My Adopted Sister is my Mate

SILAS

Fuck.

I stand by the floor-to-ceiling window of my study, watching the moonlight, my wolf, Alaric, howling, desperate to break out, run, kill, hunt, anything to deal with the deep anger brewing inside of us.

Kaeden, that idiot son of mine, is back.

The boy I had spent years trying to break and mold into my malleable weapon, and who decided to turn his back on me and run away 15 years ago, leaving me with nothing but a miserable note informing me that he was going away, and that he was not coming back anytime soon, has decided to spring back with eyes hungry for a throne he does not deserve.

At age 33, the perfect age to ascend to the throne.

And the idiot thinks that I will give it to him as I should. As I am expected to.

Well, it has been a long time since I did anything that anyone expected me to do. And I am not about to change. Especially given my plans to rule forever.

When Kaeden left, I must admit that I felt hurt at first, well, to be honest, very disrespected by his decision. So disrespected, that I judged his decision and decided that he deserved death. In fact, I embraced the thought of his death, wondered why I had not thought of it before he gave me a reason to. With him gone, I would have no resistance. Any other person daring to go up would only be allowed to ascend the throne on the basis of my benevolence, one that I was not willing to give.

So, whilst I maintained the image of the benevolent widower, the lonely, perfect Alpha whose selfish son decided to abandon regardless of his having lost his wife only two years prior, I secretly sent several assassins after him over the course of at least 10 years.

None returned. Which meant that he had either killed them, or they had failed to locate him and feared my anger.

I was tempted to go on my own several times, but I did have an image to maintain.

Eventually, I gave up, assumed him dead, decided that I was losing too many men in the pursuit for him.

And now he has returned.

I really shouldn't be as worried as I am. Most of the pack despise him, despise his decision to leave, view it as treason. It would be difficult for him to get the pack on his side.

But...

When he came close to me as we met, he towered over me. His face, hands, hard eyes, all indicated that he had gone through a very harsh life and had emerged stronger for it. Much stronger. And with his mother's blood running through his veins...

Damn it. Why did I never consider that he might be back just in time to take the throne? Why did I waste time dillydallying in amassing wealth instead of pursuing the true thing that would guarantee my everlasting power?

Immortality.

I down the glass of scotch in my hands and close my eyes. I was going to wait, to take my time to get the conduit ready so as to set the course of my attaining immortality gradually and carefully. But time is no longer on my side. So, I have to begin.

Avara.

My harvest that I have been painstakingly and patiently watering, waiting to bloom.

Why the heavens had decided to make a squeamish, stupid, fragile little girl a Nyxarel, I might never be able to guess. But she is. And for that she holds the most powerful key towards my immortality.

It is time she begins paying her debt for my years of benevolence.