Four

Seven years later…

Terrell sat back in his apartment. Alone, he quietly pondered his next steps. Last week he walked the stage with top honors in law. He had passed his bars. He was officially an attorney. His father was so proud, standing there in the beating sun and taking pictures of his son as that graceful gown seemed to float around him.

Only this time, there were no middle fingers involved. There was no telling a small town to piss off.

It was him. Terrell Gladson and his day of glory.

But now, as he sat in his empty apartment, he started to feel the emptiness seeping in. The same emptiness he felt that night of the accident when he rejected Anastasia. A deep, hollowness that penetrated his thoughts, and sometimes, his very soul.

The thought of, you will always be alone.

Terrell was the epitome of puberty done right. The old glasses were gone, Lasix taking their place and clearing any horrid eyesight he may have ever had. Bad eyesight for a werewolf? Unheard of! But he had, and that was just it. Had.

His spicy mustard hair had darkened into a rich auburn, flipped to the side like one of those fancy underwear model guys. He had turned to using a gym instead some back country for his workouts. His voice had deepened into a sultry devilish baritone. He had dropped seventy pounds in fat weight for eighty pounds in ripped, tight muscles.

He was a swooner. Terrell had no issues with wooing the ladies with his muscular country boy style, his deep country voice and his rich boy demeanor. He rocked the suits as easily as he rocked the white t-shirt and blue jeans.

He was every college girl’s dream boy. And every college dad’s nightmare.

The pack he and his father had joined had shown Terrell and Richard a newfound respect for their authority in the courts. His father was an aging partner, but his skills in the courtroom remained unmatched for the rookie off the field. Hi charisma and charm won him over many a jury, but more importantly, his need for the written books and research won him over the judges.

The pack knew the truth of what had happened just before graduation. Word of the horrendous accusations had spread like wild fire across the nation from pack to pack, the story getting wilder as it was crossed in communication. Some said Terrell bit the boy’s foot clean off. Others said he ripped it apart with his human hands.

When questioned about it in the new pack introductions, Terrell had sunk into himself before finally saying, “What have you heard so I can clear it up?”

Terrell had explained every last detail like it was only yesterday. From the thread colors of their clothes to him lying in patient wait. He explained that he knew Gavin’s weakness was his stamina, and lying there in the underbrush not exerting his would be the easiest way to win over the new potential alpha.

The pack council had convened for the evening, and the next morning, a courier was sent to the Gladson’s new home. The wax sealed letter was placed in Richard’s hands, and Richard waited patiently for his son to rise before breaking the seal.

“Morning pop!” Terrell exclaimed as he bounded in the door. “Hope you don’t mind. I went for a run this morning to learn the layout of the town. This place is huge!”

Richard, surprised at his son’s energy bursts of late, asked Terrell to sit down, and if wanted some coffee.

“Yeah sure dad!” He jogged up to Richard, wrapping his arms around him from behind. “You are the best pop a pup could ever have, you know that?”

Richard got up quietly. He turned to his son, mustering a smile. “The courier came son. Sit. I’ll grab coffee. And don’t you dare open that seal without me here.” His voice had a mild growl to it, showing Terrell he meant business.

Terrell took a step back. “Uh, yeah, sure dad.” Sitting down, he noticed the neatly rolled scroll for the first time since he came in.

“It’s wax sealed?”

“Yes.”

“What’s this imprint?”

“It’s the ring of the Alpha.”

“Oh. Huh. Neat!”

Richard swore Terrell sounded like he was ten years old again, excited over a class trip to the museum, especially the area where all of the old books were kept. He returned with two cups of black coffee and sat down hesitantly and quietly.

“Well, are you going to open it?”

“Terrell, I have to talk to you first.”

“Mm-k, what is it dad?”

Richard sighed deeply. “Do you know who you are?”

Terrell laughed, but quieted back when he realized his father was getting frustrated. “Um, I guess not?”

“Terrell, you, you are an alpha. Just as I am, or was, and so was your grandfathers, four generations back now.”

“Wait…”

Richard held his hand up for silence. “This letter, this sealed illumination, will tell us if we are to carry on our fates here in Stanford.”

“I don’t think I’m following you pop.”

“Let me break the seal and then I will explain.”

Richard reached out to the scroll, shakingly taking it up in his hands. The wax cracked under the pressure of his fingers. Richard slowly unrolled the scroll, read the writing on it, and dropped it. His face went white and tears began rolling down his cheeks. “I can’t believe it,” he mustered between the gasping breaths.

“What pop? Can I read it? Are you going to tell me?”

Richard slid the scroll across the table to his son. His hand still atop it, “Don’t cry out. Whatever you do, don’t cry out.”

Terrell hesitantly nodded his head. He slowly picked up the scroll:

By honor of the 7^th house of Alpha Demetri

It is hereby declared the Terrell Gladson is indeed of pureblood lineage, carried forth of seventeen generations. Upon further research, Terrell shall hereby be regarded as Alpha Terrell, leader of the Centri Pack of Stanford, and the sole heir to the Alpha title.

Alpha Terrell is regarded as a virtuous leader, kind, patient, and willing to help his fellow wolven. The Council declares this forthwith, say none other to charge against.

Signed,

Alpha Demetri

Beta Larson

Gamma Zantu

Now here he stood, hot shot lawyer, Alpha of a major government pack, and exhausted from graduating a week ago. This hot shot lawyer, trying to figure out if the yogurt in his fridge was bad or if he should garnish himself to take out. Again.

He called his dad. Four rings, no answer. Pop must be working late again. He sighed and put his cell back in his pocket. He could go for a run, but by then the buffets across town would be closed.

He grunted as he decided to call for a pizza. Twenty minutes later, Terrell, pepperoni and hot coffee sat over a small stack of files he had brought home from the office.