Bound

Chapter 1

"Hey, Dad. It's me." Nyah Morgan stood at the edge of her father's grave, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched, and eyes watering against a boisterous wind. Crisp winter laced its edges, glee whipping strands of her hair into a frenzied dance to momentarily shroud her view of wilting wreaths.

"Jackson did a great job with the headstone," she stamped against the chill creeping through the soles of her boots. "I hope you like it."

Hearing herself, she cringed against the stupidity of talking to someone who couldn't hear, or reply. "What are you doing, Morgan?" When she rolled her eyes to where pale sky stretched far above the naked tree tips, tears blurred the colourless afternoon. "This is so hard, Dad. I hate it. I hate that you're gone."

Determined to behave braver than she felt, Nyah wiped her cheeks dry. She forced the tears to retreat with a loud sniff, and firming her stance on the icy ground, exhaled an 'okay'. "So, here's what he carved. 'Harper Morgan'," she read aloud, wanting the epitaph broadcast so the surrounding earth would understand the importance of the man now resting in its depths, "'fearless leader, beloved husband and devoted father. May he rest in peace'."

A small carving graced the black granite. In the upper right corner, a lone wolf stood on the highest of three peaks, its neck chiselled into an eternal arch as it howled under a swollen moon. To the human eye, not that many ever wandered this deep into their territory, the carving appeared to be nothing more than a motif. To her, and all fellow werewolves, it represented how her deceased father had served as alpha.

Nyah traced the etching with numb fingers. "I miss you, Dad." With her throat swelling again, she gave her head a shake. "Enough."

The scent of Alan, the werewolf set to succeed her father, carried on the unruly breeze. Nyah tried to fix a neutral expression in place, preferring to keep moments of weakness to herself. Tears were best reserved for behind closed doors, or huddled under the duvet at night, as was her preference.

"What do you think?" Alan strode through the wrought iron gates surrounding the simple cemetery. He came to stand beside her before stretching out to give the regrettable addition an affectionate pat. "Jackson did us proud, didn't he?"

"He did. It's perfect." Knowing Alan hadn't come to the cemetery to share his thoughts on her father's headstone, Nyah made a point of checking her watch, aware she still had half an hour before two o'clock arrived. "I'm not late for the meeting, am I?"

"No. I wanted to talk to you about something beforehand."

"What's up?"

Alan nodded towards the open gate, inviting her to walk with him, as if what needed to be said would disrespect the memory of his deceased alpha. "Simon Northfell's attending the meeting."

Nyah groaned. Alan shared her less than pleasant opinion of Simon Northfell—in fact, the entire pack held little tolerance for the man.

"I told him no," Alan followed her through the gate, "but as he constantly likes to remind me; I don't officially have the right to deny his attendance."

"He's such a pain in the ass." Nyah ensured the rusting gate latch had caught properly before they walked on. "I wish he'd crawl back to whatever rock he hid under for the last ten years."

"I doubt the rock wants him either."

"Next Thursday can't come quick enough," she grumbled as they strolled towards the trees arching over the forest track. Bare limbs clacked overhead, the sound too close to rattling bones for Nyah's comfort. "It's a pity we can't find a way to make you alpha sooner."

"I don't think me being in charge will change anything. Northfell wants a place on the council and he'll fight tooth and nail to get it."

"I'd love to know in what reality he thinks he's entitled to it. He left for a whole decade. Who in their right mind believes they have any sway on any lycan council after abandoning their pack for ten years?"