SAMANTHA
The clash in the training room continued to a point where it seemed the building would collapse under the force of the princes fighting.
Walls cracked, the floor trembled. Dust rained from the ceiling. Women huddled in corners, their bodies pressed together, their hands covering their heads. I stayed against the wall, my knees pulled to my chest, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might break my ribs.
Just when it looked like everything would crumble, King Lionel made his dramatic entrance.
The doors flew open and guards spilled in on either side of him. His presence filled the room like smoke. His eyes swept across the chaos—the broken furniture, the scattered toothbrushes, the blood on the floor, his three sons tearing at each other in wolf form.
The princes did not even shiver. Despite the fact that their father had entered the room, they kept fighting.
Their wolves moved with precise anger. No! This anger was too much. I suspected that they had held this anger against each other for a very long time. The way their wolves fought so accurately. They way they snarled, bit and scratched each other...meant that they had a lot of hidden resentment against themselves.
We all bowed our heads for the Alpha King. We moved away in a line, pressing ourselves against the far wall. The other women trembled beside me. Leslie was on the floor, still bleeding, too injured to stand.
The king seemed too focused on his sons to notice us. He stepped into the training room, his boots crunching on broken glass. When he saw the pandemonium, his anger sparked up and erupted like a volcano.
"Enough of all of you!" His voice thundered. "How dare you begin to fight here?!"
The princes did not stop.
King Lionel's face turned red. He tried to use his Alpha power to make his sons submit. The pressure filled the room—heavy, suffocating, demanding obedience. But it seemed useless. The princes were too far gone. Too lost in their rage.
I wondered how he had to cope as a father, seeing that his only sons were always at logger head with each other? I wonder how many times they had gotten into eruptive fights like these and he had tried to stop them but all his efforts went to waste?
Relief washed over me at the sight of King Lionel. I hoped he would be the calming force needed to subdue the princes' tempestuous fight.
But the princes were too absorbed in their conflict to pay me any mind. Instead, their fight grew fiercer.
Jayce's black wolf sank his teeth into Finnian's silver flank. Finnian howled and spun, clawing at Jayce's face. Darlington's dark brown wolf tried to separate them, but only got caught in the middle.
"You ungrateful worms!" Lionel growled.
His voice boomed with the power of a storm. He stepped closer to the fighting wolves. His hands curled into fists. His face was purple with rage.
Then he unleashed a terrifying wolf howl.
The sound was unlike anything I had ever heard. It was strong with a terrifying echo. Powerful enough to move the mountains of Kilimanjaro and it seemed to darken the very sky outside the windows. The walls shook and the floor cracked beneath his feet. I'm pretty sure insects also looked for a place to hide.
I winced as the howl pierced my eardrums. The pain was overwhelming. I pressed my hands over my ears, but it did not help. The sound was inside my head. Inside my bones. Inside my blood.
The other women cried out. Some collapsed. Leslie curled into a ball and sobbed.
The princes, finally coming out of their frenzy, halted their clash. Their wolf forms shimmered and shifted. Within moments, three naked men stood in the middle of the destroyed room.
Jayce brushed the blood from his lips with a casual air. He barely acknowledged his father's presence. His golden eyes were calm. Almost bored.
"What brings you here, father?" he asked.
His nonchalance was astonishing. He seemed to disregard the king's wrath. So bold! So reckless! I could not believe what I was seeing.
Naturally, this attitude stroked Lionel's fury even further. His roar shook the room. He grabbed the nearest object—a heavy iron candlestick, crazily heavy—and hurled it toward Jayce.
Jayce dodged with a shrug. The candlestick crashed against the wall behind him, leaving a crater in the stone. He seemed undisturbed.
"Relax, father," Jayce said. "It is bad for your health to be so worked up."
"You are trying to make me angry, Jayce?" Lionel's voice was filled with venom. "Is that your goal? To push me until my heart gives out?"
"I am not trying to do anything. I am simply existing."
"Your existence is a trial!"
"Then perhaps you should not have created me."
Lionel's hands shook. His face was no longer purple—it was white. Pale with rage.
"Aren't you going to explain yourself?" he demanded. "Explain the madness? Why fight in front of so many people? What do you want them to say about us Lycans?"
Jayce's reply was filled with disdain. His lip curled. His eyes narrowed.
"Well, it is no secret that we do not get along," he said. "Why are you surprised we are fighting?"
His words made me glance at the princes. I looked at Finnian. At Darlington. At Jayce. I realized, in that moment, why they were never seen together. Why they always seemed so distant from each other. Why there was no warmth between them.
They did not like each other. They barely tolerated each other. They were brothers by blood, not by choice.
Jayce's audacity only served to increase Lionel's rage. The king turned his fierce gaze toward Finnian and Darlington. His eyes burned.
"Speak up!" he demanded. "What is going on here?"
Finnian said nothing. His silver eyes were cold. His face was blank. He stood naked and unashamed, blood dripping from a wound on his shoulder.
Darlington stepped forward. His voice was soft as always.
"Please, father," he said. "Be calm."