The Alpha of Alphas

Prologue

"All accept ksei, Noah Silverton as their King?"

Noah knew he could be challenged for the throne any moment. Then he would have to fight and kill, only to land back at the dais, in front of the Elders of Vermiculo Pack. A pack Noah would be made Alpha of a day after. The coronation before the marking demonstrated that he was to be a King before an Alpha. And challenging the strongest werewolf on land would be folly, yet there was a moment of silence for anyone to arise one.

On his knees, with a wolf's bane flower and a moon stone in either hand, Noah held his breath. He was only eighteen, being handed the throne three years after his father's death, from the clutches of a hungry council who enjoyed their interim rule over Utrif. He was not raised for this. He was not prepared for this. He was not even for this two days ago. But now he was. And he could take on a challenger, couldn't he?

The coronation was something made to be after the first kingdom of werewolves—Utrif, itself—came to be. To crown the King of a kingdom. Marking on the other hand, was more traditional to werewolves as their Alpha was marked the leader of their pack till death. His Luna was to be marked with him. But for Noah, he had not yet found his mate. Nor did he care enough to look.

Unease was Noah's only companion as the big stone pendulum moved. Forty-eight ticks was the time allotted for anyone to raise a challenge. Ten more ticks and it would be over.

The two minutes of silence for Objections culminated in songs of silence—agreement.

To the forty-ninth tick, the Elder and council head started, "Noah Silverton, King of Utrif, Ksei of blood and moon, Carer of wolves and Alpha of Alphas. Rise." His grave of a voice stumbled over the large crowd and echoed back with a blow of cheers.

Despite telling himself he was more than capable of taking anyone on, a wave of relief went over Noah. He rose.

As if sensing this, the Elder's bloodshot eyes landed on Noah with knowledge. He almost shivered but stood tall and passive. The Elder studied him for a moment but not long enough to risk his head. "Accept yourself ksei, as the King of us. The King Of Utrif," he announced.

His voice had a certain question in it. Only a few were able to decipher it. But it was obvious he had voiced his discomfort for such a young King—the youngest they ever had—loud and clear. He had dared to question his King.

Noah was one of the few who noticed the question. He could make a lurch for the Elder's throat, drown him in his own blood or make it so he kills himself. But then again, maybe that would be what he wanted—to make a scene. Therefore Noah stayed still for a moment. If he could not fight with claws, he would fight with bare fingers. That is what he promised his dying father. He would keep the throne. No matter what.

Meeting the Elder's gaze, Noah grinned and raised his head higher than any of the Kings before him. "I accept."

As will you.

The Elder blinked at the thread.

For I am not for the throne.
     The throne is for me.

The Elder dipped down in a bow. He raised a question. He got his answer. He was lucky enough to only get that one thing. Before Noah changed his mind, the Elder tapped a hand over his chest. "Your Majesty."

Noah was better of being feared than respected. If he could not have love, he would have fear. If he could not have loyalty, he would have submission.

The Elder hurriedly slipped the crown of midnight black on Noah's head. The weight that eased on seemed a lot heavier than Noah had expected. He knew it was not only the weight of metal but also the weight of a whole kingdom. He could easily be overwhelmed under it. Had he been two days younger, he would. But now he was everything and nothing. He was a King and an Alpha to-be, but he was what he always was—alone.

Noah smiled from eye to eye. The weight was power. And power was something he never had a taste of in his life. And the second he did, he was disgusted that he liked it.

"We await your first command, Ksei, my Alpha, my King," Elder Ginsa spread a helpless arm toward the crowd.

Noah turned to face the enormity of people—subjects—and they all shifted under the intensity of the moment. Noah could command for them to jump until their feet bruised, shout until their throats soured or kill until their souls shattered. It was the time to make a choice—to make a command. He was more than aware his entire rule depended on what the command would be. And so Noah hoped the people were ready for their new King. For he might have been his mother's son before, now he was his father's and his alone.

      And they feared his father like no other. Now they will cower at his name. They all will.

He stepped forward. Silence befell the place. And then came a command that would change everything.

"Capture every rogue on our land."