Dreary Mondays are the worst. It was raining that Monday, back in mid-July somewhere in Tennessee. Packs signed treaties and the war was over. But Laurence's pain wasn't. He locked himself up in his office, doing paper work and solving problems. He ran the pack in an efficient and effective system, making sure no rogues touched his land, no pack decides to start another war, and carefully not letting anyone see him.
They say he could be dead, He may not even be alive. The beta could be lying to cover his spot as Alpha. But he's there. There's no doubt once you enter his home. It was sacred and only a select few were allowed in. But once you had that VIP pass, all you hear is yelling and typing. Papers rustling and maids crying.
He was feared. And, oh God, he loved it. He cherished it. Even by sitting his life away in his old office chair, he has achieved what many others were unable to. Power. Fame. Strength. Unity. And peace among the members.
He was, Alpha King.
*Constructive Criticism Welcomed*