Asena
The door to my father's office was exactly as I remembered it from fifteen years ago.
Dark oak. Brass handle. The grain of the wood running in a pattern that spelt 'Worship the Moon, praise the Goddess and reverence the Alpha' in the old tongue.
As soon as the guards standing outside his office saw Beta James and me approaching, they opened the door, and Beta James ushered me in first, then followed.
When I entered, I saw my father standing by the window with his back to the room, a glass of whiskey turning slowly between his fingers. His gaze was fixed on something outside.
I could hear the faint sound of clanging weapons and laboured grunts coming from the training grounds, which were just outside his office.
Beta James cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Alpha, Asena is here."
My father didn't turn. He nodded once and said. "Asena. Sit down."
I shuddered slightly at hearing him say my name twice in one day. It felt strange, almost unsettling. Regardless, I obeyed without a word and moved quietly to the leather couch, perching on its edge like I might need to flee at any moment.
He remained at the window for a moment longer, still turning the glass, before finally facing us. He turned to Beta James, addressing him without sparing me a glance.
"Instruct the kitchen to follow the meal plan sent by the Council for the Alphas. They should ensure their meals are served on time and prepared exactly as stated. I don't want any complaints about our hospitality."
Beta James inclined his head. "Already handled that, Alpha. The head cook has selected a team skilled in the special dishes that the alphas are used to."
"And Roland?"
"Gamma Roland is finishing border patrol but should be returning to the pack house shortly."
"Good," my father said, nodding. "Give him the Alpha's training schedule and ask him to let them train with only the best warriors in our pack. Let them use my private training ground since it has the most sophisticated and modern training equipment."
"Noted, Alpha. I'll inform him as soon as he arrives."
My father exhaled through his nose, nodding, as he ran a hand through his hair. "Good. I already feel miserable hosting those insufferable pricks, especially the Moss Twins. That Baltimore boy seemed humble enough, at least."
A flicker of amusement crossed Beta James's weathered face. "That's to be expected, Alpha. The Moss family has always been a prideful lot. Imagine after years of training and being selected out of three hundred candidates who participated in the trials. Their egos are bound to be inflated."
"Yes, yes," My father waved a hand dismissively, the whiskey catching the light again. "I know." He sighed and moved from the window to his desk, lowering himself into his high-backed chair. "What about the fourth candidate? Any word from the Council?"
Beta James's expression darkened slightly. "The Council wasn't exactly helpful on that front. They only said the fourth candidate would show up whenever he wants."
My father's mouth pressed into a thin line as he waved his hand in dismissal. "Fine. Keep me informed if anything changes. Thank you, James. That'll be all."
Beta James bowed stiffly, glancing briefly in my direction before turning toward the door. It closed with a soft click.
The silence that followed Beta James's departure was thick and oppressive. I kept my eyes fixed on my hands, folded neatly in my lap, and my thumbs were rubbing nervous circles against each other.
After a few seconds, my father stood and crossed the room to the minibar tucked near the bookshelf. He lifted the whiskey decanter and was about to pour himself another drink when he paused and turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder.
"What will you have?"
My head snapped up in surprise. I turned to look behind me, wondering if there was someone else in the room he was talking to.
But no. It was me.
"I'm fine, Alpha. Thank you."
He poured himself another generous measure anyway, then busied himself with preparing a cup of chamomile tea. The fragrant scent fills the room. He returned to the couch and placed the tea on the coffee table in front of me before sitting down with his whiskey.
"Drink," he said, taking a sip from his own glass.
My jaw tightened. I could feel my patience wearing thin. "I have a lot of chores today, Alpha. I would appreciate it if you could tell me why you sent for me."
There was a small pause. Then, to my utter shock, he chuckled—a warm, genuine sound that seemed completely out of place coming from him. He set his drink down on the table and leaned back against the couch.
"Asena," he drawled, looking at me with a strange softness in his eyes. "You remind me a lot of myself, sweetheart. "Always straight to the point. No patience for anything that isn't."
He chuckled again and reached for his whiskey glass, taking another sip.
"You'll be twenty-one soon, right? In thirty-three days, if I'm not mistaken."
I went completely still.
He knew.
Of course, he would know. He was the Alpha, and the pack's records were his. The birthdates, statuses, and petition histories of everyone in this territory were always available at his disposal.
Intellectually, I knew he should know. But I hadn't expected him to know the exact number of days.
"Yes, Alpha," I said carefully.
"Old enough to finally leave the pack or move out of the pack house, per our laws?"
At that, I raised my eyes to meet his. His hazel eyes stared back at me, mirroring my own perfectly. I hated that I looked so much like him—the same sharp cheekbones, the same stubborn set of jaw, even some of his small mannerisms.
"Yes," I said grudgingly.
He nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Have you been touched?"
My face flushed hot with embarrassment. I dropped my gaze immediately. "No."
"And your first heat?"
"Happened a long time ago," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded again, seemingly satisfied with my answers. Then he rose to his feet and walked to his desk. When he returned, he dropped a thick manila file onto my lap. It bore the official seal of the Black Seed Pack's crest.
My fingers hovered over it, unsure whether to touch it.
I looked up at him, puzzled, then down at the file resting heavily against my thighs. "What's this?"
He smiled—a calculating smile that didn't quite reach his eyes—and picked up his glass of whiskey.
"It's your ticket to make a clean break out of this pack. I know you've been submitting petitions to leave since you were nineteen, and I know you're desperate. So, I've made you a proposal."
My heart began to pound. My fingers twitched toward the file, but I didn't open it.
"If you do everything outlined in that document by the end of the Festival of the Seven Moons," he continued in a businesslike tone, "your pass slip will be issued. You can come and go from this pack as you please. You'll have your freedom, Asena. Completely, legally, and no one would be able to take it from you. But most of all…"
He paused.
I held my breath, my entire body tense.
"You will no longer be a ward of this household, or a maid. I will formally legitimise you as my daughter."