Chapter 7 : THE ALPHA COMES — PART 2
Cormac's blood pooled beneath the rubble pinning his legs.
I found a chunk of fallen timber and sat, keeping ten feet between us. Close enough to hear. Far enough that he couldn't reach me if he tried something stupid. My ribs screamed with every breath—the cracked bones grinding against each other when I moved wrong.
"Talk," I said.
The old Alpha laughed. Blood bubbled at his lips. "Straight to business. I respect that." His remaining good eye studied me with something between hatred and grudging admiration. "You know what I am, pup. What I was. A hundred and eighty-three years walking this earth. I've seen empires rise and fall. I've watched your kind crawl from caves to skyscrapers. And in all that time, I've only been beaten twice."
"Who beat you the first time?"
"An angel." He said it like he was describing the weather. "1847. Oregon Territory. Came down from heaven in a pillar of light and tried to smite me for eating a missionary. I ran for three months before it gave up."
[INFORMATION LOGGED: ANGEL ACTIVITY — HISTORICAL CONFIRMATION]
I filed that away. Angels were real. I knew that from meta-knowledge, but hearing confirmation from a creature who'd survived one was different. More concrete.
"What else have you seen?"
Cormac shifted beneath the rubble. A small movement—testing how much weight pinned him. I noted it but didn't react.
"Demons," he said. "Plenty of demons. They're getting bolder lately. More organized. Something's coming, pup. Something big. The crossroads demons are cutting more deals than ever. The blacks-eyes are positioning pieces on a board most monsters can't even see."
"What kind of pieces?"
"Special children. Humans with demon blood in their veins. Azazel's little projects." His eye narrowed. "You know that name, don't you? I can smell the recognition on you."
I kept my face neutral. "I've heard rumors."
"More than rumors. Azazel is one of the Princes of Hell. Yellow-eyed bastard's been planning something for centuries. Whatever it is, it's coming to a head soon. Within the next few years, if the signs are right."
[CRITICAL INTELLIGENCE: AZAZEL'S TIMELINE — CORROBORATED]
Everything aligned with what I already knew. The demon blood children. The coming apocalypse. But Cormac's perspective added texture—he wasn't reading from a script, he was reporting from the ground.
"What about hunters?" I asked.
"What about them?" He spat blood. "Vermin with shotguns. Most of them, anyway. But there are some..." He trailed off, something flickering in his expression. "There's a bloodline. The Campbells. Old hunting family going back centuries. And the ones they trained—the Winchesters."
My pulse stayed steady through pure will.
"John Winchester," Cormac continued. "Killed more of our kind than any hunter I've known. He's got two sons now, following in his footsteps. The older one's competent. The younger one..." He paused. "There's something wrong with the younger one. Something the demons are very interested in."
Sam Winchester. Demon blood. The vessel.
"They're not in this region," I said. Not a question.
"Last I heard, they were working the Midwest. But hunters move. The Winchesters especially—they don't hold territory like we do. They hunt." His eye fixed on mine. "If you're building what I think you're building, they'll come for you eventually. They always do."
"Then I'll be ready."
Cormac laughed again—wet, broken. "You're not ready for them, pup. Not yet. Maybe not ever. John Winchester killed an Alpha vampire. Pinned it down and cut its head off while it begged for mercy. His boys are learning the same tricks."
I absorbed that. An Alpha vampire—one of the oldest, most powerful vampires in existence—brought down by a human with determination and the right knowledge. It confirmed something I'd suspected: raw power wasn't enough. Never would be. The hunters survived by being smarter, more ruthless, better prepared.
I could respect that. I could learn from it.
"What else?" I pressed.
Cormac's hand moved. Subtle. Sliding toward a rock within reach.
I didn't react.
"There's a network," he said. "Monsters who've given up on the old ways. They hide among humans, pretend to be one of them. Some of them even..." He made a disgusted sound. "Even refuse to feed properly. Pathetic creatures, but useful as informants. They pass information between territories."
"Where do I find them?"
"There's a ghoul in Boise who coordinates the local gossip. Name's Edgar. He runs a funeral home—perfect cover for his kind. Tell him Cormac sent you, and he'll—" He broke off, realizing what he'd said. "He'll know you killed me, I suppose. Might not be as friendly."
"I'll take my chances."
His hand closed around the rock.
"You know," I said, "I was going to ask if you wanted to join my coalition. An Alpha with your experience would be valuable."
Cormac's grip tightened. "Join you? I've been Alpha of this territory since before your grandfather was born. I don't join. I lead."
"That's what I figured."
He lunged.
Even broken, even crushed, even dying—the old predator was fast. The rock swung toward my skull with everything he had left. I'd been watching for it. Waiting for it.
My hand caught his wrist. Twisted.
The rock fell. Cormac screamed as the motion wrenched his damaged spine.
"You're old," I said quietly. "Comfortable. You said it yourself—you've been here for forty years without a real challenge. Made you sloppy. Made you think you could stall me while your healing worked on the damage."
His eye widened. He'd thought I hadn't noticed.
"Your healing is good," I continued. "But it's not that good. Not with silver burns still eating through your system. Not with rocks crushing your lower body. You've been buying time, hoping you could recover enough to shift. To run. To fight another day."
"You—"
"I'm building something that has no room for Alphas who won't submit. And you made it very clear you won't submit."
I reached for the silver knife in my jacket.
Cormac's defiance crumbled. For the first time, I saw genuine fear in his ancient eye. "Wait. Wait. I can tell you more. The demons—there are things I haven't—"
"You've told me enough."
"I can submit! I can—"
"You can't." The knife came free. Silver gleamed in the dim tunnel light. "You're not built for it. You'd wait until my back was turned and try again. That's who you are."
His jaw clenched. The fear transformed back into hatred. Into pride.
"Do it then, pup." He bared his teeth. "But remember—I fought you. I fought you hard. And you'll meet others who are stronger than me. Angels. Knights of Hell. Things you can't even imagine. They'll tear apart whatever you build and scatter the pieces across—"
The knife drove through his remaining eye.
His body spasmed once. Twice. His hands clawed at empty air.
I pushed deeper. The blade scraped against the back of his skull.
Cormac went still.
[ALPHA ELIMINATED] [INITIATING ABSORPTION PROTOCOL]
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