Bad Boy Alphas

3.1 | Let's Meet Jax

Luna clutches onto her dainty cup of chamomile tea so tight that it almost shatters upon impact. Slender pale fingers nearly yank off the delicate crook of the porcelain handle. She's trying not to cringe, let alone break something, after watching Alpha Cyrus Pierce of the Blood Moon Pack.

As usual, he's a crazed maniac with nothing but bloodlust in mind. Just like his father, the previous head alpha of Blood Moon. And the father before him. And the men even before his time too. They're all the fucking same.

Luna's white hood trembles around her face as she attempts to muster up some self-control. Her jawline clenches as she wipes away the live recording her crystal ball had been streaming earlier. She draws in a steady inhale, bracing herself before waving her hand around to switch out crystal balls.

She wants to change the channel, jump from one person to the next.

As the previous crystal ball, tied to Cyrus Pierce's fate, morphs and shrinks into a glassy shard before floating away, another drifts toward her hand.

Mist swirls around in the new crystal ball now hovering over her open palm, but this time it dissipates and clears to reveal the brooding face of Alpha Jax Sterling of the Grave Shadow Pack.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

As soon as the stench of sulfur and ash tickles his nose, filtering through his sinuses like a spicy haze, Jax knows that he's home.

Overhead, as he's already shifted back to his default humanoid form alongside the rest of his pack members, his red eyes glaze over bleak gray rooftop ridges and triangular iron chimneys. Plumes of dark smoke rise and linger from gaping vents, born from a cluster of factories amid the residence halls of their headquarters. A pitch-black night sky cloaks over the entirety of Grave Shadow, with only a few blurred stars and the moon emerging from the vast darkness.

As he strides past the pointed metal corners of the front lobby inside their headquarters, he acknowledges the bowed down heads of his omega and beta subordinates. Wordlessly, he advances forward with a purpose, his head raised and his gaze hardened with steely resolve.

Zeke, his second-in-command and right-hand man, matches Jax's commanding pace. While pushing up his circular glasses, he doesn't open his mouth, the silence between them an all-time familiar exchange. Instead, he studies a clipboard resting against the crook of his arm and elbow, caught in between several pages of work to be done.

To relieve himself of his pent up frustrations, of yet another failed attempt at capturing Eliza fucking Jeralt, Jax smoothly summons a sleek vape pen from his leather jacket pockets before taking a hard hit. The taste of mint engulfs his lungs, weighs on his tongue, and then stings from his lips through wisps of white smoke.

"Zeke," he huffs out while smoking, a transparent puff of minty vapor clouding over his face. "Agenda. Now."

"Your new daggers should be in tomorrow morning, sir. Silver bullets, for our front line alphas, should also be ready to up our regular defenses by next week as well."

As they both stop at their final destination, bordering the entrance to the residence halls, Jax takes a secondary drag and hit from his vape. Mint plunges down his throat, clouds over his thoughts, then rushes out through a gruff sigh.

"Contact the kitchen," he instructs. "Tell them to shred as many garlic cloves as they can before sprinkling them around our fields. In case Eliza and her minions wanna return, they're in for an itchy welcome."

"Yes, sir."

Jax raises a hand up before waving it away. "Dismissed."

After a concise nod, Zeke is out the door, retreating to finish the rest of his assigned duties. While he treads to the kitchen, Jax decides to resume the rest of his nocturnal activities, starting with a quick shower before a final visit to the infirmary.

It's time for his regular procedure.

Once he's already in his sleeping quarters, the sweet relief of silence greets him. A singular bed, with ivory white sheets and a fossil gray blanket, can be seen in the corner adjacent to the door closed behind him. Ebony curtains obscure any light from sight, sealing the room off from the rest of the world.

After a few more drags from his vape, white vapor and sharp mint lingering all around him, Jax shrugs off his leather jacket. He rubs the back of his neck and rotates his shoulders and arms, stretching out the sore joints there.

Everything within his solo suite is devoid of color, monochrome in scale, and minimalistic in appearance. The only source of light sits on a metal nightstand, the wicks of an odorless candle flickering in and out.

Desolate, colorless, pragmatic. Just the way he likes it. He wants nothing more.

Inside of his private restroom, he peels off his shirt, the sweat from his back a damp weight against the tight fabric. Then, he leans forward and examines the left side of his face in the mirror, where Cyrus had bitten earlier. Fluorescent lights glare down upon him while his hands clasp the sides of the sink. A signature frown, done out of habit rather than actual distaste, dips his lips down as he confirms that his cheek is fully recovered.

No more wet bite marks marred across torn skin. He still feels remnants of the pain, but any evidence of injury has vanished.

He continues to stare himself down for a moment longer, registering the fatigue in his red eyes, the dark bags underlining them prominent through his pale complexion. Tendrils of black ink scale up the entirety of his right arm, reflecting off a whole sleeve that starts from his wrist and trails up his shoulder. More of the tattoo covers the upper left portion of his torso before halting there. Sighing, he sweeps a scarred hand through his short dark hair.

The sound of hot water running in the background, the sizzling pitter-patters against marble tiles, brings him back to reality. Steam fogs up the rest of his visage before he finally decides to be rid of the dirt and grime of another day's work.