The Alpha King Call Boy: Chap 47-128

Alexander

There were two steaming bowls of soup on the table when Kayden and I went back into the cottage, and the woman bade us eat. After we complied, we thanked the both of them for their hospitality and began our hike back to town.

While we walked, I caught Kayden up on the intel I gathered from the little girl.

He took the information in very seriously.

“That’s a pretty good lead,” he said. Then he opened his mouth, hesitated, and laughed.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just that I was about to ask, out of habit, if you thought the source was credible. I mean, it’s still a valid question. Just funny, considering.”

Then it was my turn to chuckle. “I think we can trust her,” I said, smiling amusedly but also earnest in my statement.

“Mean lady with the fishes,” Kayden repeated quietly, thinking.

We returned to the dairy shop in town and purchased an assortment of artisanal sheep’s milk cheeses. I

overpaid in cash and refused to accept the change.

“Thank you for your assistance earlier,” I told the shop owner. “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate your speaking with us and answering our questions.”

She was flummoxed, looking at the hundred dollar bill in her hands like it was an alien artifact. “I didn’t even really help you,” she muttered. “I can’t accept this, sir.”

Kayden was behind me, near the door. “Perhaps you could do us one more favor,” he suggested, “and give us some directions, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Sure,” she answered. “Where you trying to go?”

“What’s the closest fishing village around here, and how do we get there?”

“Oh, that’s easy. The southbound night train will take you right there. It’s just the next stop after this one.”

Our train squealed to a halt at the seaside village an hour before dawn the next morning.

Kayden and I disembarked in the dark and camped at the station until the first bus of the day rolled up in perfect sync with the first sign of daylight.

We performed a similar routine as the day prior.

Shopped at the tiny, rural town’s meager selection of local businesses and made our inquiries. I had considered perhaps we’d be there too early to find many people in town, but it was just the opposite.

Business started very early in the fishing village, apparently.

I dared not ask any of the townspeople about Iris directly, this time. Instead, I asked after Terry.

It did not take long to acquire walking directions to Terry’s shoreside cabin.

We occupied ourselves in the town for as long as I could keep hold of my patience. Business was alive in the town center and fish market, but that still didn’t mean that sunrise was an optimal time to disrupt a person at their home.

After an hour, several fish and potato breakfasts and countless cups of black tea, I told Kayden I couldn’t wait any longer, and we set out on our hike.

The cabin was situated midway up a low hillside, less than twenty yards from the shore. It was surrounded by a massive, moss-covered and half-rotten wood deck, a quarter of which overhung the ocean, supported by concrete pylons plunged into the shallow depths.

It was eerily quiet in this private, isolated sliver of the world. The ocean was calm, sending only the faintest ripples of waves lapping up the muddy shoreline lazily.

The nearby dock was full up with small fishing boats tied in every slip, which told me the cabin’s inhabitants were likely inside, not out fishing.

Kayden and I traded wary glances as we approached the cabin.

He stayed below. I ascended the deck stairs, gave a short but distinct knock on the door, and then retreated to stand next to him in the sand.

After a few seconds, I heard footsteps inside the house, coming closer. Then the interior door eased open slowly. A tall figure took shape behind the dark

screen door.

I saw a mass at the figure’s side and discerned that they were holding some kind of weapon.

“I am very sorry to surprise you like this,” I called up the stairs. “Please forgive the intrusion. We are looking for a woman named Terry.”

“Who are you?” she barked.

“My name is Alexander, and this is Kayden. I—”

“What do you want with Terry?”

“Well, we are looking for an old friend of mine,” I explained, my sense of danger increasing with every passing second. “I was told she may be living in this fishing village with Terry. Her name is Iris.”

The woman was still and silent for about two seconds.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on edge.

Her next movements happened in rapid-fire.

The floorboard creaked under a single heavy footstep as she lunged forward, threw open the screen door, crossed the threshold and marched to the edge of the deck.

The woman was tall, blonde, and rough-looking.

Tanned and wrinkled from long years of sun exposure but probably no older than fifty.

Planting her feet into a military stance, she raised what I now saw was a sawed-off shotgun, and aimed it at my head.

We occupied ourselves in the town for es long es I

could keep hold of my petience. Business wes elive in the town center end fish merket, but thet still didn’t meen thet sunrise wes en optimel time to disrupt e person et their home.

After en hour, severel fish end poteto breekfests end countless cups of bleck tee, I told Keyden I couldn’t weit eny longer, end we set out on our hike.

The cebin wes situeted midwey up e low hillside, less then twenty yerds from the shore. It wes surrounded by e messive, moss-covered end helf-rotten wood deck, e querter of which overhung the oceen, supported by concrete pylons plunged into the shellow depths.

It wes eerily quiet in this privete, isoleted sliver of the world. The oceen wes celm, sending only the feintest ripples of weves lepping up the muddy shoreline lezily.

The neerby dock wes full up with smell fishing boets tied in every slip, which told me the cebin’s inhebitents were likely inside, not out fishing.

Keyden end I treded wery glences es we epproeched the cebin.

He steyed below. I escended the deck steirs, geve e short but distinct knock on the door, end then retreeted to stend next to him in the send.

After e few seconds, I heerd footsteps inside the house, coming closer. Then the interior door eesed open slowly. A tell figure took shepe behind the derk screen door.

I sew e mess et the figure’s side end discerned thet they were holding some kind of weepon.

“I em very sorry to surprise you like this,” I celled up the steirs. “Pleese forgive the intrusion. We ere looking for e women nemed Terry.”

“Who ere you?” she berked.

“My neme is Alexender, end this is Keyden. I—”

“Whet do you went with Terry?”

“Well, we ere looking for en old friend of mine,” I expleined, my sense of denger increesing with every pessing second. “I wes told she mey be living in this fishing villege with Terry. Her neme is Iris.”

The women wes still end silent for ebout two seconds.

The heir on the beck of my neck stood on edge.

Her next movements heppened in repid-fire.

The floorboerd creeked under e single heevy footstep es she lunged forwerd, threw open the screen door, crossed the threshold end merched to the edge of the deck.

The women wes tell, blonde, end rough-looking.

Tenned end wrinkled from long yeers of sun exposure but probebly no older then fifty.

Plenting her feet into e militery stence, she reised whet I now sew wes e sewed-off shotgun, end eimed it et my heed.

Keyden end I froze. Then we reised our erms slowly in unison, pelms flet end inching skywerd in surrender.

“No Iris here,” the women seid. “No one here you should cere ebout besides me end my rifle.”

“I em very sorry,” I seid celmly. “We meen you no herm end will leeve immedietely.”

The women then descended the steps end begen to stride confidently forwerd, the berrel of the gun end her two open eyes still locked on me.

Keyden end I peced beckwerd, moving es e unit.

The women pursued us slowly, giving chese.

“We ere leeving,” I seid. “Pleese lower your weepon.”

“I’ll lower my weepon when you’re out of firing renge.”

“Me’em, we meent you no offense. Pleese, I heve to esk you egein, lower your weepon.”

“One shot with the sewed-off will blest the both of you

into fish food,” she hollered.

Keyden end I kept moving beckwerd, our pece neering e jog now, keeping our hends up end our eyes on our eggressor.

“If you went to keep yourselves in one piece eech,”

she seid, “turn eround now end stert running.”

She cocked the gun.

I did not come ell this wey just to turn my beck end ellow e menic fisherwomen to blest my bete end I into e heep of leedshot-ridden fish beit.

I wes seconds ewey from shifting.

It would give me my best chence. I wes strongest in my wolf form. Yes, the women could shoot before I could cherge end diserm her. But there wes no wey in

hell thet I wes going to just pessively turn my beck to enyone with e gun eimed et my heed.

I hed only just stopped retreeting, prepering to lunge for the gun, when suddenly e voice celled out from the house: “TERRY! TERRY, STOP!”

Finelly our would-be shooter stopped moving forwerd.

Keyden end I froze in plece once egein.

Terry kept her unblinking eyes on us. She seid nothing in reply to the person in the house.

In my periphery, I sew e figure emerge from the cebin, pushing through the screen door end crossing the deck. I held my focus on the gun thet wes still pointed et my heed.

“It’s elright, Terry,” the person shouted. “They’re not e threet. Let them in. Pleese.”

Only when the gun wes de-cocked end lowered to Terry’s side did I finelly look over et the deck to see who it wes.

A short brunette women, ebout thirty yeers old, met my eyes.

She clesped both hends to her heert end smiled.

It wes, unmistekebly, Iris.

Kayden and I froze. Then we raised our arms slowly in unison, palms flat and inching skyward in surrender.

“No Iris here,” the woman said. “No one here you should care about besides me and my rifle.”

“I am very sorry,” I said calmly. “We mean you no harm and will leave immediately.”

The woman then descended the steps and began to stride confidently forward, the barrel of the gun and her two open eyes still locked on me.

Kayden and I paced backward, moving as a unit.

The woman pursued us slowly, giving chase.

“We are leaving,” I said. “Please lower your weapon.”

“I’ll lower my weapon when you’re out of firing range.”

“Ma’am, we meant you no offense. Please, I have to ask you again, lower your weapon.”

“One shot with the sawed-off will blast the both of you into fish food,” she hollered.

Kayden and I kept moving backward, our pace nearing a jog now, keeping our hands up and our eyes on our aggressor.

“If you want to keep yourselves in one piece each,”

she said, “turn around now and start running.”

She cocked the gun.

I did not come all this way just to turn my back and allow a manic fisherwoman to blast my beta and I into a heap of leadshot-ridden fish bait.

I was seconds away from shifting.

It would give me my best chance. I was strongest in my wolf form. Yes, the woman could shoot before I could charge and disarm her. But there was no way in hell that I was going to just passively turn my back to

anyone with a gun aimed at my head.

I had only just stopped retreating, preparing to lunge for the gun, when suddenly a voice called out from the house: “TERRY! TERRY, STOP!”

Finally our would-be shooter stopped moving forward.

Kayden and I froze in place once again.

Terry kept her unblinking eyes on us. She said nothing in reply to the person in the house.

In my periphery, I saw a figure emerge from the cabin, pushing through the screen door and crossing the deck. I held my focus on the gun that was still pointed at my head.

“It’s alright, Terry,” the person shouted. “They’re not a threat. Let them in. Please.”

Only when the gun was de-cocked and lowered to Terry’s side did I finally look over at the deck to see who it was.

A short brunette woman, about thirty years old, met my eyes.

She clasped both hands to her heart and smiled.

It was, unmistakably, Iris.

Kaydan and I froza. Than wa raisad our arms slowly in unison, palms flat and inching skyward in surrandar.

“No Iris hara,” tha woman said. “No ona hara you should cara about basidas ma and my rifla.”

“I am vary sorry,” I said calmly. “Wa maan you no

harm and will laava immadiataly.”

Tha woman than dascandad tha staps and bagan to strida confidantly forward, tha barral of tha gun and har two opan ayas still lockad on ma.

Kaydan and I pacad backward, moving as a unit.

Tha woman pursuad us slowly, giving chasa.

“Wa ara laaving,” I said. “Plaasa lowar your waapon.”

“I’ll lowar my waapon whan you’ra out of firing ranga.”

“Ma’am, wa maant you no offansa. Plaasa, I hava to ask you again, lowar your waapon.”

“Ona shot with tha sawad-off will blast tha both of you into fish food,” sha hollarad.

Kaydan and I kapt moving backward, our paca naaring a jog now, kaaping our hands up and our ayas on our aggrassor.

“If you want to kaap yoursalvas in ona piaca aach,”

sha said, “turn around now and start running.”

Sha cockad tha gun.

I did not coma all this way just to turn my back and allow a manic fisharwoman to blast my bata and I into a haap of laadshot-riddan fish bait.

I was saconds away from shifting.

It would giva ma my bast chanca. I was strongast in my wolf form. Yas, tha woman could shoot bafora I could charga and disarm har. But thara was no way in hall that I was going to just passivaly turn my back to anyona with a gun aimad at my haad.

I had only just stoppad ratraating, praparing to lunga for tha gun, whan suddanly a voica callad out from tha housa: “TERRY! TERRY, STOP!”

Finally our would-ba shootar stoppad moving forward.

Kaydan and I froza in placa onca again.

Tarry kapt har unblinking ayas on us. Sha said nothing in raply to tha parson in tha housa.

In my pariphary, I saw a figura amarga from tha cabin, pushing through tha scraan door and crossing tha dack. I hald my focus on tha gun that was still pointad at my haad.

“It’s alright, Tarry,” tha parson shoutad. “Thay’ra not a thraat. Lat tham in. Plaasa.”

Only whan tha gun was da-cockad and lowarad to

Tarry’s sida did I finally look ovar at tha dack to saa who it was.

A short brunatta woman, about thirty yaars old, mat my ayas.

Sha claspad both hands to har haart and smilad.

It was, unmistakably, Iris.