Her Men Of Ruin

Wolf

Kingdom.

Tribalan

Pack.

They

say the Tribalan tribe of the wolf kingdom flourishes in all things.

But one most exceptionally notable is their beauty.

Their

ethereal appearances crawl from meager maids to the Alpha. From kids

to adults. From a males to females. All skin types. All genetic

inheritances. All body shapes.

Even

now, the banquet hall screams of beauty as several maids in satin

robes swiftly move about to set the table.

Through

the large, open door, a man steps into the hall, clad in a

neatly-pressed brown suit, his polished black shoes complementing the

glimmers of the diamond signet ring on his left index finger.

Without

knowing it, he fists his fingers, his hands stiff at his sides and

his chin held high as his gray eyes scan the hall.

The

maids, who once graced the hall with their elegant movements, quickly

lose their composure on the sight of him.

They

giggle and point fingers. Some whisper among themselves.

The

man notices these gestures, but never meets gazes with any of them.

Instead, he focuses his attention on the long, rectangular banquet

table ahead, and on the smell of delicious food, even as his name

flies about the air. A name that forces necks to turn once it’s

mentioned.

“Ambassador

Zeedar, you are an hour early,” a voice whispers behind him. A male

voice with a bland tone.

Zeedar

acts unaware of the person, so the voice owner slides into his line

of view, forcing an eye contact with him while standing a few inches

taller than him.

Zeedar’s

stoic expression doesn’t change as his eyes carefully analyze the

man in his front.

Brawny.

Chocolate, glowing skin. Short and shaped beards.

Those

fit the description of Tribalan pack’s Beta.

“I

am Beta Reamer of Tribalan. I represent Alpha Frail of Tribalan

pack,” the man says while extending a handshake to Zeedar, who

silently takes it. “From what I heard, when Moon’s Wrath pack’s

ambassador goes on errands for his Alpha, Moon’s Wrath’s delight

travels with him. They are quite inseparable, people say. But from

what I’m seeing now, I do not think that is true.”

Zeedar

diverts his eyes from Reamer without blinking. “This is not the

Alpha’s errand,” he mutters before walking past the Beta, heading

to the table and taking a seat without permission.

After

studying Zeedar for a while, Reamer sits down as well.

Since

Zeedar sat at the

right side of the head seat,

he expected Reamer to sit opposite him.

Seeing

the man seated at the head

seat

meant for the Alpha is quite the eyesore he didn’t expect to come

across. But even as the itch to drag the man out of the seat bubbles

within him, he holds it down, suppressing it with a huge exhale of

breath.

“Wine?”

Reamer offers while gesturing to a maid to pour them both a champagne

of wine each. Zeedar shakes his head in refusal when it gets to his

turn. “How about alcohol?” the beta asks again, this time taking

his own champagne glass by its stem and gently swirling the drink

inside. Zeedar refuses again. “Do you prefer soda, then?”

“Milk,”

Zeedar responds curtly, “with zero sugar.”

Confused,

Reamer squints his eyes at the ambassador. Valiant men alike Zeedar

Father prefer wine and alcohol. But here he is talking of milk. A

DRINK FOR BABIES.

“Give

the man his milk, then,” Reamer tells the maid, then proceeds to

sip his wine, sniffing in its aroma before starting another speech.

“I often confused you and your brothers as triplets. You look

almost the same, and your characters don’t tell your age. For

example, people know your Alpha is the oldest among you, but you act

like the oldest instead. Could you please clarify the age differences

so I would know how to address all three of you when we come together

in the future…” Reamer jerks his wine glass toward Zeedar, “…in

peace, of course.”

Zeedar

locks his stare on the man. Is he trying to anger him by asking about

age so bluntly?

In

the werewolf kingdom, it’s an offense to ask one their age,

especially since they age slowly and one can barely tell who is a

hundred. But this man going as far as asking about Moon’s Wrath

Alpha’s age tells just how fearless he is.

“My

Alpha is twenty-nine. I’m twenty-seven. Freck is twenty-six,”

Zeedar responds anyway, in a flat tone.

“I

heard that before your Alpha, there was a first,” Reamer presses

on.

“He’s

dead,” Zeedar replies curtly, “but wasn’t he part of your pack?

You should have known that.”

“He

rarely showed himself. But the day my Alpha killed him, he saw his

face. My Alpha keeps professing how beautiful the man was.”

Zeedar

nods about three times while looking away, his jaws clenching without

his control.

Reamer

notices that and asks, “Was that offensive?”

Zeedar’s

lips twitch a little, forming a tight smile. “Not at all.”

“Well,

I just thought since he was ‘part

of our pack’, you

wouldn’t mind.”

Zeedar

noted how Reamer put emphasis on the ‘part

of our park’,

probably as a sarcastic reply to his question.

Now

he knows that the beta was certainly trying to annoy him while acting

casual. It’s not like the man didn’t know what was offensive or

not.

“As

you may have heard, I have an intimate interest in men,” Reamer

continues. “Your last brother, for example, pleases my heart. I

would have loved it if he were here as well.”

Zeedar

squints his eyes. He didn’t know anyone would be particularly

interested in THAT brother, most especially a Beta of an enemy pack.

Of all people to be attracted to, it’s Freck?

“My

brother is not the best candidate for an escort on a peace mission.

He acts on instinct.”

“Hm.”

Reamer nods, sipping his drink again while never breaking eye contact

with Zeedar. “I hear you’ve been busy with the pack’s company.”

He lets that sentence sink in before proceeding. “You have spent

these past years in the human world, only going on errands assigned

by your Alpha. Why go out of your way now to come here outside your

Alpha’s orders?”

Zeedar

doesn’t respond as he diverts his focus to the food before him.

Usually, he would struggle to not eat a food given to him for fear of

poison.

But

he doesn’t struggle on this one. He won’t eat it unless convinced

it isn’t poisoned.

After

all, if Tribalan pack can kill an Alpha of Moon’s Wrath pack,

what’s there to kill an ambassador?