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Chapter Twenty-Five
Scar
Myfatherlivesinthe biggest house in Nightshade, and the only one that is built out of stone. It stands in the centre of the town, with a short picket fence keeping the tidy front lawn separate from the town square where the people gather whenever there is an announcement to be made, like the death of an Alpha and the news of his replacement.
It seems fitting that he set things up so conveniently for my takeover.
This house is much more appropriate for the needs of my brothers and our future mate than our pitiful setup in our makeshift prison. I will enjoy taking it off his hands tonight.
Scratch looks at me. “Are you ready?”
“I am,” I tell him. “Stand back and watch for my signal.”
I pick up a brick from the prettily placed rocks in the garden of the town square, and I measure its weight in my hand before I throw it, aiming at the only lit window of the ground floor of the house.
The brick hits my target and shatters the glass.
The time for quiet is over.
Fox and Snake will be in place, ready to join us if there is any attempt at deception.
I wait outside of the garden, not willing to set foot on my father’s property until it is time to rip it out of the hands of his less capable children.
My father is not the first to step out of the house when the door opens and light spills out onto the porch.
His eldest claimed child is the first, the boy he named after the God of Wolves, Apollo.
The boy storms onto the porch, his face twisted in anger, and his hands curling into fists at his sides.
When he looks across his pretty little yard and sees me, his expression changes.
His anger vanishes when he sees it is not a member of his pack standing out here in the dark waiting for a fight. He does not know who, or what, I am, and the shock in his stare quickly turns to fear.
I growl at him from where I stand, several feet away.
He jerks back, stumbling, and only managing to keep from falling when he grabs hold of the doorframe.
There is a dark stain on the front of his pants as he backs away.
This is one of the children my father actually approved of as his son?
He is a coward, and I am willing to bet he is a bully, too.
“Don’t you dare crawl away like a worm,” I growl at him. “You will bring me your father, or I will bring him your head on a spike!”
I yank one of the slats from the fence and snap it in half, examining it under the moonlight.
“This will do nicely.”
The sound of the guy’s feet on the floor is comically loud as he rushes away to do what he is told.
Scratch shakes his head at me. “On a spike? Really?”
I shrug. “It’s a classic for a reason.”
“Poor kid,” he mutters.
“That poor kid is almost the same age that I am,” I remind him.
