Chapter 2 Chapter 2 . Big maybe

"So you're absolutely certain it was him?" I find myself perched in my commanding officer's meticulously arranged office, hours after our encounter.

Everything in this office is obsessively tidied, and it makes my skin crawl. It's not that I'm a slob, but being a neat freak isn't my thing. It feels too rigid, too pristine.

"Positive. Are you saying you don't trust me?" I try to keep my tone steady, hiding my annoyance at his doubt.

Meet Onyx, who's not exactly Mr. Congeniality. He's the only lycan commanding officer in our region, a fact that inflates his ego. He's got more pride than a pride of lions.

His stern, sandy eyebrows are perpetually knitted into a frown. As usual, his piercing black eyes narrow at me across his imposing desk, his foot tapping impatiently under the table.

"I trust you, but you're aware the Red Alpha hasn't been seen in over two years. His sidekick popping up is a big deal. Hard to swallow," he admits, scratching his bald head, "but I do believe you."

I slump back in my chair, attempting to ease my tension but failing spectacularly. No matter how grateful I am that Onyx lends me his ear, he isn't exactly generous with his empathy.

When I suggested my team should investigate, I was shot down instantly. He reacted as if I'd suggested we go skinny-dipping with piranhas.

"We've got trackers on the trail the albino pain-in-the-tail left behind. Apparently, he popped up in Virginia, near a college town. Nothing confirmed yet. Our best are on it. No need to get your fur in a knot," he reassures, watching my visible discomfort with a smirk so smug it should be illegal.

His twitchy fingers adjust a ballpoint pen next to his sleek laptop. Everything must be just so, or he malfunctions.

The bitter truth is, I can't stomach the fact that I wasn't even considered for this mission. Sure, I knew I might be turned down, but a small part of me held on to hope. I thought I'd be trusted with something substantial by now.

The Council makes the decisions, and I need to accept that. Easier said than done.

My diligence never earns the recognition it deserves, despite me consistently being top of my class for the past 52 years. I ace every mission I'm given, without a single complaint.

The Council members of the Guard grant all promotions. I haven't moved up a rank in over two decades. The reminder is like a persistent tickle in my brain.

Teammates come and go. Some climb the ranks, but most are dispatched to packs to become warriors-a chilling prospect to me. All my hard work would go to waste.

Some former teammates even settled down when they found their mates. They seemed content enough.

What I yearn for, what I downright need, is to rank higher as a warrior. I can't bear being the errand boy any longer, performing tasks that are as exciting as watching paint dry.

A tentative knock echoes in Onyx's office. His nostrils twitch as he grumbles for the intruder to enter.

The door swings open to reveal his mate, Gena.

Unlike Onyx and me, she's a werewolf, not a lycan. She's lean, muscular, and steps into the office with a purpose. Her hazel eyes lock onto me, then dart to her mate.

Gena's clearly uncomfortable, her anxiety wafting off her like some unholy perfume.

"Ethan, you're dismissed," Onyx orders, concern lacing his voice. He's evidently reading something in his mate's expression and wants me out of the picture. I can't blame him; it seems like a private matter.

I'm only too glad to depart; my skin's been getting tighter, my mood more tense.

I rise and exit, stomping off to my bunk as fast as my legs can carry me. The need for fresh air grips me, a desperation I can't shake off.

As always, the hallways are shrouded in darkness, casting an eerie gloom. The sharp scent of gunpowder and metal assails my nostrils, stinging like a vicious beast.

Welcome to my sweet abode, I guess?

Entering my room, Randy straightens up from his sprawl on his bed. Our sleeping arrangements are opposite each other, his bed on the right, mine on the left.

Our room is a tight squeeze, holding a small bathroom, two closets, and the two queen-sized beds for our larger builds. But my feet still dangle off the edge every morning.

The confinement can get frustrating. To keep my sanity, I often find myself in the training room, relishing the open space.

It's always a relief when a mission takes us out of these suffocating quarters.

Carefully, I sidestep Asher sprawled on the floor, engrossed in a magazine. He never wanders far from Randy's side.

"So?" Randy probes. I flop onto my bed, shaking my head, eyes fixated on the smoke-gray tiles between my boots.

"Bummer. Really. What a bummer," Asher mutters, his voice heavy with disinterest. His eyes stay glued to the pages, barely acknowledging us.

Randy leans over, yanking the magazine from his brother's grip.

"Hey!" Asher grumbles in his typical teenager manner.

"Our leader's fit to burst and all you care about is what some human celebs are up to?" Randy scoffs, holding the glossy magazine like it's a festering piece of meat.

"The drama's captivating, alright? Beats listening to Ethan brood all day," Asher retorts. I snap my head up to glare at him.

"Mind your tongue. It's bound to land you in hot water one of these days," I warn. He should know his place by now.

"I seem to be hearing that quite often," Asher grumbles, rolling his emerald-green eyes and comfortably lounging on the cold, hard floor.

"Well, perhaps that's a life lesson waiting to be learned, don't you think?" Randy tries to reason. Asher shuts his eyes, humming some unrecognizable tune, effectively tuning Randy out.

I don't have siblings... at least none that I'm aware of.

My birth mother ditched me in a park when I was a toddler. Not a single trace of her was left, not even the faintest whiff of her scent.

That's when the Creature Protection Organization, or CPO for short, swooped in and took me under their wing. By the time I was five, I was adopted by a wealthy lycan family.

I grew up an only child with parents who were as warm as a Siberian winter. The feeling of being invisible as a kid was perplexing. To tackle that, I was like a dancing monkey, constantly performing for any scrap of attention.

As I got older, I discovered that my parents didn't adopt me out of any emotional attachment. They saw me as a status symbol, nothing more. My mom couldn't conceive even after trying for over two centuries.

In their lycan high society, infertility was frowned upon. So they did what any sneaky, loaded folks would do. They hatched an intricate lie to save face.

Somehow they passed me off as their biological son, claiming that mom had a challenging pregnancy and had to be kept away till she recovered. I doubt any of their well-off friends bought into the scam.

By the time I hit sixteen, I had the good fortune to escape.

Lycans usually have their first shift at eighteen, but some, especially the stronger ones, shift earlier. The moment I shifted, I took off. The Guard took me in, and I've been blissfully free from my faux parents since then.

"Where's Howard?" Asher's question breaks my reverie, his words cutting through the silence like a hot knife.

"Where do you reckon? The training room," Randy answers, rolling his eyes.

"I wonder why. The dude's already a monster," Asher retorts.

"We all should be training. You were as slow as a snail on the stakeout yesterday," I lecture him, rising from my seat, feeling a sudden restless itch.

The sting of being overlooked for the mission still lingers. The feeling of being underestimated grates on me.

"Well, if I'd known it would turn into a foot chase, I would've been ready," Asher defends himself. Randy snorts in disbelief.

"Yeah... that's a big 'if'," he retorts. Asher retaliates by smacking his brother's ankle, causing Randy to yelp in surprise.

I can't help but smile at their playful bickering. Randy is a good 300 years older than Asher, the result of an unplanned pregnancy.

An unplanned but joyous event.

They dote on Asher, and it's hard not to feel a pang of envy.

Being alone is a staple of my existence. It's a bitter pill I've learned to swallow. The doubts about whether the Moon Goddess would ever grant me a mate persist.

I don't deserve a soul mate, nor do I want one.

Suddenly, the door bursts open, and Asher lets out a shrill shriek. Howard, built like a mountain, fills the doorway, blocking any trace of light. His features are grim, his purple eyes scanning us one by one.

"What's the problem?" Randy asks, leaping to his feet.

"He's coming."