Joe Hobbs sat in the back of the church to avoid notice. He wanted some time to gather his thoughts.
It all happened so fast—his father’s death. Too fast.
St. Mary’s wasn’t all that big, but it was the only Catholic church he could find on short notice. Most shifters didn’t like enclosed spaces. But his father had been a praying man and insisted in his will he wanted to have a church service.
Joe never took to religion.
The funeral goers walked right past him to pay their respects to his father. The old man looked peaceful in eternal rest—the exact opposite of Alan Hobbs in real life.
His father was always in motion, always too busy for his family.
As Alpha of the Faith Spring pack, it was understandable. Alan belonged not just to Joe and his mom, but to the pack.
In the end, his mother died of heartache and his father would be buried alongside her in the back of the church.
When Joe died, he wanted to be cremated, his ashes scattered to the wind, or perhaps the ocean.
He doubted he’d like to have strangers popping in to view his corpse. It wasn’t just friends or pack members who visited, but also wolves from other packs.
Enemies also came to gloat. They didn’t need to say a word, but Joe knew the look in their eyes.
That angered some of the pack enforcers—who were most of his father’s friends, but what could Joe do about it?
Despite his strategic position in the back pew, visitors didn’t miss him.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“We expect great things from you, Alpha.”
Those were some of the typical words they imparted.
Joe grunted one response or another. Some claimed to know his father well.
He kept his silence. Joe had never been close to his father. The same blood flowed in their veins but that was all.
Maybe coldness and emotional detachment was the only way his father knew how to raise his own kid. According to his dad, showing less emotion would toughened up the future Alpha of the pack.
In their world, hard men to led the flock.
“Alpha, your father was a good man, a terrific leader. The very best,” said an elderly gentleman whose name Joe didn’t know.
Zack, one of his father’s closest friends and a grizzly old enforcer for the pack, had given him a folder of names to remember.
Joe didn’t bother to take a peek.
Alpha. That was funny.
Joe still couldn’t get used to the word. He heard the other members of the pack muttering to themselves.
They questioned his ability to lead and why shouldn’t they?
Joe stayed in the background his entire life. Sure, he helped out in missions. When there was hurting to be done and a turf war to fight, he was there with everyone else, but he didn’t exactly stand out.
If his father had any plans to train him for the position, Joe never knew.
“He’s not ready.”
“What’s going to happen to the pack?”
Those were some of the words the other pack members whispered when they thought he wasn’t looking. The church was small. Joe heard it all and didn’t give a damn about it.
“Can I join you, Joe?” It was Cameron, another of his father’s old friends and a veteran pack member.
Cameron didn’t wait for his answer and simply took the seat next to him. For a couple of seconds they didn’t speak. Nonetheless, Joe could sense the older man’s disappointment.
“You aren’t playing your part. That’s going to hurt your position,” Cameron eventually said.
A position Joe never asked for, but he didn’t say the words out loud. If there was one thing he learned growing up amongst other predators, it was to never trust anyone. An Alpha had his enforcers close by, but an Alpha was essentially alone.
We need to hold ourselves apart from the others. We can’t afford to show weakness. Everyone’s relying on us. His father had said those words, words that didn’t mean a thing to Joe.
At his silence, Cameron let out a frustrated snarl.
“Your father meant for you to be Alpha. If you don’t take control now, there are going to be challenges.”
Joe knew that too.
Werewolves followed strength. Any position in the pack could be won or lost. The strong ate the weak. Joe could hold his own decently in a fight, but if he were facing a veteran, he was doomed.
Vets might be older, a little slower, but they had plenty of experience under their belt.
No. Joe knew he could been a decent leader, but he lacked the heart.
“Listen to me,” Cameron said, more force in his voice. “You need to step up.”
“Can we not talk about this? My father just died.”
It was a poor excuse and they both knew it.
“You’re grieving. We understand that, but you can’t fall apart now. Your position is shaky.”
Joe finally looked at the other man. “Why are you supporting my claim of leadership?”
Cameron blinked, as if surprised by his question. “Alan meant for you to take over the pack. He saw something in you. He believed in you.”
“Bullshit.”
“You know how your father is. He never shows emotions, but we all knew his will,” Cameron explained. “You’re young and strong. That’s what the pack needs—a new change in leadership.”
His father’s will? What about Joe’s?
Joe never wanted anything of this.
Hell, if given a choice, he would leave the pack. Start somewhere new. Eventually, Joe would find his mate, the one man he’d been searching for all his life. They’d make a home, start a family.
An Alpha didn’t have the luxury of enjoying something that simple.
Before his mother passed away—no even before that, Joe never ever seen her smile. His parents had an arranged marriage. His dad needed his mother’s pack as allies. It was ironic. In the end, his mother fell for a man with a heart of stone.
His father didn’t love her. To Joe’s knowledge, Alan never uttered the three little words or showed her any affection in public.
“People are saying my dad didn’t die the right way, that Alphas should be made of stronger stuff. It might be hereditary. They’re saying I’m not fit to lead,” he muttered.
Cameron narrowed his eyes. “Alan died in a car accident. No one could predict that.”
Sure, but Alphas should die in a more noble matter—that was the general consensus. How would Cameron react, once he found out the truth?
Joe’s father didn’t die in a car accident. Alan committed suicide for reasons unknown to Joe.
Hell, his father had been considerate enough to write him a fucking farewell letter. It was more like an errand list actually.
Take care of the pack.
Do what you can to help the pack move past.
Never tell them the truth.
His dad was quite the character.
The suicide note remained inside his back pocket, rumpled and read far too many times.
Maybe part of Joe still believed his dad wouldn’t be such a weak bastard, that Alan still possessed some redeeming qualities.
He let out a little inappropriate laugh. Cameron’s mouth tightened and Joe caught a glimpse of Cameron’s sharp teeth.
“Maybe I made a mistake,” Cameron said eventually. “Prove me wrong, Joe. Fucking get your shit together. There’s a pack meeting after the service. Announce your new enforcers. Pick some vets but add new blood too. Zack will be the one out for your throat.”
Cameron rose to his feet, leaving Joe to the silence.
In the end, nothing had changed.
****
Once the service ended and the priest left, the pack meeting started. Joe gave his father’s coffin one last look, before joining the others outside the church.
It was chilly tonight and it didn’t help they conducted the meeting in the graveyard. Joe ignored the looks other pack members gave him.
He silently assessed the crowd. The Faith Spring pack numbered close to thirty members, making them a mid-sized pack. Being responsible for so many individuals—maybe that was what pushed his father to suicide.
Cameron stood by his side, so did Everett, another vet.
The pack seemed divided, between his group and Zack’s.
Zack always had a way with his words.
Joe’s father always warned him to watch out for Zack. Most of the time, pack meetings started with urgent matters to discuss. This time, Zack cut to the chase.
“Joe Hobbs, you’re not fit to lead the Faith Spring pack. I challenge you to a one-on-one duel for the position of Alpha.”
Zack’s words rang through the entire graveyard.
Joe expected that.
“On what basis do you deem Joe unfit to lead?” Cameron demanded.
To his horror, Zack held out a crumpled piece of paper—his father’s suicide note. Joe patted his pocket. Fuck. Did he drop that by accident? Unlikely. Zack must have spotted him re-reading it often and decided it must be important.
“This,” Zack said with a smirk. “Alan’s letter to his son, telling Joe he can’t do this anyone, that he’s staged his own suicide.”
“Bullshit.” Cameron stomped up to Zack and snatched the letter.
Zack met his gaze with steely gray eyes. “If the father was weak, so is the son.”
Cameron looked shaken after reading the letter, passing it onto Everett.
Finally, the veteran wolf composed himself. Joe gave Cameron props for keeping things together. Cameron was his father’s childhood friend. They’d been through plenty of things together, but it seemed his father kept his suicide a secret even from Cameron.
“This doesn’t prove Joe will be a bad leader. For all we know, you made up this note,” Cameron quipped.
Zack laughed. “Don’t delude yourself, Cam. You know Alan’s handwriting.”
“Cameron, its fine,” Joe said, finally speaking for the first time.
He projected his voice a little louder. He knew he had the support of the younger wolves, pack members his age who he grew up with. Fought with. But it wasn’t enough. They needed both old and new blood.
When Joe lingered in the back of the church, he thought he wasn’t prepared for this. Zack telling the others he was weak pissed the hell out of his wolf.
The beast in him was close to the surface of his skin, eager to prove this bastard wrong.
Joe didn’t need someone else to fight his battles for him. He’ll win this fight of his own merit and prove to the pack he was meant to be Alpha.
Oh, Joe hadn’t undergone any sort of enlightenment. He was still the same, still unsure about being Alpha to so many wolves. But he decided to take on one problem at a time.
If you’re uncertain, pretend. Pretend hard enough and you’ll eventually be what you want others to believe, his father always said.
Back then, Joe had been appalled by what little faith his old man had in him. On second thought, maybe it was Alan trying to convince himself. Perhaps his father tried too hard to be the perfect Alpha.
In the end, that advice backfired on Alan and drove him into ending his own life.
“I accept your challenge, Zack,” he answered
There were cheers from the younger wolves his announcement. Joe didn’t want to disappoint them or Cameron and the other vets who believed he was the rightful Alpha.
Hell, he didn’t want to disappoint himself, but he was still torn.
The idea of losing on purpose came to mind. Joe could get himself scratched up, admit defeat and use it as an excuse to leave the pack. Zack would certainly have a field day, but that would make him a coward.
Sure, even if he could put on a performance of a lifetime and no one would guest at his real motives—he’d need to learn to live with the lie the rest of his life.
There was nothing else to do.
“Where?” Joe asked Zack.
“Behind the pack house at dawn.”
Zack and the rest of his cohorts turned and walked away.
Joe endured slaps on his back. Cameron gave him a nod of approval.
“Want to get a drink to celebrate, Alpha?”
“Need someone to warm your bed, Alpha?”
Joe politely declined and told them he needed some private alone time. Once the pack dispersed, he returned to the church and finally had to guts to face his father.
There were only a few mourners now. Joe walked up the coffin.
In death, Alan finally looked happy.
Joe on the other hand, was screwed.
He thought he had plenty of rage to unleash, plenty of words left unsaid. Joe wouldn’t get the opportunity to say what he wanted again, because his father would be put to the ground tomorrow afternoon.
Like most of the conversations he had with his father, it began with stony silence and ended the same way.
Joe left the church after saying his peace.
The wolf in felt uneasy, unhinged and Joe decided a run in the woods could do him some good.
Grabbing his car in the church parking lot, Joe drove to the outskirts of town and parked the car on the side road. Woods bordered either side of the road at this point and he knew they stretched for hundred of miles.
The pack—his pack for now, was responsible for the town and the forests bordering it. It was plenty of responsibility for a guy in his mid-twenties, but he’d think about that later.
Besides, the outcome of the fight was pretty much a done deal.
Stripping out of his clothes, Joe kept them along with his belongings in the air.
Joe reached for his wolf.
Fur covered his arms. Bones and organs rearranged themselves. Once on all four paws, Joe broke into a run. The feel of the earth under his paws and the wind on his face was amazing.
Exhilaration filled him. Being a wolf was much simpler than being a man.
The beast had basic needs—hunt, fuck, and protect its mate and den. That was it.
Back when he was younger, Joe preferred to remain in animal form as opposed to his human one.
His father warned him that was folly.
A shifter who spent too much time in beast mode lost sense of his or her reality eventually. In the end, they forgot about their human half and ended up no different from a normal wolf.
Joe didn’t know how long he ran.
Once again, freedom called to him.
Ditch the fight. Let Zack take over, his wolf whispered...but maybe his father had an influence on him.
Real men didn’t run away from a fight. No matter how many times Joe got knocked down, he’d get up and try again.
He arrived at the pack house right when the sun was nearly up. Most of the pack members were already there. Cries and yips rose up when he arrived. Joe padded to the edge of the circle his pack mates made.
The land where the current pack house stood had belonged to his grandfather. His father had built the current sprawling three-level house there, along with the help of other veterans.
It was a place the pack called home...except it had never been home to Joe.
Zack stood at the other end of the challenge circle, still in human form.
“I never thought you’d be this stupid to accept my challenge,” Zack told him.
He willed the noise of the crowd faded away.
Joe needed to focus. Zack looked downright serious. If this turned out to be a fight to the death, then Joe was sorry to have come at all. He waited for Zack to undress and turn into a wolf.
In animal form, Zack was about his size, had red fur and Zack’s muzzle was scarred. According to pack stories, Zack got that wound from an Alpha werebear—a souvenir of his victory.
The scar was another reminder of how much more experience Zack had compared to Joe.
They circled each other warily.
Cameron stepped out from the crowd.
“This fight is for the position of Alpha. The victor will choose whether the loser will live or die,” Cameron announced.
What the hell? Why didn’t Cameron tell him the rules earlier?
Than again, Joe didn’t think to ask. He understood Cameron’s perspective. Cameron and the others expected him to win, to eliminate Zack forever.
They had so much misplaced confidence in Joe that he would have laughed if he were in human form.
“Start the fight,” Cameron said in a ringing voice.
The veteran stepped back to join the rest.
The veteran wolf eyed him. They continued circling, gauging each other’s potential weak spots.
Joe had seen Zack fight, had witnessed Zack hold onto his position of pack enforcer by ending the life of anyone stupid enough to challenge him.
Zack had a vicious style. Once, his father confessed to Joe he feared the day Zack would fight him for the position of Alpha.
Impatient, Joe made the first move and came after Zack.
Zack dodged him nimbly.
Fuck, but the vet could move fast despite his size.
Joe had been training his body all his life, but it wouldn’t be enough. Learning how to fight was a requirement for dominant wolves, whose job was to protect the weaker members of the pack.
Joe knew he had plenty of power and stamina. Speed, he didn’t have.
Zack lunged at him and left a few scratches on him.
Joe decided to play this fight aggressively. That was the only way to win. He might manage quick or lucky strikes.
His plan backfired.
Zack moved at a lightning-quick pace.
Eventually, they collided—a tangle of fangs, fur and teeth.
Zack’s claws dug past fur and muscle, drawing blood. Hissing in pain, Joe tried to throw off the other wolf, but it was no use.
At the very least, at least Joe managed to deal some damage. They marked each other up good—except Joe realized he wouldn’t win this fight.
He didn’t see the swipe from the corner of his eye—Zack’s claw. Joe couldn’t see with his left eye.
Howling, he tried to throw Zack off him but the veteran wolf went for his throat. Joe struggled. If Zack pressed his claws any deeper, the veteran wolf would be able to rip out his throat in one jerk.
Their gazes met. Seconds passed, but it felt like an eternity.
Do it. Kill me and end my misery.
Of course, Zack couldn’t read his mind, but Joe understood defeat when he saw it coming.
Afterall, he did his job. Joe didn’t run from the most important fight of his life. He faced Zack head on. And lost.
Did he live a meaningful life without regrets?
Well, that was up for debate.
Joe would have wanted to find a mate to love with all his heart. He would never let his soul mate go. And Joe would want to have his own family.
Unlike Alan, he would make loving mate and caring for his family his number one priority.
Joe wanted to do a lot of things, but his time had run out.
He shut his eyes and waited for die.