Chapter 5

Once the blanket of night has thickened and the moon has peaked, the cloaked man leaves his manor in the middle of the woods. His heavy feet leave deep prints on the damp soil, and his dark cloak rides the wind with every move. Yet despite all his weight, he moved swiftly and was light on his feet; hinting that a mighty fighter hides behind the baggy cloak. 

Under his hood he hides a beastly pair of raven eyes, glinting with mischief under the moonlight. Whenever he leaves his manor, the entire pack shudders to think what the crazy beast has behind his mischievous eyes.

He was known by multiple names and titles, and he lives up to dutifully: the mad dog of the House of the Wolves, Flavian’s disgrace of a brother, the curse of the Fauntleroys, and so many more. He is the living big bad wolf in human fairytales. He is the nightmare, the unhinged, and the cursed.

But the first name he was ever given, was Fenrir. Fenrir Fauntleroy.

A magnificent babe then, the first of his name, and was a prodigy. Who would’ve known the bright boy would turn out like… this?

“Please, spare me!”

There was that familiar cry, the plea to be spared. The wailing wolf was a sinner to the pack, but his crimes were yet to be acknowledged by the pack’s council of elders and thus Fenrir took it upon himself to punish the sinner. And oh, no one would want to be punished by Fenrir’s hands.

“I-I will be your slave, willingly! I will do what it takes j-just please… let me live!” He was stuttering and shaking rigorously as his pleading face was shadowed by Fenrir’s enormous shadow. The sinner fell to the ground, cowering and whimpering like a puppy.

A low laugh came from him. And tauntingly, he said, “The girl you raped, the omega, she lived on the other side of the territory but even I could hear her cries nights after you came to her bed uninvited. It irks me and so I cannot delay your punishment any longer. Because only then can she stop being annoying at night.”

“Alina…” he recalled the omega’s name. It rolled off his tongue disgustingly, like a snake spitting venom. “Please, milord, it was an accident. I… I was foxed. I did not know what I was doing!”

“Well, now that you are reminded, let us get on with it.” He smirked, without an ounce of mercy left for the sinner.

Daybreak came and the village came to find a brutally dismembered corpse, where his gut was exposed and naked for everyone to see. Large and deep claw marks were seen on every inch of his body. And the worst part, his head was not in the same place as his body—they weren’t even connected. The head bit off and found a few feet away. The sinner’s eyes were wide with fear. He was a wolf, yet he could not even think of shifting for his wolf spirit cowered in the presence of a domineering, oppressive, and terrorizing presence of a much more powerful wolf.

No words need to be said. It was obvious who the murderer was.

And as gory as it would be, they were used to this. And the murderer’s savage tendencies.

The pack quietly proceeded with the funeral rites. His younger brother, Flavian, was quiet like everyone, and his expression grim. Every death was significant to the pack, who kept a close family-like relationship with each other, and so at every funeral, everyone was required to attend. In that hundred or so people, Fenrir’s shadow was nowhere to be found.

His brother ought to reprimand him once again so he does not show his face.

But that night, he slept soundly. There was no more of the omega’s rhythmic woes that kept him awake.

“I know you are in there.”

The next morning, just as the sun was rising, came his brother’s heavy knocks on his antiquated manor inside the woods. Fenrir growled in his decades-old pillow, grumpy for his ruined sleep. He grumbled under his breath but stood up nonetheless to open the door. The wooden door creaked open and dust floated around their faces, but it did not hide his dear young brother’s frown. Immediately, Fenrir’s sly attitude showed in his smirk.

“That’s the second one in just one fortnight, brother,” he greeted and came inside without permission. He looked around and saw his manor in all its aged beauty. “Your residence is looking dusty as ever, I see.”

Fenrir rolls his eyes. “If only I had beautiful maids who can help me clean…”

He cranes his neck behind to glare at him, saying, “None of the fathers in the pack wants to send their daughter as servants to this house ever since you moved here if you weren’t aware; because of your actions.”

“What actions?” He asks innocently.

“Your…” his face contorted ever-so-slightly, finding it difficult to choose a fit word, “…punishments. The ones you befall upon our members without enough contemplation.”

They head for the kitchen, where Flavian goes to his pantry and goes through his stored food, which he scarcely has.

“Members? I’d rather you not call them members, brother,” he replied, evident disdain at the mention of ‘members’. “Those unapologetic bastards that do not honor the pack’s rules—however few they are—do not deserve to be included in our protection.”

“But their crimes were yet to be proved and the council of elders are still coming to an agreement on their punishment. You do this every time,” he turns to him, cheese in hand, “Whenever we are close to proving their crimes, you strike at midnight and kill them. Without respect for the pack’s process of how these crimes should be addressed. Do you know I am doing my best to keep our elders from exiling you?”

Fenrir’s face was of disbelief. He sharply inhaled. “Exile?”

“Indeed,” he sighed, equally problematic. “You heard correctly. They have come to these extremes because of the terror you are instilling in the pack of late. The violent deaths, the overhanging question of our parents' inheritance, and your recent behavior are far from an ideal Alpha’s character.”

“I have no desire to take Father’s title,” suddenly, his voice fell serious. “They gave it to me as soon as they died just because I was the oldest. I had no desire to be Alpha when I failed to protect the very people I am supposed to protect.”

It was a fresh wound for the two brothers.

The death of their parents, the late Alpha, and Luna of the House of the Wolves. It happened just three fortnights ago, and so the pain still throbbed vividly in the hearts of everyone in the pack. Their brave, upright, and honorable Alpha with his beloved, compassionate, and benevolent Luna. They did not deserve their horrible demise. And their sons were not ready to take on the roles left for them.

They are much too young to lead a pack. Much too ruled by their emotions, much too blinded by vengeance. Young, very young he was, to be crowned Alpha at 18. He did not know how to rule, how to be wise and look after his people, so he just ruled… like an emotionally-driven, narrow-minded, and selfish teenager.

That was how he earned yet another title, and his most recent one: the exiled Alpha.