The Alpha and Her Criminal

o n e

The world is a dangerous place… one simply has to be more dangerous to survive it.

When I was born, everyone expected me to be like my mother; sophisticated, artistic, intelligent and just. They wanted me to be peaceful and queenly. But I grew up like my father; rough and chaotic, tattoos on my arms, spitting on the ground, speaking and cursing in rapid Russian, drink always in hand and constantly seen in bars or parties and such.

I was a mess, but a happy one. I lived my life the way I wanted to live it.

“The first thing you said right out of the womb was ‘Alpha.’ It frightened your mother, if anything, but it sure did make me proud.” My father tells me as we walked together in the snow. It’s his favorite story to tell. “The moment you could talk in full sentences all you could ever say was hating the castle and wanting to live in Russia. Another proud day for me.”

I was a daddy’s girl and even in adulthood I still think of myself as one.

My father was the type of man that if you saw him walking down the streets, you would want to cross to the other side to get away from him. With his multiple large scars, permanently broken nose and constant frowning face, he was not a man people wanted to mess with.

But I adored him. I adored everything that had anything to do with him, from his fur coat, his beautiful country, his reputation.

I grew up in the castle and the security of its luxuriousness. I was not a hardened warrior like my father and his men, they earned their muscles through harsh weather and even harsher work. My muscles, the little that I had, were from training that was in a controlled environment.

No dirt, no bugs, no leaves and not even a scratch was allowed to touch my skin. It sounds ridiculous, but that was my life for a time as I was the heir to the throne until I couldn’t take it any longer and I broke away from it. Literally and figuratively, I tore through my beautiful dresses and the tight pins in my hair. I demanded for something dangerous, something real, and I was given it once I had proven my strength.

Well, given the best that my father and mother would allow for me.

For many days, many months and many years, I spent a great deal of my days in the wilderness under the watchful eye of my father. My body quickly became accustomed to the hardships of life without being the ‘Princess’. I learned to hunt, to snap my bones back into the place they had broken into, identify herbs that could heal, but most importantly, I learned to feel the pain that was shielded from me.

And it felt good.

It felt good to finally feel something other than the things I was used to.

Thankful again for the comfort of my birthright, yes, but I needed more of what was out there. I need more of my freedom and staying in the castle would do nothing for me.

The decision to abdicate was easy.

My family made it easy.

All I had to worry about was getting strong enough to become Russia’s next Alpha, a feat not many can win. During my father’s time, he killed every single one of his competitors. He was the strongest, the bravest and the craziest.

He was everything I aspired to be, despite the nasty things people say about him.

My father is Alek Volkov, the Alpha of the largest pack in the world. He was an Alpha’s son but a mistreated one. The moment he was born, he lived in a stable or a warehouse of some sort where he would be visited by his father, who experimented the effects of silver on him. My father wasn’t immune like our family was, but he developed a high tolerance for it, making him invisible against everyone else. Pain was nothing. Only… revenge.

He was misguided, a delinquent and an angry one. It made him make very bad choices that have until now haunted him. He almost lost mom. He almost didn’t have us.

This bad choice was almost the downfall of the Basco family, the royals, and he was never really forgiven by everyone. He didn’t even forgive himself.

I still wanted to be like him though.

I still believe he’s the best father in the world and the best Alpha that could ever be. Most put him down for being a mere shadow behind our mother’s brilliance, but he shone in a different way, a better way.

“Sasha, focus.”

I was brought out of my thoughts by my father’s reprimanding voice. We were outside in the freezing cold weather. As werewolves, we were great in freezing cold temperatures, but my father’s land takes it to another level completely. My skin has turned white and hard from the piercing chill, my face bright red and my nose stuffy and stinging. We were practicing my endurance for the weather for my tournament that was in a week.

My father could stand in a snow storm with no clothes for hours without freezing. I could not.

“When it comes down to it, your tolerance to the cold might mean your life or death.” He advised, having gone through it before.

To become the next Alpha, a grand tournament is held where werewolves from all over Russia come and compete. There are thirty eight of us this time around, the largest number of contenders to ever compete. Thirty seven of them are men and most of them have trained their whole lives for a chance to become the Alpha.

I wasn’t nervous.

I’ve trained my whole life too and my determination to succeed has always been where I excelled at.

“This is a game of survival, Sasha. Men from all over the country are coming to beat you. Remember that.” My father advised, staring into my eyes with deadly seriousness. “You’re a Volkov. A target.”

Alpha positions are normally passed down from parent to offspring or by blood… but the Russian pack is anything but normal. They believe in strength and ruthlessness. The tradition of the tournament is to make sure that the Alpha that wins is the strongest of all werewolves. It's only then can one be worthy of being Russia’s leader:

“It’s a week away.” He reminded me again. “A mere week to have yourself ready.”

A week.

That’s all the time I had left before everything. I worked hard for barrel rolls towards me in a flurry of fighting and snow storms.

It must have been an hour or two, maybe even three, whatever it was. My bones were brittle now and my wolf demanded to be let out to properly regulate the freezing temperature that lowered our body heat, but I fought her off.

Control.

I needed better control.

That’s been the comment on me for as long as I can remember. I was unrestrained, always moving, and most of the time without thinking.

My father always reminds me that his men, his people that he loved so much, fight differently. There is no art in the way that they moved. They fight like hungry and cornered dogs, battling for their brutal survival. It didn’t matter if they lost a limb or an eye as long as they were successful.

If I were to win, I needed control. I needed to think. I can’t be like how I usually am in fights.

And I’ve seen it, the way they fight.

It was chaotic and powerful, intimidating even, but I move smarter like my father taught me… at least I try to.

Just as I felt like my skin would break from the strong winds of the storm, my father nodded. “That’s it for today.”

A shift shakes my entire body, but even then, when I’m a second away from turning into a popsicle, I force her back. “Yes! I need a drink, a strong one.”

He grins, shaking his head at my antics before wrapping a fur coat around my shivering body. “You think you’re ready?”

“Born ready.” I brought up my fists, shadow boxing around him. “Why? You want me to show you?” I perk up, eyes widening. “Spar?”

My father places a hand on my shoulder and presses a kiss on my head. “You’re certainly my daughter.”

I feel myself warming up from his affections. No one outside the family saw this side of him and it made things even more special. “There was never a doubt.”

“It’s time.” He says, looking up at the sky. “You’re to start training and living with the contenders starting today.”

Of course.

It was that time.

A week before the tournament, the contenders all gather to train or recover before the day we are pitted against each other. What really happens here is you get to see your competition and how they fight. It’s also the time we are placed in a tight living situation as we are housed in a small mansion, hoping we’d hate each other enough that by the time the tournament starts, it would be more bloody than it needed to be.

“And we’re missing one contestant.” He grumbled contemptuously.

He didn’t have to say the name because who could forget the cowardly criminal that joined our respectable tournament to evade his punishment: Lev Morozov.

My father saw my scowl and shrugged. "I dislike him too."

I didn’t bother to hide my grin. I never had to with my father.

He looked apologetic. “But you do have to take him from the prison and take him to the housing.”

Lev Morozov was a man who wore the hide of a wolf, but not just any wolf… a werewolf on his back. Another criminal that was much better than him, and he got jealous. It’s said he skinned the werewolf himself using his claws and wore whoever it is like a trophy on his back.

He’s disgusting.

He deserved to be burned.

“You can’t kill him, Sasha.” My father tells me, seeing the look on my face.

I pressed my lips together. “Why not?”

“He’s joining the tournament. All participants must be given a fair moment to train, heal from injuries and be healthy. Otherwise, what good would it be to win if you had the advantage?” He was right, of course. What kind of win would it be if my opponents couldn’t do their best? I certainly didn’t want to win that way.

But then again, I am my father’s daughter above everything else. “I’ll be killing him there anyway. What’s the difference between killing him now?”

“It’s tradition and our pack is all about traditions.” He squeezed my cheeks as if I was still his little girl. “You’re to be Alpha. You of all people should respect that.”

I dramatically pointed to my back. “I do, but the man is literally wearing a werewolf on his back.”

“Tradition is tradition.” My father reasoned, even though I know he had broken many rules during his time. Was this my mother’s influence on him? “I just want better for you. No shortcuts like I did.”

“No shortcuts.” I repeated with a defeated sigh. “I would just have to settle with killing him in the tournament.”

“Better.” He mused, bringing us out of the cold and stirring us towards the winter wonderland that we call home.

The part of Russia that we werewolves live in has only harsh ice and snow for miles and miles. And then, hidden by thick trunked trees and mist, is our whimsical town. It’s charming and homely, unlike the castle. Here it is pleasant looking wooden structures and hard working chimneys all year round. The snow falls continuously here and the people are always bundled up in soft furs.

My grandmother used to have a porcelain Christmas miniature village that she allowed me to play with. It was of the cutest ornaments, complete with a lake and bridges, tiny houses and artificial snow. That was our town for me, but better.

So much better.

I love it here. I love everything from the people that tell me things straight to my face- good or bad, the weather that ranges from cold to colder, the traditions stemming from years of their strength and the responsibility.

I can only hope that when my time comes to lead, I will be the best for them, because the pack needs not just the best but the greatest.

And everyone knows I’m the greatest.