The Alpha's Gamble - Chapter 81: Chapter 81
You are reading The Alpha's Gamble, Chapter 81: Chapter 81. Read more chapters of The Alpha's Gamble.
MADELINE
On the outskirts of the border, overlooking the highway where I spent many hours going back and forth between my home and the human territory, was a cliff. A mountaintop where, when I was eight and trained in the junior combat league, we’d run up and down for hours at a time. Fall and winter were my least favourite seasons, soley because of this mountain; running up wet moss, ice blocks, and thick mazes of snow taught me the phrase “this is ass.”
But then there was a moment after the last round was done, when our legs caved and the trainer called “done!” where everyone fell like dominoes, one after the other, spread out like discarded gum glued to the sharp mountaintop.
It wasn’t next to my tortured teammates that I fell, though. No, I tossed my legs until my shoes flew off, landing in bushes and sometimes in someone’s face. The pebbles poking into the soles of my feet stimulated a massage against my aching bones, and I slowed down to feel it stretching my skin. I would curl my toes on the edge of the cliff, letting the wind blow through the stray hairs peeling from my ponytail after running. My cheeks would burn from the chill covering my warm skin, the sensational pain spreading down my arms, but the best part was the shivers shaking my body and forcing a good tremble in my shoulders.
Now, the wind wasn’t cooling me down—no burning skin or racing heart. It was warm, warmer than I remembered it being this morning. The eve of my birthday, and I was curling my toes, my knuckles white and aching from holding myself steady. Two hundred feet in the air. The world was living below me. The trees looked pinchable. This was the closest I’d ever feel to being a giant. Werewolves were strong. We healed fast. We’re capable of enduring great trauma to our bodies without dying, but we’re not immortal. This fall would kill me—this jump.
Life was never a party, unless I was partying, and even then, it was merely a chore to keep the voices out—to make sure I had enough to drink to drown my mind. The dancing helped me relax, but never too much because then I’d forget why I was there. It wasn’t a pleasure; it was therapy.
One day, after our weekly dose of denial and booze, we were stumbling into the pack and fell on our backs in the garden. Staring at the sky, I told Tilly that life wasn’t all that. Never understood it. Don’t think I ever will. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to live. I’ve never been suicidal, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just that what life has been for others, it never was for me. Disregarding the childhood horror film I was in and the absent father and psycho mother, it was more so the mere joy in existing that never settled in my soul. People were happy for nothing. Never understood it. I thought maybe I’d learn what that was like once I had my wolf. Once I shifted and felt the dirt gather under the rim of her claws, and the sticks graze the surface of her pads. That’s the hope I held onto. That was the future keeping me afloat.
“We’ll live a good life before we’re done,” Tilly said when we lay there that early morning.
We fell asleep when the sun was starting to come up. A deep orange rocked us to sleep, and the sound of her mother’s pissed shrieking and her rare occasional use of cussing woke us up a few hours later.
“What are you waiting for?” Nasha’s grave voice was the only source of burning cold, and the shiver ran down my spine, pulling me back from a memory I hadn't thought of in ages.
“You can’t hear my thoughts?”
“You know I can’t,” she said.
The light below looked like hundreds of fireflies gathered in groups. If I listened closely, I could hear the tires of cars against pavement, engines turning off, on, doors opening, and keys chiming in someone’s hand.
Soft echoes of wind circled my fingers, chains that caressed my skin and bound my waist. When I closed my eyes, the world disappeared—dark. Empty. This was what it would feel like when I reached the bottom. It’d be dark, quiet. And then I opened my eyes. Everything continued. The cars still drove on the main street, people still left their homes. That’s what it’d be like. The world would continue.
Nothing would implode on itself because I wasn’t breathing.
I leaned forward, tipping my body over the edge, relaxed my toes, spread my fingers, and felt the wind lift beneath my arms.
Gravity would take care of the rest.
“No one will have to worry about you anymore. Noah won’t have to pretend he can be with a psycho. Your mom can live the spotless life she’s always wanted. Your dad won’t be shackled to a pack he hates, forced to see the woman he loved love someone else.” Whoever chose Nasha to be my wolf must’ve known that I needed one last push.
One last weight on the tipping board to sway it over.
And it was. It was over.
I tipped over the edge, looked down at the lights, and closed my eyes.
On the outskirts of the border, overlooking the highway where I spent many hours going back and forth between my home and the human territory, was a cliff. A mountaintop where, when I was eight and trained in the junior combat league, we’d run up and down for hours at a time. Fall and winter were my least favourite seasons, soley because of this mountain; running up wet moss, ice blocks, and thick mazes of snow taught me the phrase “this is ass.”
But then there was a moment after the last round was done, when our legs caved and the trainer called “done!” where everyone fell like dominoes, one after the other, spread out like discarded gum glued to the sharp mountaintop.
It wasn’t next to my tortured teammates that I fell, though. No, I tossed my legs until my shoes flew off, landing in bushes and sometimes in someone’s face. The pebbles poking into the soles of my feet stimulated a massage against my aching bones, and I slowed down to feel it stretching my skin. I would curl my toes on the edge of the cliff, letting the wind blow through the stray hairs peeling from my ponytail after running. My cheeks would burn from the chill covering my warm skin, the sensational pain spreading down my arms, but the best part was the shivers shaking my body and forcing a good tremble in my shoulders.
Now, the wind wasn’t cooling me down—no burning skin or racing heart. It was warm, warmer than I remembered it being this morning. The eve of my birthday, and I was curling my toes, my knuckles white and aching from holding myself steady. Two hundred feet in the air. The world was living below me. The trees looked pinchable. This was the closest I’d ever feel to being a giant. Werewolves were strong. We healed fast. We’re capable of enduring great trauma to our bodies without dying, but we’re not immortal. This fall would kill me—this jump.
Life was never a party, unless I was partying, and even then, it was merely a chore to keep the voices out—to make sure I had enough to drink to drown my mind. The dancing helped me relax, but never too much because then I’d forget why I was there. It wasn’t a pleasure; it was therapy.
One day, after our weekly dose of denial and booze, we were stumbling into the pack and fell on our backs in the garden. Staring at the sky, I told Tilly that life wasn’t all that. Never understood it. Don’t think I ever will. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to live. I’ve never been suicidal, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just that what life has been for others, it never was for me. Disregarding the childhood horror film I was in and the absent father and psycho mother, it was more so the mere joy in existing that never settled in my soul. People were happy for nothing. Never understood it. I thought maybe I’d learn what that was like once I had my wolf. Once I shifted and felt the dirt gather under the rim of her claws, and the sticks graze the surface of her pads. That’s the hope I held onto. That was the future keeping me afloat.
“We’ll live a good life before we’re done,” Tilly said when we lay there that early morning.
We fell asleep when the sun was starting to come up. A deep orange rocked us to sleep, and the sound of her mother’s pissed shrieking and her rare occasional use of cussing woke us up a few hours later.
“What are you waiting for?” Nasha’s grave voice was the only source of burning cold, and the shiver ran down my spine, pulling me back from a memory I hadn't thought of in ages.
“You can’t hear my thoughts?”
“You know I can’t,” she said.
The light below looked like hundreds of fireflies gathered in groups. If I listened closely, I could hear the tires of cars against pavement, engines turning off, on, doors opening, and keys chiming in someone’s hand.
Soft echoes of wind circled my fingers, chains that caressed my skin and bound my waist. When I closed my eyes, the world disappeared—dark. Empty. This was what it would feel like when I reached the bottom. It’d be dark, quiet. And then I opened my eyes. Everything continued. The cars still drove on the main street, people still left their homes. That’s what it’d be like. The world would continue.
Nothing would implode on itself because I wasn’t breathing.
I leaned forward, tipping my body over the edge, relaxed my toes, spread my fingers, and felt the wind lift beneath my arms.
Gravity would take care of the rest.
“No one will have to worry about you anymore. Noah won’t have to pretend he can be with a psycho. Your mom can live the spotless life she’s always wanted. Your dad won’t be shackled to a pack he hates, forced to see the woman he loved love someone else.” Whoever chose Nasha to be my wolf must’ve known that I needed one last push.
One last weight on the tipping board to sway it over.
And it was. It was over.
I tipped over the edge, looked down at the lights, and closed my eyes.
End of The Alpha's Gamble Chapter 81. Continue reading Chapter 82 or return to The Alpha's Gamble book page.