued, a cruel snigger punctuating his words. "Now that Daisy is gone, you think you can swoop in and take her place. Stop living in a fantasy, Yoyo. Alpha Ezra is leagues above you. You need to get that through your head. Quit trying to captivate him through his son. You're here for Momo's funeral. Attend it and then go. I won't tolerate you hovering around Ezra or Theo, do you hear me?" His finger jabbed toward me, emphasizing his point.

Now, my trembles had a different source. Anger coursed through me, fierce and unyielding. How dare he assume such things about me? Tears stung my eyes, a testament to my raging emotions. Unlike them, I couldn't rein in my feelings so easily. Gritting my teeth, I snarled in defiance. With a surge of determination, I took a step forward and pushed Caleb, though he stood unyielding. His strength dwarfed mine.

"Don't assume things about me!" I snapped, my voice trembling with anger. "I'm not here to entice Ezra or anyone else. I know my place in this biased Pack. I don't care about you or your unfair judgments. If it weren't for my family, I wouldn't have come back. That kid came to me, not the other way around! Don't tell me what to do. If you have a problem, talk to your Alpha about controlling his child." My words cut through the tension in the air.

“I will not let you disrespect me or Alpha Ezra like that, Jade!”

“Then you better stay away from me,” I spat back before I strolled away from a fuming Caleb.

As I walked away from Caleb, my steps were heavy with a mix of defiance and heartache. The words hung in the air, thick with tension and anger. Each breath felt like a struggle, my chest tight with the weight of the encounter.

Inside the cottage, my tears flowed freely, mingling with a sense of frustration and despair. The memories of the past, the pain of rejection, and the sting of their harsh words gnawed at my heart. It was as if the wounds of the past had been freshly torn open, leaving me raw and vulnerable.

The thought of leaving brought a strange mix of relief and sorrow. Relief at the prospect of escaping the hurtful words and judgmental glares, but sorrow for what could have been. As I looked around the familiar space, it was bittersweet, knowing that it might be the last time I'd see it. Tomorrow morning, after Momo's funeral, I'm setting off, and this place won't see me again.

An hour passed, and still, my parents hadn't returned. I sat in the quiet cottage, the unfamiliar customs of the werewolves weighing on me. I didn't know how long their ceremony would take. To be honest, I welcomed the solitude. I wasn't prepared to face my mother's barrage of questions the moment she walked through that door. I needed a moment to myself. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since my return, and I was already counting down the hours until I could leave once more.

Stepping into my old room, a rush of memories floods over me. It's as if time stood still, frozen in the moment I left eight years ago. My parents and Momo have kept it untouched, a silent plea for my return. Anger simmers within me as I think of how the Pack's archaic treatment of omegas has kept us from experiencing normal life. If only our elders would heed our pleas and consider moving to the city. It's hard to put into words just how much better life can be among humans, away from the shadow of these relentless creatures.

As I turned to leave the room, a sight outside the window held me in place. The window of my childhood room framed a view of the small garden that my mother had lovingly tended over the years. Her touch kept the greenery vibrant and thriving. Past the garden, a quiet street stretched out. Just across this seldom-traveled lane, the dense southern forest loomed - the same one I had just navigated. A faint blub cast a glow over our property's boundaries, while beyond the street, the forest lay cloaked in impenetrable darkness. Then, amidst the trees, I noticed something unusual.

A soft, green luminescence emanated from the depths of the forest I had traversed just an hour ago. Whatever it was, it seemed to be situated near the omega cottages. The sight sent a shiver down my spine, a strange mixture of curiosity and trepidation stirring within me.

“Could it be the witches?” I muttered to myself.

The stories told of witches weaving spells with vibrant green light and billowing smoke during their mystical rites. Yet, in my own practice, our witchcraft centered on mending and herbal remedies. These pursuits were viewed as minor, often yielding little to no significant aftermath. My mother recounted an unfortunate venture in the late 1970s when a group of witches sought to amplify their powers through secondary magic. Sadly, their endeavor resulted in a tragic loss, claiming the life of one witch due to unforeseen consequences. The remaining members were met with severe retribution from the Pack's authorities for their rashness.

In those days, Ezra's grandfather was the Alpha. According to my mother, he ordered the execution of those witches, deepening the fear among the already vulnerable omegas. This incident acted as a stern warning, deterring any future attempts at such potent witchcraft within the community. Consequently, the emphasis shifted towards utilizing magic for healing purposes, a practice my father faithfully carries on, and one to which my mother wholeheartedly devoted herself.

As the eerie green light emanated from the forest, a sense of curiosity mingled with a tinge of apprehension. Were there still witches daring enough to test fate? The Pack's laws strictly forbade such practices, a stern reminder of the dark days when malevolent witches held sway. When the werewolves eventually overtook them, they imposed a ban on secondary magic. The reasons were clear – allowing it to persist would tilt the balance of power, potentially blinding both witches and wolves to the dangers it posed. History had shown that unchecked magic could unleash devastation, a reality no wolf was willing to accept.

They speak of witches, thwarted by the Goddess's decree, unable to master secondary magic. When desperation seizes them, some forsake the path of purity and turn instead to darker forces, the malevolent spirit, Satan. Those who invoke magic in the name of evil, the devil, Satan, risk irrevocable corruption. The consequences can be catastrophic, for both the werewolves and the witches.

This forbidden art, known as black magic, is a subject of solemn instruction in our witchery lessons. We are taught that its practice leads to streets choked with inky smoke and the slow demise of once-thriving flora. It is not just a transgression. It is an affront to the very rules and principles governing our kind. Even the merciless rulers of witches in ages past refrained from its use.

A gasp of fear escaped my lips as I watched in wide-eyed terror. The once vibrant green light vanished abruptly, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake. Then, as if in response to this sudden darkness, the street outside the cottage began to fill with thick black smoke. I could only stand there, horror-struck, as the bushes lining the fences, adorned with delicate white and yellow blossoms, withered away in a matter of mere seconds. The sight was both astonishing and horrifying.

"No," a shiver ran down my spine. It was unmistakable – someone had just performed black magic. The air itself seemed to carry a sinister charge, sending a chill through my very bones.