The Alpha and Her Criminal

f o u r

When I was younger, my father would take me out into the snow, just the two of us. He’d bring me to little adventures all while teaching me things, explaining life lessons that I never really completely understood until now when I look back.

One time, we were hiking in a tundra. He would point out the tracks of other animals, tracks of his men on patrol, and other things that I found so interesting, even though I’m only about four years old or so. While he was discussing these things, I had tripped accidentally, hesitating over jumping between a large crack in the ice. The sharp edge of the ice cut me.

“What did I teach you, Sasha?” He had said in his deep Russian voice, kneeling beside me.

I looked down and stared at the big gash on my knee. Blood is seeping out from the cut and painting the snow under our feet red. It hurts, but even at the mere age of four, my pride was high and I refused to show that I was in pain. The wound was big and deep. If my mother had seen this, she would scream death towards my father.

“Don’t hesitate. Don’t fear.” I answered back in perfect Russian, my jaw set, my anger towards my mistake burning as much as the cut stung. “Always think and always move.”

My father smiled softly, blowing on my cut. He loved it when I remembered his teachings and loved it even more when I conversed in Russian with him. “Good. Now, let’s move.”

He had carried me home then, accepting my mother’s screams with his head down. I worried he would be mad at me for getting him in trouble and maybe stop taking me out on adventures, but he just winked at me, his famous grin on his face.

“Move.” He repeated to me after his scolding, already going through the plans for our next adventure. “Always move.”

Move.

I think of his words as I walked quietly in the dark. The housing is just up ahead on top of a hill. I can see the bright lights shimmering against the snowy ground.

A handful of guards are by the entrance, patrolling the area and making sure none of the contenders run away— the criminal in particular. When they see me, they bow their heads low. I nodded in answer.

Before I could even go inside, I smelled and heard it. Thick salty sweat and sour vodka was in the air, followed by the sounds of laughter, shoving and an overall boisterous attitude. An old battle song was being sung at the top of their lungs and the wooden floor creaked violently from the weight of about thirty seven men that had gathered.

I squint to accommodate the bright light when entering. The housing itself is a wide place. It could easily fit a hundred people or more with its immense interior. It was not at all grand or luxurious here, only the basics; a large wooden table full of food and drink with an assortment of seats already occupied by the contenders, a raging vast fireplace to keep everyone warm and fur, so much fur. Sculpted and painted wooden pillars held the roof high, and colorful tapestries hung high on the walls. It told the story of our tradition, the tournament with its intricate embroidery of battle and victory.

Excitement settled in the pit of my stomach. This is it. Every Russian Alpha, great or awful, stood in these halls, they partied and drank and over drank until their stomachs ached and then in the morning they would train or master a skill before the day we are thrown into the frozen forest to battle it out. It could last a day, it could last a week, it would last however long it takes, until the final two.

I move to join them then, to put a drink in my hand and drink myself silly to enjoy the moment but the partying has stopped, their eyes and attention finally on me. I was foolish to think it would be only sunshine and happiness with the thirty seven men that I was competing against. After all, I’ve been in Russia a long time, and visited longer during my childhood. I consider myself more Russian than Capital, but apparently that is not shared.

The men openly glower at me, sizing me up from head to toe. “Insolent half breed.”

I know I do not have their respect and only see me as a bored royal half breed trying to take a position from them. These men don’t bother to fool me. They don’t hide away the resentment they have towards me.

It was… quite refreshing.

If I thought these men would whisper their disdain like the frightened and scheming nobles that I’m used to, they don’t. They say loudly that the Alpha title should be with their kind, the ones that suffered and persevered. Not with a snotty Princess who made Russia her playground. They mention how the current Alpha barely has rights towards me. I didn’t even have my father’s name. My official name was Basco- not Volkov, though I used Volkov.

“You’re a bastard child.” They snapped in my face and I could feel my blood turn fiery hot. “You do not even carry your great father’s name.”

Initially, I predicted the most hated contender would be Lev Morozov, who sat at the very far corner of the table, his face already red from too many drinks, but the way they stared at me long and hard made me realize I would be the main target in this tournament.

Criminal Lev Morozov might be, he was still completely and utterly their kin. Born and raised with similar hardships that they faced.

“You’re a girl. Not even born and raised here.” They spat viciously, large muscular arms bulging and throbbing. “Why should you have our lands? It doesn’t matter who your father is, it matters who you are. You might speak the language, but you are not one of us.”

“Your mother already took our Alpha away. You will not take our land.” Another shouted just as viciously.

I could only sigh, taking the drink from the hands of a man snarling in front of me and down the entire thing. It tasted like bad breath but I swallowed it down. “I suppose you’ll all have to die then.”

They bristled like angry porcupines, the challenge in my voice clear and gleeful and dishonoring if not accepted.

Fight me, I almost begged. Fight me. I need the release of a good fight! My anxiousness was killing me.

Just as I thought the men would pounce on me, Lev Morozov let out the loudest and most irritating laugh that I’ve ever heard in my life.

“As if you would win against me, Princess,” He mocked, jumping down from the table he had apparently walked over, dinner and drinks be damned. The most wanted criminal of all of Russia turns his back to me and faces the crowd, his large frame blocking me from view of the other contenders. “Pleased to meet everybody. I am Lev Morozov, the winner of this tournament and, because I am winning this, I do not want the hassle of remembering your names.”

There was dead silence.

A hair strand could drop and everyone would hear it from how quiet it was.

Morozov might be big and muscular, but he was not at all the biggest or strongest looking man here.

He claps his hands together, gathering even more of the attention I wished he hadn't had. They’d kill him in a heartbeat if he continued. “But I will be giving you all nicknames so that it’s easier to address you when I tell the world how I became Alpha.”

My eyes widen as he goes to the biggest man in the room.

The most wanted criminal beamed happily, swishing a drink he had also stolen from someone. He lets out a whistle. “You are big. I shall name you, Big.”

The man who was now named Big turned as red as the fires burning in the fireplace.

Lev Morozov was not at all bothered by the stream that was literally coming out of Big’s ears and went to the man beside him. “You are not so big. You are So-so Big.”

So-so Big seems to share Big’s reaction as his fists turn white from coiled rage. Again, Morozov gives literally no attention to the men he has insulted and moves on. Instead, he stops in front of the shortest man in the room and pats his head as if the man were his pet.

“You are short and quite stout… like a teapot. Thus! You are Teapot.” Morozov begins to sing the nursery rhyme in front of the man. “You’re a little teapot short and stout, here is your handle and here is your spout.” He proceeds to point at the man’s arms. “When the water's boiling here you shout!”

I cringed, eyes closed and waited for the first death that was to come, but there was nothing but silence. When I crack my eyes open, the crowd of men are frozen still and when I look at the man in front of me, there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes. It wasn’t like how I knew him at all. The playfulness and the teasing were replaced by something serious and deadly.

It’s as if he’s telling everyone that we don’t know what he’s really capable of and why he is the most wanted criminal in Russia.

No one moves.

The air is dense as the tension thickens.

He is the one that breaks it, turning back to face me. The playfulness is back and I feel as though his change of attitude was giving me a whiplash.

Lev Morozov takes my arm. He grabs a pitcher of something alcoholic on the table before taking us out of the room and bringing us away from the men towards a dark hallway that I was not familiar with.

It’s darkness for what feels like minutes and I’m blindly walking through it with only Morozov’s hand guiding me.

“Where are you taking me? What are you doing?” I demanded, trying to pull my hand away. “What is this place?”

“Do you always ask so many questions?” His voice was velvety smooth and it surrounded me like the darkness did.

I don’t let it get to me even if my skin prickles from the sound. “Do you always avoid answering questions?”

“Always so demanding.” The smile on his lips could be heard as he spoke. “Hang tight, Miss Volkov.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten between me and the contenders. I had it all under control.” I was angry but I didn’t know why and I didn’t know why I was directing it towards him. “Baiting these men like that. Is attention all you seek from this tournament? Because if so, you really shouldn’t have joined-“

He interrupts me by stopping from his stride, my body crashing against his back. His body feels like iron as I slam on it, the muscles tense and rigid. I felt him face me, his breath fanning my face. “I saved you from battling a group of men that have been talking all night about taking you out. A little thanks would be welcomed.”

They had? Of course he would know, he'd been there all day with them, but why… why did he have to intervene? Wasn’t he upset with me too? Hadn’t I imprisoned him for an entire year with little to nothing to survive on?

Is this his game?

He’s trying to manipulate me by gaining my trust and when I least expect it, he’ll end me just like the men had discussed earlier.

Does he want the glory of my death in his hands and not theirs?

He constantly sins, a criminal mastermind who has avoided getting caught for years. I remind myself. I shouldn’t allow myself to listen to his honeyed words. He will only hurt me in the end.

Suddenly, as I decide to pull away from our closeness, I see his eyes in the dark. They weren’t malicious or dangerous like before. It was soft and gentle, almost calling to me. The strangeness of it made my heart leap and bound around my chest in a crazy dance.

“What?” I managed to say, confused about what was happening.

There was a moment of complete silence before he continued to walk, letting go of my hand. “Nothing. I’m just drunk.”

Drunk like last time? Drunk like how he had danced with me? Drunk like when he said he found me attractive? Was he even drinking because he didn’t smell of it?

“Your room is to your left.” He mutters under his breath, sounding disappointed before disappearing somewhere.

Sure enough, a small golden glow of my name was on the door. It was made of some kind of metal, the embossing of my name fancy and embellished.

I tried to look back at where I last heard him but there was no sound that came.

He was gone.