The Alpha's Gamble - Chapter 55: Chapter 55
You are reading The Alpha's Gamble, Chapter 55: Chapter 55. Read more chapters of The Alpha's Gamble.
MADELINE
My father and I were locked in a staring contest, not intentionally, but when no one spoke and neither of us blinked, it just… happened. Jack had told my dad to be my trainer. It made sense. He’d been the pack’s best trainer before he left. But did he even know what he was training me for? And if he didn’t…should I tell him? Or let him stay in the dark? Not that he’d care. He was probably counting the seconds until he could leave again. He blinked dramatically and took his hands out of his pockets.
“There. I blinked. You win. Should we get started?” It was the Alpha’s order; what choice did I have? I followed him down the winding path behind the shed to the open area where the warriors usually trained in their wolf form. It was a massive flat surface, all dirt, and it always reeked of wet dog after rainstorms.
“This is where we’re doing this?” I wrinkled my nose and looked around. “It smells like someone bathed a Saint Bernard in swamp water. Why not the gym?”
“The gyms are booked,” he replied casually, already shrugging off his jacket and tossing it to the side. My father didn’t waste time. He rolled up his sleeves and went straight into assessment mode. Adjusted my stance. Tested my balance. Pushed my arms until he met the edge of my strength, just like he did with the warriors. I used to stand on the sidelines for hours, watching him work, admiring how he pushed them past their limits, helping them fight not just harder, but with purpose.
He taught me early: it’s not about how you fight; it’s why you fight. Words I’d never forgotten.
He had me do some shadow boxing, a technique he picked up from humans during his time hiding in towns before he joined this pack. I never got the full story. Just fragments, whispered when my mom wasn’t around. She hated the past. Said it had no relevance.
“What are we practicing for exactly?” he asked, and something darker passed over his face.
“Why do you ask?”
“The way Jack told me to train you… It sounded like he was preparing you for war.” I laughed and kept moving through my routine.
“It’s not a war,” I said.
“Drop your hands. Let’s do some combat,” he said, walking up and getting into position. For a moment, the questions faded. We sparred. The hits were light at first, then grew more focused, more powerful. His face twisted with questions he couldn’t suppress.
“If it’s not war, then why train like it is? You’re already top of your class. You’re close to being Elite. You don’t need this.” I panted. Considered lying. Maybe I shouldn’t tell him. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal, and I was making it into one. But he’d find out eventually, and better from me than from the bleachers, watching his daughter fight for her life.
“It’s for the Ember Ring,” I said. “I’ve been challenged. I’m fighting in two months.” My father, the man who never froze mid-strike, went completely still. His skin turned pale like death had claimed him in a second. It wasn’t anger or even concern. It was fear. Pure, soul-deep terror. His lips parted on a sharp inhale, eyes haunted by demons I couldn’t see.
“Who…”
Pause. He swallowed.
“Who are you…”
Another pause. He couldn’t finish the question. His voice quivered, caught in his throat.
“A Russian werewolf. Volokov. I’m up against one of his warriors.” The ghostlike pallor of his skin flushed red in an instant. His cheeks burned crimson, and his lips curled back in a snarl. His wolf rose to the surface as he clenched his fists at his sides. What the hell? First, he looked like he’d seen a ghost; now he looked ready to kill.
“A Russian?” he growled. Before I could answer, he turned and stormed off. Just like that. No warning.
“Dad!” I took off after him. His steps were heavy, the ground practically quaking beneath them as he headed toward the mansion. His shoulders looked like they were carrying the weight of the entire pack.
“Jack, you son of a bitch!” he roared, and my eyes widened in horror. He wasn’t just going after him; he was charging.
“No, no!” I chased after him, heart hammering. By the time I reached the steps, he was already at the door, throwing it open with a force I didn’t know he had. This wasn’t the man I knew. There was nothing meek or reserved about him anymore. This was something else. Something raw. Primal.
“YOU LET MY DAUGHTER GET CHALLENGED?!”
Holy. Fuck. His voice boomed, rattling the entire house. The portraits of the previous Alphas lining the hallway shook, then tumbled from their hooks. The frames shattered as they hit the floor.
The Omegas shrank back. The chef ducked into the kitchen after peeking out, eyes wide. Everyone was retreating. Why? My father wasn’t ranked; he wasn’t an Alpha or a Beta. He was just a pack member. So why were they bowing their heads? Why were they afraid?
“Dad, stop!” I ran after him as he stormed down the hall toward Jack’s office. But then—Crash. The door slammed open, hitting the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. By the time I got there, he was already inside.
My father and I were locked in a staring contest, not intentionally, but when no one spoke and neither of us blinked, it just… happened. Jack had told my dad to be my trainer. It made sense. He’d been the pack’s best trainer before he left. But did he even know what he was training me for? And if he didn’t…should I tell him? Or let him stay in the dark? Not that he’d care. He was probably counting the seconds until he could leave again. He blinked dramatically and took his hands out of his pockets.
“There. I blinked. You win. Should we get started?” It was the Alpha’s order; what choice did I have? I followed him down the winding path behind the shed to the open area where the warriors usually trained in their wolf form. It was a massive flat surface, all dirt, and it always reeked of wet dog after rainstorms.
“This is where we’re doing this?” I wrinkled my nose and looked around. “It smells like someone bathed a Saint Bernard in swamp water. Why not the gym?”
“The gyms are booked,” he replied casually, already shrugging off his jacket and tossing it to the side. My father didn’t waste time. He rolled up his sleeves and went straight into assessment mode. Adjusted my stance. Tested my balance. Pushed my arms until he met the edge of my strength, just like he did with the warriors. I used to stand on the sidelines for hours, watching him work, admiring how he pushed them past their limits, helping them fight not just harder, but with purpose.
He taught me early: it’s not about how you fight; it’s why you fight. Words I’d never forgotten.
He had me do some shadow boxing, a technique he picked up from humans during his time hiding in towns before he joined this pack. I never got the full story. Just fragments, whispered when my mom wasn’t around. She hated the past. Said it had no relevance.
“What are we practicing for exactly?” he asked, and something darker passed over his face.
“Why do you ask?”
“The way Jack told me to train you… It sounded like he was preparing you for war.” I laughed and kept moving through my routine.
“It’s not a war,” I said.
“Drop your hands. Let’s do some combat,” he said, walking up and getting into position. For a moment, the questions faded. We sparred. The hits were light at first, then grew more focused, more powerful. His face twisted with questions he couldn’t suppress.
“If it’s not war, then why train like it is? You’re already top of your class. You’re close to being Elite. You don’t need this.” I panted. Considered lying. Maybe I shouldn’t tell him. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal, and I was making it into one. But he’d find out eventually, and better from me than from the bleachers, watching his daughter fight for her life.
“It’s for the Ember Ring,” I said. “I’ve been challenged. I’m fighting in two months.” My father, the man who never froze mid-strike, went completely still. His skin turned pale like death had claimed him in a second. It wasn’t anger or even concern. It was fear. Pure, soul-deep terror. His lips parted on a sharp inhale, eyes haunted by demons I couldn’t see.
“Who…”
Pause. He swallowed.
“Who are you…”
Another pause. He couldn’t finish the question. His voice quivered, caught in his throat.
“A Russian werewolf. Volokov. I’m up against one of his warriors.” The ghostlike pallor of his skin flushed red in an instant. His cheeks burned crimson, and his lips curled back in a snarl. His wolf rose to the surface as he clenched his fists at his sides. What the hell? First, he looked like he’d seen a ghost; now he looked ready to kill.
“A Russian?” he growled. Before I could answer, he turned and stormed off. Just like that. No warning.
“Dad!” I took off after him. His steps were heavy, the ground practically quaking beneath them as he headed toward the mansion. His shoulders looked like they were carrying the weight of the entire pack.
“Jack, you son of a bitch!” he roared, and my eyes widened in horror. He wasn’t just going after him; he was charging.
“No, no!” I chased after him, heart hammering. By the time I reached the steps, he was already at the door, throwing it open with a force I didn’t know he had. This wasn’t the man I knew. There was nothing meek or reserved about him anymore. This was something else. Something raw. Primal.
“YOU LET MY DAUGHTER GET CHALLENGED?!”
Holy. Fuck. His voice boomed, rattling the entire house. The portraits of the previous Alphas lining the hallway shook, then tumbled from their hooks. The frames shattered as they hit the floor.
The Omegas shrank back. The chef ducked into the kitchen after peeking out, eyes wide. Everyone was retreating. Why? My father wasn’t ranked; he wasn’t an Alpha or a Beta. He was just a pack member. So why were they bowing their heads? Why were they afraid?
“Dad, stop!” I ran after him as he stormed down the hall toward Jack’s office. But then—Crash. The door slammed open, hitting the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. By the time I got there, he was already inside.
End of The Alpha's Gamble Chapter 55. Continue reading Chapter 56 or return to The Alpha's Gamble book page.