Chapter One – The Lord and the Tramp

His paws made no sound as he dashed from one roof to another. While he was in motion he didn’t have to think or feel. Only the brush of the wind against his fur reminded him of who he was, the alpha of Glasstone, the most feared person in the city, the one who held the future of the millions of people living their ant-like lives below him in the palms of his hands.

What a joke. He stopped right on the edge of a roof, his front paws hanging halfway over it. Below him, the city blinked in shades of white, blue and red, hypnotic and lazy. If he wanted, he could destroy everything. Not one of the souls below suspected that they were a boardroom meeting away from a market crash that would upend their livelihood and turn them into homeless, hungry creatures with nowhere to turn.

Theodore moved away from the edge. Power and money had their advantages. With their help, he had procured items that would give him the necessary edge against his enemy.

Because the enemy was coming for him. Finally, Theodore thought as he tipped his head back. The moon showed her face from behind a cloud, not yet full, but still bright and unattainable as usual.

He howled, even though it was in vain. No howl came in response as he let it pour out of his soul, again and again. And none would never come.

Glasstone wasn’t his home, and its people weren’t his pack. But he would have his revenge. What came after that didn’t matter.

***

“I’m telling you, I need to deliver this message personally. It’s for him, Theodore Pembroke, I’m telling you. How many times do I have to tell you? It’s a matter of life and death. And yes, I’m telling you.”

Theodore stopped in mid-sentence, and his personal assistant followed his example as he halted the nervous typing of his boss’s orders into his phone. His nostrils flared before his eyes even set on the owner of that whiny voice.

A scent of… cinnamon? As a rule, Theodore disliked sweets and baked goods. His personnel knew his preferences down to a tee, so where was that offensive smell coming from?

“Mr. Pembroke?” his assistant finally dared to open his mouth.

Theodore put one hand up abruptly. It was rare for his wolf to catch a scent that interested him, and it seemed unlikely that it would be this smell of spiced dough that lured him out of hiding. He moved stealthily, taking in the short young man leaning over the front desk in an effort to make the receptionist acquiesce to his plea.

The stranger wore an oversized hoodie and baggie jeans, while his scuffed sneakers looked like they needed to be replaced soon. From the back, he appeared to be shapeless, lost inside those clothes that must have been tailored for someone three times bigger.

The offensive smell was coming from him; Theodore couldn’t say he was surprised. It annoyed him how his wolf pulled him toward this strange person, as if bewitched.

“Yes, write it down. A matter of life and death,” the young man continued, while the receptionist threatened to throw him out on his ass if he continued to insist. “Do that, or you’ll get fired. Theo won’t like it when he hears about this.”

Theo? Who the hell did this human think he was?

“It’s all right, Martha,” Theodore told the receptionist. “I’ll take it from here.”

The receptionist froze, only capable of nodding in reply. His personal assistant no longer moved, either, most likely holding his breath. Theodore wanted to curse his wolf for his inexplicable decision to use his intimidation skills when there was barely any need for them.

The young man tipped his head back, offering Theodore the opportunity to stare into a pair of ordinary brown eyes, magnified by a pair of huge prescription glasses.

“Theo! What’s up?” The tone of his voice was easygoing and cheerful, but Theodore’s wolf picked up right away on the uptick in the heartbeat of his next prey—

Prey? What was he thinking? Theodore had the most ridiculous thought – that he needed to take a step back and get away from this temptation dressed in oversized clothes and drenched in the disgusting smell of cinnamon.

A soft growl climbed up his throat. Theodore was barely able to stop it. His eyes set on a soft mouth; the bottom lip trembling slightly. All he had to do was to wrap one hand around the human’s fragile neck and sink his fangs into the flesh—

“Like I was saying, it’s a matter of life and death, and I have this message that I need to deliver personally. Here.”  The human held a note up high, something that looked like it had been ripped out of an old notebook by how crumpled it looked.

“You’re coming with me,” Theodore said abruptly and grabbed the human by the back of his hoodie.

“Hey, hey, don’t kill the messenger, man,” the stranger complained.

“You said you had to deliver the message personally to me. That is what you will do.” Theodore continued dragging the human toward the elevator, although it looked like the young man was trying to resist. “First, get rid of that pastry in your pocket.”

“What pastry?” the young man protested.

Theodore stopped abruptly. He faced the human, taking in the delicate shape of his face. For a human, he was unusually pretty.

“How old are you?” he growled.

“Twenty-two, I just finished college, and I am successfully unemployed,” came the reply. “But hey, I’m not here for a job. I’m allergic to hard work, and I read somewhere that you don’t pay overtime--”

All this blabbering was giving him a headache. He shook the human. “Get rid of that cinnamon bun or roll or whatever it is.”

The stranger shook off Theodore’s hand and began to turn his pockets inside out. “Where on earth do you see any food on me?”

“You have a bag,” Theodore pointed at the thing hanging from the human’s shoulder. “Empty it.”

“Right here, in the hallway? Look.” The young man opened his bag and Theodore peered inside. Sundry items, each one more useless than the next, such as a small jar of glitter, the stub of a movie theater ticket, a tiny toy soldier, and many others, nestled inside the messenger bag.

However, there was no sign of baked goods whatsoever. Could it be… Theodore leaned closer to take in the human’s scent.

“Hey, let’s not sniff each other’s butts where others can see us,” the human whispered urgently. “Come on, don’t make such a face. I know you’re a wo—”

Small mercies existed, after all. The elevator doors opened, allowing Theodore to throw his charge, quite unceremoniously, inside.

***