Chapter 276

Lex’s Perspective

The burning haze from the whiskey clashed with the cold night air, turning into a dull throbbing at my temples and a deeper, gnawing agitation. I’d left Marta’s bar without calling a car, wanting to walk, to let the cold wind scour away the sting of Aurora’s sharp words and the… self-doubt they’d stirred.

What did she know? She had no idea what it was like, positioned where I was, under that constant weight of scrutiny. Father seemed to give me space, but he was observing every meeting, every decision. The uncles all had their own agendas.

There was so much to learn. Pack history, diplomatic games, resource management, threat assessment… and how to be a competent, even exceptional Alpha who could lead the pack through increasingly uncertain times.

And my sister? All she wanted was to break every chain, prove herself through danger.

Brett was even more ridiculous, wanting to pal around with rogues, fantasizing about some new order!

They thought I was rigid, arrogant, a “kid.” But their reckless impulsiveness was the real immaturity!

The alcohol churned these thoughts, feeding the suppressed anger and resentment. I walked aimlessly down dimly lit streets, eventually finding myself near the edges of pack territory, close to the community rehab center the family funded (where Brett and the others probably were).

Then I heard it. Familiar, raucous laughter that grated on my nerves tonight.

Rounding a corner, I saw three figures under the stark fluorescent light of a closed convenience store’s awning. Brett, Scarface, and that young rogue, Luka. Brett’s arm was still in a sling, but he looked healthy, talking to the other two with a wide, unrestrained grin I hadn’t seen on him in ages—a wild, carefree smile. Scarface leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Luka was gesturing animatedly, apparently telling some funny story.

They looked… relaxed. At ease. Like three teenagers skipping class, not werewolves who’d just escaped mortal danger with a knife still hanging over their heads.

A hot wave of anger surged up, crashing over me. All my anxiety, my pressure, my deep-seated disgust for “irresponsibility” suddenly found its perfect target.

“Brett!” I strode forward, my voice distorted by anger and drink.

All three turned. Brett’s smile vanished, replaced by wariness and coldness. Scarface’s eyes sharpened. Luka took an instinctive half-step back, positioning himself slightly behind Brett.

“This is how you recover?” I stopped a few paces away, my gaze icy as it swept over them. “Hanging out with these… strays, wandering the streets this late? You think this is fun? ’Free’?”

Brett frowned. “Lex, you’re drunk. My business. Scarface and Luka are my friends. You know what we went through together.”

“Friends?” I sneered, the alcohol making me cruel. “What’s their history? What loyalty do they have? They’re just solitary wolves living day-to-day on instinct! What can you learn from that? Chaos? Disorder? How to drag yourself and this family into even bigger trouble faster?!”

“Shut the hell up!” Brett’s temper ignited. He stepped forward, his injured arm not stopping him from squaring his shoulders. “History? Loyalty? Save your superior judgment, Lex! In that prison, *they* helped me! These ’day-to-day’ strays had more guts than some ’official’ pack members! They’re partners I can trust with my back, you get that?! A hell of a lot better than some so-called ’leader’ who spouts off in meetings and then gets drunk to pick fights!”

“*Partners*?” His retort, especially that last dig, severed the last thread of my restraint. Rage, frustration, and a desperate, irrational need to prove something overwhelmed me.

“Then let me show you what a real Alpha is! What you *should* be following!”

A growl tore from my throat, almost beyond my control. My bones began to pop and grind, muscles swelling and ripping the fine fabric of my shirt. My vision shifted, heightening, widening, colors leaching away into a world of stark greys and vivid scent trails. Within seconds, the transformation was complete. A massive, deep-grey werewolf, radiating dominant authority, stood in the cold, empty street.

I let out a low, rumbling snarl full of menace and command, the sound an Alpha uses to assert dominance and issue correction. At the same time, a powerful, focused pulse of pack-sense—thick with my anger, my authority, an undeniable command—hammered directly against the core of Brett’s awareness: [Submit! I am your Alpha!]

Scarface and Luka instantly dropped into defensive crouches, lips pulling back in warning snarls. But facing a fully shifted, enraged Alpha of pure bloodline, they felt the crushing weight of instinctive deference and hesitated.

Brett’s face paled under the light, but his eyes held no submission. Only fury. And… disappointment. A profound, cutting disappointment.

“That’s it, Lex?” His voice was twisted by anger and the strain of his own impending shift. “That’s your move? The power of your bloodline and a drunken roar?!”

The next moment, he began to change. His transformation seemed more violent, fueled by sheer, reckless defiance. Clothes tore. A slightly smaller, leaner, brown-black werewolf stood where he had been. His injured foreleg seemed to favor the ground slightly, but it didn’t slow him as he dropped his head and charged me with terrifying force!

I hadn’t expected direct defiance. Caught off guard, his full weight slammed into my chest and stomach. The impact drove me back, my claws scraping loudly on the pavement. I roared, swiping at him, but he twisted away with feral agility. Using his momentum and raw, brutal determination, he drove his shoulder hard into my side!

Pain exploded through my ribs. I grunted, the force knocking me completely off balance. I crashed onto my side in a cloud of dust.

He stood over me, panting heavily, his wolfish eyes blazing with fierce light in the gloom. He didn’t use complex pack-sense. Just a raw, guttural snarl, low and clear and dripping with contempt, forced from his throat:

[A reckless wolf who drowns his sense in drink… is no Alpha of mine!]

The words, coupled with the undeniable reality of his successful defiance, hit me like a bucket of ice water, dousing the flames of my anger and leaving only cold, humiliating shock. I lay on the ground, looking up at him, at Scarface and Luka watching with wary, complex expressions, and realized with painful clarity—some things might truly be broken beyond repair.