The devil Alpha

Salvation and punishment

*Lucian*

Damn her. Damn her. Damn her.

Lounging in the stuffed, brocade armchair, I drain the last of the whiskey from the bottle before hurling it against the wall. Breathing heavily, I drop my head back.

The room is swirling around me, the darkness closing in. It is the third bottle I have finished. One more should do it. One more should numb me to the gruesome images of innocence lost that are bombarding me. One more should shove them back into the darkest corners of my mind. One more should swallow the remorse, the guilt, the regret.

While others have prayed to the Goddess, I have given my soul to the devil to find the strength to do what needs to be done. And now a stupid chit is asking me to do it again.

Damn her!

She has sent me invitations to her silly balls as though they are important, as though an evening spent in her company is well worth my time. What does she know of torment? What does she know of hell? Doing her bidding would only serve to drag her down into it, and once there, she would find no escape. I know that truth well enough.

Reaching down, I grab another bottle from the little army I have lined up on the floor beside my chair. I have had too many nights like this one not to know where to turn for comfort when a she-wolf isn’t near.

Damn, I should have brought one of Jack’s girls home. Not even Frannie would be able to offer me solace. I would never be able to take her with the desperation that claws at me now. What I need is a she-wolf strong enough to meet my powerful thrusts without flinching, a she-wolf who won’t cower, a she-wolf who can call to the beast in me and have no desire to tame it.

An image of Miss Evangeline writhing beneath me fills my mind, and I fling the half-emptied bottle across the room. I curse her yet again. I fight so hard to remain civilized, not to revert to my roots, and she has managed to completely undo me.

I should have lifted her into my arms and carried her to my bedchamber; I should have shown her exactly what I am capable of.

Murder? Dear Goddess, as I have proven, I am capable of far worse than that.

From the Journal of Lucian Langdon

I did not know the name of the man I killed. I did not know that destiny had proclaimed him to be heir to a title.

I knew only that he had harmed Frannie… cruelly and without mercy. So I took it upon myself to be his judge, jury, and executioner.

Unfortunately in my haste to see justice delivered, I did not take proper precautions.

There was a witness, and I was promptly arrested.

In hindsight, I can see that I was arrogant to believe that I alone had the wisdom to determine his fate. But I was intimately familiar with the judicial system, having been arrested at the age of eight. I served three months in prison. I bore the mark of my crime upon my right thumb. A T, for thief, burned into the tender flesh.

A year after my incarceration, it was determined that the practice of marking criminals in that cruel manner should be stopped. And so it was.

I knew prison was not a pleasant place. I knew some criminals were transported on great hulking ships away from our home shore, but I didn’t know the particulars and so I could not judge the fairness of it.

I had attended a public hanging or two. It seemed a harsh way to go.

But still I was not willing to risk that the man who had hurt Frannie would go unpunished or that his punishment would not fit his crime. So I killed him.

The policeman who arrested me assured me that I would soon find myself dancing upon the wind. I listened to his grave predictions with stoicism for I had no regrets. When someone harms those whom we love, we must do as we must. And I had always loved Frannie.

I was waiting in an interrogation room at the Alpha agency when they brought in an old Alpha. Vengeance burned in his eyes and I knew, without being told, that it was his son I had killed. By his dress and manner, I recognized that he was a man with the power to see me delivered into hell.

He stared at me for the longest, and I stared back. Since my arrest, I had spoken not one word, other than my name. I neither denied nor confirmed the charges.

“Always ’old yer tongue,” Feagan had advised us on the matter of being arrested. “No matter wot ye tell ’em, truth or lie, they’ll twist it around to suit their own purposes.”

I had learned early on that Feagan’s words were not to be dismissed. He knew what he spoke about.

Then the old Alpha did the strangest thing. He stepped forward, clamped his gloved hand around my chin, and turned my face one way and then the other. “I need more light,” he declared.

More lamps were brought in and set upon the table, until I felt completely exposed. The anger in the old gent’s eyes changed into something softer, an emotion I didn’t recognize.

“What is it, my Alpha?” an inspector asked.

“I think he is my grandson,” the old Alpha rasped.

“The one that went missing?” The inspector gasped.

The old Alpha nodded once, and I saw a way out of my predicament. Already I had learned how to read people. I knew what the old Alpha wanted. With my answers to his questions, I deceived him into believing it was me.

When he was convinced that I was his grandson, he told the inspectors to give us a moment alone. He sat in a chair across from me.

“Did you kill my son?” he asked.

I nodded once.

“Why?” He asked.

For the first time that night, I spoke the truth. In the end, it was the truth that convinced the old man that I was redeemable. It would be some time before he forgave me completely.



My salvation and my punishment were to live my life as his grandson.