Wolf Omega: Lykanos Chronicles 2

Sempronio’s melancholy lasted several weeks, but nothing else changed. This included the position of Alpha, which remained vacant in Duccio’s absence. If Ambrosius had expected to be promoted to the role, he never made it known to the pack. All presumed that Sempronio himself had silently resumed the primary function, until one night over dinner when he changed everything.

The master began by announcing that I was promoted to the rank of Beta. Whether because of Duccio’s proclamation weeks earlier or because they believed I was worthy of such an honor, none seemed surprised by Sempronio’s decision. However, the pack’s response to his next change was palpable.

“I appoint Maximo to the role of Alpha,” he announced.

A deep scarlet swam under the pale skin of Ambrosius’ face. This beacon was even more noticeable due to his crown of light red hair. I thought he might stand from the table and leave the room, but he remained.

“Though I never interfered with your former alpha’s decisions—at least, not before his last night in this house—most here understand that we often did not see eye to eye. Particularly concerning his decisions and the composition of this pack.”

He turned directly to Ambrosius and engaged him.

“You have lived under this roof long enough to know that a pack as small as ours cannot afford to allow any individual to go untried. We must allow those who exhibit strong leadership potential the opportunity to prove their qualities. You have already served as Beta, performing more like a true Alpha than your superior ever did. There is no doubt in my mind that you could fill the role with distinction. I, therefore, see no reason that you must do so now. Instead, I wish for you to challenge yourself with another duty.”

Ambrosius seemed equally flattered and disappointed by the master’s statement, but foremost on his mind, he was confused about what other position he might take.

“It is time for you to become a teacher,” Sempronio said.

Ambrosius looked positively alarmed by the suggestion.

“Father, you cannot mean to reduce me to the role of Omega.”

“You know only too well that I do not consider Omega to be a reduction of your rank.”

“I remember everything you taught me, sir,” said Ambrosius. “Every word, in fact. But the system of rank you mean for me to adopt is no longer in use, not anywhere on the continent.”

“We will use it in Castello Palatino. We will readopt it starting in the morning. You do not need the lycan beyond our borders to recognize your authentic place in this family. Their appraisal of your worth to this house could not be of less importance.”

“But how are we ever to build relationships with the other houses while constrained by protocols they do not appreciate or understand?”

“Do not think I am oblivious of whom you speak. I understand the longing you shared with your brother for the glamor of Milan, and Florence, or Rome. I promise you their modern excitements are not lost on me, son. But it’s time you admit the obvious—we will not have the relations you seek with anyone.” Sempronio said this with a color of finality. “Not in this age, at least. Perhaps such communion will be possible in a century or two, but not at present. So, I wish for you to become the pack’s Omega. I wish for you to learn the art of survival—of how to endure immortality and bring our house safely into the future.”

Ambrosius looked warily at the master, unwilling to say aloud what I could sense. He was a warrior with no taste for more lessons about philosophy. He would assume the alpha’s role and work day and night to hunt down Duccio and end him if he could. The last thing he wanted was to hide behind the power of an invincible ancient for centuries while the battles of our time raged on without him.

“Yes, sir. I will do as you command,” Ambrosius answered.

Maximo arrived at my room almost thirty minutes past the appointed time. He couldn’t hide his frustration, though he tried to settle himself when I opened my door. He gave me a kiss of apology, but it contained none of the passion for which I’d waited impatiently.

“Success?”

“They agreed to do better, but their placation was obvious,” he answered. “I would reduce their ranks if I thought it would matter to them.”

The first weeks of Maximo’s reins as alpha had not gone smoothly. He’d miscalculated several points, which Zacharia and Domenico had wasted no time in exploiting to embarrass their much younger and less experienced alpha.

Sempronio had counseled his youngest son that he should be grateful his elder brothers were resisting his command.

“They tolerate you because I have decided they must,” insisted the master. “If I placed a toddler in charge, would you respond to his observation of your failures? The challenge I present you with is painfully simple: you must earn their respect, both as a man and as their leader. Inspire them and their love, and your brothers will follow you anywhere. Accomplish that, and I will know you’re ready for the next challenge.”

I was a poetic prompt that offered Maximo no concrete path to follow. He must achieve the goal purely through trial and error.

“I asked them to consider their actions toward you,” Maximo revealed. “They insisted they’ve done everything you’ve told them to.”

On the first day of our new pack order, I passed a simple command from Maximo to the members. He wanted them to submit plans for the reestablishment of our borders. The response from Zacharia and Domenico was just short of straight insubordination. Maximo had no experience and so no ability to conclude which plan was better, they suggested. The orders that came the following days only exacerbated their agitation and dissatisfaction.

“You ‘asked’ them to consider?” I smiled.

Maximo almost huffed in response.

“Of course, I ‘asked’ it of them. If the slightest weight supported my commands, there would be nothing to discuss.”

“You have Sempronio’s weight behind your orders.”

“I have no such thing!” he rose his voice. “I told you what Father said. I must do this without him. I must somehow convince each of them that this is not a colossal mistake.”

Maximo turned away from me, but I quickly placed my hands on his back, soothing the linen of his shirt with a silent caress until his breathing settled.

“Will you hear a suggestion from your beta?”

He guffawed at first but soon exhaled well enough to offer a gentle nod.

“Ask for Ambrosius’ help.”

“He’s the last person who wishes to see me succeed.”

“I agree. But he’s also the strongest hope you have for success. Who could give you better instruction than the very person who Father already recognizes would make a perfect alpha? Rely on the love Ambrosius already bears for you. What better way to convince him? All the flattery in the world would not be more meaningful than a younger brother asking for his loving help. You will hand him the first opportunity to be the teacher Father wants him to be. He will teach you to be what he already is, and you will honor him by succeeding. More to the point, your older brothers will respect you for gaining Ambrosius’ respect. You could not ask for a more perfect opportunity.”

Maximo went silent at my suggestion. I felt him mulling over the idea for some time before he eventually turned to look at me with undisguised amazement.

“Honestly, he’s been your father a lot longer than he’s been mine,” I said. “Did you pay attention to nothing he told you when you started?”

Maximo kissed me strongly, then pulled away to leave the room.

I stopped him, placing my hand on the door to bar his exit.

“Wait, damn it! They can have you in the morning.”

“Will you come away with me right now?” Pompeia asked late one afternoon. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Certainly,” I answered.

In the past weeks, since we’d lived through the fundamental changes of Duccio’s expulsion, Pompeia had remained distant from all of us. When I’d described to her what Duccio had done to us on that last night, stifling our ability to remember his actions, she’d seemed horrified. But shortly after, Pompeia had gone quiet, closing her mind to me again. My attempts to offer sisterly support had been politely declined, but they were refused all the same.

Even though I understood more about Pompeia’s age, some fifty years further along than my own, I still misperceived her to be my sister rather than an aunt. I had great trouble accounting for the very young-looking people in my life. The difficulty was doubly so when it came to gauging Pompeia’s age. She’d come into my life with the girlish whimsy of a contemporary, and I’d been only too grateful to accept my delusion. I’d needed it terribly during those first weeks in the castle.

I went at once to my room to fetch my coat, then set about returning to join Pompeia. I barreled down the hall with such haste that I all but rolled over two men who carried a large wooden crate in the opposite direction. Apologizing profusely at my clumsiness, I continued on my way, thrilled at the opportunity just to be alone with her.

Shortly after, we rode down the hill together into town.

“I must ask your forgiveness,” she began as the carriage swayed over the uneven road.

“Not at all.” Again, my answer was nothing more than agreeable gentility.

“I’ve not been fair to you these past weeks. I was angry with you, though I had no cause to be. I felt jealousy. It’s the most embarrassing thing ever, but that’s what has kept me distant. Now, I’m humiliated and ashamed by my childishness, and so ask you to forgive me.”

I could think of nothing to say, overcome by the sadness I’d swallowed at her rejection. Instead, I rose in the carriage and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek, staving off my tears.

Pompeia pulled me to sit beside her and embraced me.

“Only days before he fled, my husband described something he was certain you would one day confide in me.”

I knew at once what she meant. Duccio had discussed the matter of my husband’s execution only once more before he left. He assured me that my wishes had been settled; Apolonia was now privately registered as my husband’s widow. Attorneys had seen to it that Cecco’s remaining assets were now in her name.

“The woman who resides in your husband’s townhouse—.”

“Apolonia,” I said.

“She has given birth to a son and named him after his father.

Though I had fancied myself prepared for the news, my body reacted to the statement with a sting.

“On my husband’s directions, I’d already seen to it that the woman had several hands to help her with the child. I thought you and I might go together to find a gift for the boy. This woman—Apolonia—must need other items for her son. Clothes, surely.”

Pompeia’s thoughtfulness overwhelmed me, and she held me close to her when I could not find the words to answer her kind offer.