The Merciless Alpha(erotica)

My parents never saw us move in. A drunk driver took them, and our Beta pair away from us as they returned from a meeting in northern Minnesota. The State Patrol delivered the news, but my wolf already knew my father was gone. He’d felt the mantle of the Alpha shift from my father to me. The will gave their house to my younger brother, and I received a larger share of the money from their estate.

Our lives were never the same after that day. I rushed our home to completion while we dealt with all that came with running a Pack. My brother Ivan became my Beta, and between him and Catherine, we made it work. It was hard, we rarely slept a whole night, but we were happy.

I stayed outside until the sunset, then went back in to take a shower and change. Tonight was dinner at King’s Place.

I thought about taking the truck, then changed my mind and dressed for cold weather instead. I headed out to the garage. The four-car garage had my motorcycle and snowmobile in the second bay, beyond my truck. The third bay had my Jeep, the fourth bay Catherine’s silver Lexus SUV. We’d bought it a few months before her diagnosis, and I kept up the maintenance on it as if she would return to use it again.

It reminded me that I needed to start divesting myself of things soon. I had to put my estate in order before my wolf died, and Catherine’s possessions were a good start.

Tomorrow. I couldn’t handle it tonight.

I zipped up my snowmobile suit before opening the door. With all the snow, it was the perfect time to take a ride on the trails that passed behind my home.

As I straddled the Polaris and started it up, I imagined for a moment a weight settling into the seat behind me, arms wrapping around my waist and holding on. I shook my head, pulling out and watching the door close behind me. Those days were over. She was gone, and if not for a promise to her, I would be gone too.

Racing through the snow along the ditches towards Miesville, I put all that behind me. I would eat my fill, have a beer or two, then return home and grab another bottle. I would let the whiskey blot her out of my dreams and memories for a few hours, then start another day. Tomorrow would be at Las Margaritas for Mexican food, Friday at Dugarel’s, Saturday at the St. James, Sunday at the Smoking Oak, Monday at the Chinese Buffet.

And then back to Wiederholt’s on Tuesday for more Prime Rib, and a chance to see Liv again.

As I got off my snowmobile in the lot, my eyes went across the road and spotted Liv’s car in the back of that lot. For a minute, I considered going there instead, before deciding against it. A half-pound burger and waffle fries awaited. As I sat at the end of the bar, the place packed with snowmobilers, I jotted down a few ideas. If I did it right, everything would be ready by spring.

Ch. 3

Arriving home, I changed things up. For the first time in months, I had something to do that my wolf and I were excited about doing.Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

Turning up the heat in the garage, I started by cleaning out the Lexus. It wasn’t easy; I’d find her sunglasses, and remember when we went skiing. I’d find a bottle of her perfume, and remember that night we went dancing in Minneapolis. The blanket that we’d picnicked on during our drive up the North Shore. It took two hours to get to the point I could vacuum and wipe down everything, with a dozen or more pauses and breakdowns along the way.

Another hour of work and the car was clean on the inside. I had called from the bar to make an appointment with a garage in town to get the oil changed and a checkup, so I’d do that after I woke up on Thursday. Looking at the pile of stuff I’d removed from the car, I got some boxes and started putting together things to donate to Hastings Family Service. Other things, like her sunglasses and the perfume, I’d bring in with the rest of my mementos.

I set them on top of the dresser, mixed with the photos and reminders of our life together. On the wall above it was a 24×36″ photograph of the two of us in wolf form, running through the woods. Taken the day after our mating ceremony, it showed the promise of a long life together and the joy of finding each other. I reached out, my fingers tracing the line of her neck. “Not much longer, my love,” I whispered to her. I dropped my hand down to the urn that contained her ashes; I’d found the maker online, a local woodworker who would do custom work. The cherry box had a laser-etched photograph of her face on the top with her name above it, and “Beloved Wife” below with the dates “1972-2015.” Trees and running wolves filled the sides, the laser-etched pattern forming a continuous run.

Tears ran down my cheeks as I talked to her. “I’m sorry, my love,” I began. “I never let you go. I never moved on like you hoped I would. How can I keep going without you?”

She didn’t answer.

“I can feel my wolf fading. We both miss you so much. There’s not much time left before we die, maybe by summer?” I’d already outlived the only example I’d seen of a widowed wolf. He made it three years before putting a bullet in his brain to stop the pain. I’d made it four. “My life is empty without you. I don’t know why the Goddess hasn’t taken me yet. I wish you hadn’t made me make that promise to you to keep living. Life without you in it is tedium, broken by drunkenness. I have nothing to look forward to, only the place I eat separates the days anymore.”

I picked up the photograph of the two of us by the pool, surrounded by the Welch Pack at a summer Full Moon party. “The isolation is the worst part of it all. I’d give anything just to run with the Pack again.” Putting it down, I wiped my tears. “I decided to go through your things and give them away. I know you’re laughing at me, wondering why I still have your clothes after so long, but I couldn’t bear to lose anything with your scent. Now everything is faded. There are people out there who can use your things, charities, even friends. It’s time I cleared out things from the house, but I will never clear your memory away, my love. You will always be here for me.”

I took a shower and went to bed. Just before I fell asleep, a thought came to my mind.

For the first time in a long time, I hadn’t gotten blackout drunk. That was ONE.

The next morning, I felt better than I had in years. “Because you didn’t drink a whole bottle of whiskey,” my wolf noted for me.

There was that.

I drove the Lexus into Hastings, stopping at McDonald’s to get some breakfast before dropping it at the shop. It didn’t take long; the car was in excellent shape, with less than ten thousand miles on it despite being five years old. I had one more stop, this time to visit my lawyer. I pulled into the parking lot of the office building and climbed the stairs. “Welcome to Burnley-Loesch, Mr. Volkov,” the receptionist said with a smile as she took my coat. “Mr. Burnley will be right with you.”

I hadn’t sat down before Jacob Burnley came into the office. “Leo, good to see you again,” he said as he shook my hand.

“Likewise.” Leading me back to his small office, I sat at the chair in front of his desk as he sat down.

“What can I do for you today,” he asked.

“I need some help with estate planning,” I said.

“I would agree, you haven’t updated your will since the passing of your wife,” he said as he pulled up the last one on his computer. “It will still be valid, of course, there were contingencies built-in should she precede you in death, or you die together. but you should write a new one to ensure your estate goes where you want it.” He read through the terms. “As it exists now, your entire estate would pass to your brother Ivan.”

That wouldn’t work for me. “Including the value of my property and investments, I estimate the estate to be worth just under three million dollars,” I said. “What are the tax implications of that passing to my brother, or others I might designate?”

“It’s not a problem for that size estate,” he said. “The exemption for the federal Estate Tax is $11. 4 million as of last year, so the estate itself will not be taxed. There is no Federal or State inheritance tax, so the beneficiaries of your estate will not have the amount treated as taxable income. The only tax one would worry about would be capital gains on your property. If your home appraises at a million dollars on the day of the inheritance, and it is sold six months later for $1. 1 million, that extra hundred thousand would be subject to capital gains taxes.”

“So, I don’t need to set up charitable trusts or other devices?” I’d heard about people doing that to protect their children.

“For an estate of your size, it would not accomplish anything. Now, ten years ago, when the deduction was a million dollars, we might have done something. You could designate all or nothing to charity, and it will not affect the tax treatment.” He paused to let me think. “How much of your estate is in liquid assets, things like stocks, bonds, and cash?”

“Everything except my home and its contents,” I said.

“Then all you need to do is work with me to designate who you want to be beneficiaries of your estate, and in what percentages. You can choose items, too; if you want your car to go to a particular person, we list that by asset and name.” It took less than an hour of his time to create a new will, one that reflected better my treatment since Catherine’s death.

Those who abandoned me would get nothing.

I stopped at the U-haul store, picking up twenty boxes and six garment boxes, then at the grocery store to get more food from the deli. I only bought foods that I could heat and serve, the cooking gene having skipped me. The last stop was the gas station, filling the tank and purchasing some gift cards.

Returning home, I started the process of sorting Catherine’s closet. Stepping in, I took a deep sniff, but her scent was long gone. We weren’t fancy, country-club people; she had dresses and shoes, but most of the time, she dressed in jeans. I filled three boxes with shoes, then started to move the clothes on hangers into the garment boxes. By the time I had them all down in the garage, it was time to head out.

The rest of the week was productive for a change. I finished the closet, the master bath, and her office. I made a dozen trips in the truck to the Salvation Army or Hastings Family Services, boxes filled with stuff I hadn’t been able to let go of for four years.

After years of living day by day, I was looking forward to Prime Rib Night. I prepared everything I needed, driving the Lexus into the parking lot in the back lot of Wiederholt’s just after three in the afternoon. The owner, Mike, met me outside. “You’re doing a good thing here, Leo,” he said as he waved me to his truck. “She’s going to flip.”

“She’s a good kid, and I know my wife would appreciate her old car going to someone like her,” I said. He drove me back to my house so I could grab my truck. Before I got out, I handed him a manila envelope. “I wanted to do something for your employees. It’s some gift cards for the gas station. Can you make sure every one of them gets one, but don’t tell them it was from me?”

He took the envelope. “I can say it was from a customer if that’s all right. You don’t have to do this, but they will appreciate it.”