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Ramos

The office light above me flickers, and a sense of unease suddenly hits me like a bag of bricks. The task I was working on suddenly seemed minor, and I tried to pinpoint what was causing me to feel like this. Everyone in my pack should either be asleep or performing their assigned tasks. The wolves on patrol should be checking in to assure me that no rogue has crossed the pack line. Yet when I check the pack and warrior links, I hear no chatter.

“What the hell is happening?” I mumble, pushing away from my desk and standing to my feet. I know Marilyn is in bed—I’d had it confirmed by one of the warriors guarding her. But what about the other wolves that live and work in the packhouse? What are they up to?

Deciding to leave my office, I enter the halls to find an omega quietly carrying some linen toward the laundry chute. She notices me staring, her small frame quivering as she turns and bows.

“I-is there anything you need, Alpha?” She asks, her voice timid.

“No. I was just finishing my work,” I decline, deciding the omega wasn’t doing anything unusual. She nods, throwing the last of the linen down the chute before scampering away like a pup with her tail between her legs.

Unease still remains as I quietly stroll the halls of the packhouse, listening in on the many sounds the night brings into this creaky old place. Lidia had told me the packhouse would need repairs long ago, but I’d brushed her off. Now, as I step along the quiet halls with the creaking of old floorboards, I wish I’d listened—the sounds add to my growing unease.

[What’s the status of the pack borders?] I call out through the warrior link, hoping those on patrol will hear and reply quickly.

[Everything is quiet, Alpha,] someone replies back after a minute has passed. I should feel relieved by this report and be able to relax and settle down. Instead, the unease becomes a gnawing anxiety inside me. I know I should trust my men with their duties, trust that they’re keeping pack members in and danger out. Lately, however, I have felt unrest amongst those I lead. Maybe it’s this unrest fueling my unease tonight.

[Keep me posted if anything changes.] I ordered, shutting off the link before anyone could reply. Maybe I’ve been working too hard and need some relief—relief only Marilyn can provide.

Trying my best to push the unease aside, I make my way to the grand staircase and climb to the fifth floor. Omegas and warriors bow as I pass them. I dismiss them with a wave of my hand, not bothering to say anything as I climb the steps, stopping every so often to look out the window and see if I can spy anything in the woods beyond the packhouse.

Nothing stirs but the leaves in the wind. A bat flies across the window, heading towards its unknown destination, and that unease persists. Something is coming. What that is, I do not know, but instinct is telling me that a hidden danger is nearing the pack.

I could wake the warriors now and have them rush to the borders for extra security, but that would only cause them to hate me more than they already do if there is no threat.

“Alpha Ramos?” a soft voice calls out, and I spy a she-wolf with a basket of clothes in her arms—clothes I recognize as belonging to Marilyn.

“It’s nothing. Carry on with your duties,” I order, catching the she-wolf’s curious glance. She looks away out of fear when I send a glare her way before apologizing to me and scampering down the hallway. I scoff, wondering when everything started to go wrong for me as I make it the final few steps and stand on the landing to the fifth floor.

The anxiety grows as I look at the corridors leading to the bedrooms of this floor, which is meant for the alpha family. Did my problems begin when Lucas left and sent that email? No. They had started before then. Was it when I killed Lidia in cold blood for threatening me? That can’t be it, either. No one knew I’d murdered my first mate—not even Lucas knew how his mother had really died.

Then, when did this hatred and fear from my pack start?

“Ramos?”

Snapping out of my thoughts, I realized I’d reached my room. Marilyn had called out to me, her hands rubbing sleepily at her eyes as she yawned. I took in her scantily clad appearance, the lust I felt for her fighting against the unease that seemed to want to consume me.

“Are you done working?” she asks, hands dropping onto her lap as she looks at me with wide, sleepy eyes.

“I am,” I admit, walking towards my bed and shrugging off my clothes with each step. She watches me, her eyes locked on mine, and for a brief moment, I notice a flicker of disgust, but then it is gone. Confused, I stop just a foot from the bed, wondering if the unease is making me see things—the look of complete adoration she usually has on her face has returned.

“What’s wrong?” Marilyn asks, patting my side of the bed.

“Nothing,” I mumble, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. That’s right, nothing is wrong at all. Everything I feel is just my imagination, probably from the stress of planning an attack on Ivory Fangs.

“Nothing is wrong,” I repeat as convincingly as I can, although I’m unsure if I am trying to convince Marilyn or myself.

Climbing into bed, I pull Marilyn into my arms and breathe in her sweet honey scent. Her soft body is still clothed in a thin nightgown, one that only takes a claw to cut off her.

“Ramos!” she squeals in surprise, her breasts falling free from the now-destroyed nightgown.

“Shh, my love. I just need your touch,” I declare, my voice firm as I push her onto her back and claim her perky breast with my mouth. She lets out a short gasp as I suckle from her breast, my free hand moving to tease and pinch the other nipple.

“Ra-Ramos. It’s too late,” Marilyn protests, but I chuckle.

“No, Marilyn. It’s not too late for you to be fucked,” I state, claiming the other nipple and moving my hands down her exposed body to her little pussy that always takes me greedily. She moans beneath me, her legs spreading further apart. I can feel just how ready she is for me, how ripe her body is for the fucking.

The shrill sounds of sirens scream through the night, causing me to pull away from Marilyn with a snarl. Who the fuck would sound the alarm when there’d been no warning from those patrolling the borders? Cursing this horrid timing, I leave Marilyn in bed and grab the pants I discarded, throwing them back on.

“What the fuck is going on?” I demand, grabbing the arm of the first omega I see.

“We’re under attack!” she exclaims, fear in her eyes.

“By who?” I growl out, shaking with rage.

“By us,” a female voice calls, her tone so cold that it sends shivers down my spine. I turn to face the intruder.

There, at the landing of the fifth floor, stand the two wolves I didn’t expect to see for another two weeks. Lucas and Kaylee, wearing all black and smelling like the blood of my men, look like Gods of death coming to take their revenge on me. Their power, emanating in waves, makes me shiver like a weak pup.

“Hi, Dad,” Lucas says, his eyes so black that I can see my reflection in them. “I’ve come back for my pack.”