Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by his Brother

I was overwhelmed by guilt as I walked away. It wasn't an easy job to be the one who didn't follow all the rules of the family. My feet carried me down the dim hallway leading to a quieter wing of the house, where no heated arguments or ego-laden conversations could reach.

This part of the pack house always felt like it belonged to a different world. It harbored my father's gravest secrets. He'd keep it away, far away from his view as though, they could erase the evil he had done.

I stopped at a familiar door. The dark wood was polished to a sheen, but the scratches near the handle reminded me of another story—moments of frustration, helplessness, or perhaps just time wearing away at its surface. I pushed it open quietly.

The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, mixed with a little hint of lavender from the fresh flowers someone—probably my mother—had placed on the windowsill. The curtains were drawn halfway, allowing a stream of pale light to filter in.

In the corner, sitting in a wheelchair, was Luis—my cousin. Or what was left of him.

Luis had once been the brightest light in this house. Back then when we were both just boys who loved to watch their fathers be sons of a powerful Alpha.

I could still remember his laughter and the admiration in his eyes whenever we both watched our father prepare soldiers for a hunter ambush. But that was seventeen years ago, before the night that shattered everything.

Now, his face was gaunt, his skin pale as a chalk. His left side was stiff and twisted unnaturally, the arm curled inwards and the leg propped awkwardly on the wheelchair's footrest.

A thin tube delivered oxygen to his nostrils, and a catheter bag hung from the side of the chair. His eyes were dull and unfocused – darting around the room as if trying to catch a memory that always slipped away.