Undone

Chapter I

Jeremy Danvers was the alpha of the North American werewolves.

As such, he had many enemies, but he also commanded the respect of a far greater faction than the few who would wish to usurp his position. The power and responsibility that came with his status as leader of the pack meant that he ultimately led a very nomadic existence. His family, and by extension, the rest of the pack he ruled over, were his main focus and priority, their safety and continued survival his primary goal.

His life was not an uncomplicated one, his experiences having made him into the man he was. But as his close friends and family would attest to, he was fair, judicious and diplomatic, qualities that made him highly esteemed as a leader. Coupled with the former was also the latter: his ruthlessness, ferocity when tested and incredible strength of mind and body were the traits that made him feared by many. Not everyone always agreed with his methods and for his part, Jeremy welcomed their differing opinions. But ultimately, he always chose to exercise his authority in the way he believed would best ensure the sustained existence of his kind and keep their true natures hidden from those who would seek to harm or exploit them.

Since wolves aged a lot slower than humans did, no one would guess that he was sixty eight and in the prime of his life, his masculine power indisputable. He was an intelligent, shrewd man, but he was not what anyone would call soft. He was known to be loving towards his family, but spineless and weak, never. If there was one thing Jeremy prided himself on, it was his ability to exercise control over all things. He eschewed making new friends and generally avoided the company of strangers. Many in his home town of Bear Valley thought him a loner, a hermit, but he didn't mind. It kept people's attention well away from their activities and the less focused outsiders were on him and those closest to him, the less likely they were to discover their secrets.

His love of literature and learning was a thing that his adoptive son, Clay, had learnt from him at a young age. The other thing Jeremy loved, was art. He enjoyed the way it relaxed him, his individual projects often taking him months to complete. It allowed him, if only for a few hours at a time, to forget who he was and the important responsibilities that rested across his shoulders.

Stonehaven, a two-storied brick manor, had been his home for all of his life. Now that his father was no longer alive, it belonged solely to him and his immediate family. It was his sanctum, his fortress and the silent keeper of all the skeletons in his closet. It was the place he felt the most in control in, and over, and since he knew every nook and cranny of the house and surrounding property by heart, it was the one place he felt could provide the most effective shelter and protection to his pack.

Currently though, the house was empty and quiet, Clay and Elena having gone into town for supplies while Nick had gone into the City to see to some business venture, dragging a reluctant Logan along with him. Whilst Jeremy enjoyed the solitude, he sometimes missed the old days, when Clay and Nick had been children and the house had been filled with the gregarious shenanigans of two young boys learning to find the balance between their human and animal sides. Back then, Antonio, Nick's father had still been alive. Unfortunately, his wolf brother had been a casualty in the mutt uprising they'd overcome the year before. They all missed him, most especially Nick and Jeremy. The younger man missed his parent's love and guidance and the older missed his closest friend and confidante. Antonio's death had been a blow, but like all things, Jeremy had pushed past his grief and looked towards the pack's future and his role in securing it.

Staring into the leaping flames of the roaring fire in his study cum living room, he shook off his nostalgia. Grabbing his empty coffee cup off the mantle, he walked through the kitchen towards the back door, dropping the stone mug into the wash basin en-route. Unbuttoning his waistcoat, he stepped onto the porch.