Unwanted Mate Of The Lycan Kings (by jessica hall) novel Chapter 83

~Zeke~

“Was that necessary, Malachi, really?” Uncle James scolds while my father peels his body from the wall, that now needs fixing.

“Made me feel better,” Malachi shrugs, holding out his hand. James shakes his head, grabs his hand, pulling him to his feet with a click of his tongue.

“You jealous little scab mongrel, after everything I have done for you! I took you in! I didn’t have to!” my father starts again. He hates being at the losing end of an argument, even when he is wrong.

“To rub your fucking throne in my face, don’t pretend you did that for me!” Malachi snarls back at him.

“Oh, bullshit, Mal, and you know it. Father wanted you dead. Had I not taken you as my Beta, he would have killed you, along with your mother. I fucking raised you, you little mutt,” my father sneers.

“I’m sure out of the goodness of your black fucking heart, you swine!”

James sighs and rolls his eyes while wandering over to us. “This is why I am the black sheep, who wants to put up with this shit daily,” James says, as he stops next to us and lets them carry on.

“No, you’re the black sheep because you're half bloodsucker, gotta keep up appearances. What would the people think if they knew you were another brother of the King?”

“I wouldn’t laugh. Malachi is right. You probably got brothers and sisters you don’t know about, secretly hunting your throne,” he chuckles.

“Don’t you start picking sides, James!” my father spits at him, overhearing him.

“Of course not, Theo. I don’t pick sides, not until the end, so I can ensure I pick the winning one. Now carry on as you were. Maybe he can beat some sense into you,” James retorts. Malachi seems to take that as permission because he doesn’t hold back, launching at my father.

By the time they are done, the room is all but demolished, but I saved two bottles from the bar, and I am keeping them safe.

“I bet on you, and you never took part,” I grumble when I see my father has had enough, and Malachi is winning. “Play smarter, not harder, son,” James says, patting my knee and hopping up.

“Huh?” Lyon slurs drunkenly; I wish I could get as drunk as easily as him.

Their fight seems never to end, and the morning sun starts to filter in through the heavy, torn drapes. I yawn. James wanders over casually to them. Obviously sick of playing referee as they both start to tire, throwing half-assed swings at each other. It's like watching geriatrics fight, everything in slow motion.

My eyes move to the clock above the entrance. Well, I suppose they’ve been punching on for three hours now. Even so, I thought the old man would have lasted longer. Disappointing.

Malachi throws a punch, and both are so exhausted they don’t even block or dodge. His hand is caught in James,’ and my father huffs like he won until James grabs his ear like he is a five-year-old.

“James!” my father screeches. He drags one to the corner of the room. “You stay,” he growls at Malachi. Malachi glares daggers but is too exhausted to fight James now. My father, however, sways.

“Ungrateful little Sod you are, aren’t you? Give you my life juice, and you waste it getting your ass beat,” James scolds my father.

“Keep your voice down! You know it's taboo!”

“Wasn’t so taboo when you were lapping at my damn neck like a cat does milk!” James huffs, shoving my father into the busted armchair.

“You know I am a king. You have no right,”

“King of the kids, grow up, Theron, you never take responsibility for anything. Malachi is right. Twice you have taken from him.”

“Electra was my mate!” he argues.

“Maybe so, but Shelley was not,” James tells him, and my father grumbles, folding his arms across his chest.

“Now the question remains, how do we fix this?” he glances between them, and I sit up to see if Uncle James has an idea.