As a child, one of my favorite activities was something common for a little girl who would dream of a prince charming to swoop her off her feet and give her the happily ever after she was told about in bedtime stories. Many nights I would lay awake, my imagination running wild as I played within my head a universe where I was older, beautiful, riding off into the sunset with the prince who saved me from a dragon or ogre. As a child, life was simple as I believed that happily ever afters could exist for anyone, you just had to be willing to go on an adventure to find your prince. Sure, my prince did not ride me off into some sunset nor swooped me off my feet, or even was a prince. Nixon was nothing of what my childhood mind would think of as my ideal prince, but in so many ways, he did things that I would dream of my prince doing. In a way, he saved me from a dragon, the dragon being Zion as he invaded our home and tired to kill me. I went on an adventure to find him, breaking into his house for some stupid dare that landed me into his life as we found our happiness in the end. As a child I imagined my prince marrying me, telling me that he loved me, showing me the world, offering me beautiful gifts. Nixon did so much of that are more. Nixon did not just show me parts of this world on vacations, but showed me his world as well, opening up my eyes to a new realm filled with what people would call fiction. Nixon married me, he told me day after day that he loved me, never stopping to tell me I was the most precious thing in his life. He offered me beautiful gifts too, clothes, jewels, and other material things my childhood self would jump up and down for, but must of all, he gave me the greatest gift, us the greatest gift: our daughter.

The little girl whose latest picture I have just stuck to the fridge, a pastel pink magnet holding up the new sonogram as I find a ghost smile appearing on my face, my fingers sliding the ring on my finger around. Looking over my shoulder to the kitchen table, the mahogany table is set, a delicate, cream running spread across the center, white French plates set at four wooden chairs, silverware laid out, and the garlic-roasted chicken almost ready to be placed on the table, I wonder what Nixon would think. If he would think me insane, crazy, delusional, brave, optimistic,  or mature. Taking in a deep breath, I look to the salads I have sitting on the white marble counters, the French country kitchen Nixon designed polished and clean for the three guests that will soon ring the doorbell and I will welcome into this house as if nothing wrong has happened. Nothing will be brought up within the first few minutes of greeting as we will smile and be happy, only then for the reality to settle in and us realize what has happened. At least...two people will act this way as the other guest wants to ignore my existence. This is what I expect to happen.

Taking my hair our of the bun it is held in, the dark red locks seem to suit me now, the phase I have entered into as the color of my hair is the color of the substance I hope to drain from specific person's body. With my chin raised, I look at myself in the reflection of a window, the black jeans I wear form-fitting, the winter boots matching as I found this outfit to be something you would find on Pinterest in your boredom. With a gray and hunter green flannel upon my upper half, my stomach shows, my guests being able to fully see my state of pregnancy the moment they spot me. I look classy yet casual, perfect for a nice dinner and chatting. Walking past the kitchen and into the joining sitting room, the lounging couches are of cream fabric, soft, baby blue pillows adding color, a birch coffee table set between the couches as they face a wall completely made of windows, a view of the small lake on full display as the snow still covers the ground outside.

The weather has gotten warmer since Christmas, since the holiday I once loved and cherished became a holiday I could never see myself celebrating ever again. Even as a child I loved the season for red and green, for Christmas lights, Christmas trees, and hot chocolate. People grow up, and sometimes, disaster strikes and you find yourself hating what you once loved even if only a year ago. Sometimes you grow up in a short duration of time and learn that you have changed and what has changed you. For me, Nixon's death changed me, making me thirst for blood, for revenge, for justice upon the man that wears a crown and his followers see him as some innocent dove.

The doorbell rings, my heart skipping a beat as I look to the ostentatious front door that my husband once sketched out on paper for builders to copy exactly. I square my shoulders and tell myself that I cannot back down now, especially after I sent the invitation, one handwritten and delivered by one of the warriors I trust. My guests know nothing of the world I have been engulfed in, of the men and women that lurk within the territory of this house, protecting me and them, of the world of fantasy that if just beyond the touch of their fingertips.

My legs feel like jelly as I walk up to the door, telling myself everything will be okay as I grab the door handle, twisting and pulling the giant door open with ease as three familiar but yet distant faces greet me. No smiles, no frowns, just a mix of emotions as we hold an odd gaze at each other. One woman looks at me with a sense of regret, not for what I have become, but because of what she has done. Her hazel eyes seem to be full of that emotion, gazing at me as he tries to force a smile onto her face. The male of the group looks at me with a sense of pride, a sense of thankfulness, the smile he is beginning to wear looking authentic as I know he wants to reach out and hold me tight. As I look to the last member of the group, what I see is distrust and disrespect, yet at the same time, a sense of gladness, at least to see me once again with us all here and together.

"Lily..." the older woman says, the first words spoken for months, her eyes watering as he bites her lip, her husband placing an arm around her shoulder as he tries to comfort her. "I am so sorry, sorry for how we acted, how we treated you, and for your loss."

I hold in a sob, my hand covering my mouth as my eyes begin to water and the male of the group reaches out his hand to me, asking for a simple handshake as I miss my husband. As I miss Nixon, the man that I loved and still love even though I watched him become buried in the ground three months ago.

I take the hand of the man I was raised in trusting, in believing would always be there to protect me, and as I chose another man to protect me, to love me, to hold me tight as he would be the father of our daughter, the man that raised me has come back into my life, to protect me once more.

"Come on in, I'll have to give you all the grand tour, plus I don't want to burn the chicken," I greet, holding in a sob as my voice is shaky. Leading my family into the house, they look in awe of the home Nixon built for his family and took pride in. "Just have a seat and I'll get the chicken out of the oven."

"I brought some casserole, I'll follow you into the kitchen," my mother informs, leaving my father and Taylor alone in the grand entrance of the house as she follows me down a short hallway and into the elaborate kitchen. As I open the over, she looks to the fridge, to the newest picture of my daughter who will be born soon, just two and a half months to go until she is born into the world. To the world of werewolves as she is raised by a windowed human Alpha. "Did you ever pick a name with...Nixon?" Mom asks, looking over to me as I place the chicken on a cooling rack and grab some white wine for my parents. "Ever discuss names before he...passed away."

I wipe away a tear, trying to calm myself down from releasing a storm of emotions as I know I need to stay calm and collected for this dinner. "It only came across our conversation once and he gave an idea for her name, his favorite girl name."

"What was it?"

"Leala," I reply, looking to the new sonogram that I received today, the doctor telling me to expect a healthy and beautiful daughter that her father will smile upon from the heavens. "Nixon had always loved the name and it is pretty." Mom nods, looking to the set table as she lets her eyes wander around the room.

"Beautiful design, did you hire someone?"

I shake my head. "Nixon designed the house and did the interior decoration as well. One of his many hidden talents," I respond, wishing I could have uncovered more of those hidden talents I could never guess of by even looking at him. I know one thing that may hold answers to that question, but I know opening that would mean opening the demons of who he was before I walked into his life, before he was out of Lillian's talons, and before he was with me, before he died.

The conversation runs dry as my mother knows she has just touched a fragile subject that I am still not keen on talking about. "Here, I'll have to give you all the grand tour," I inform, motioning for my mother to follow me out of the kitchen as we meet back up with my father and sister who stand in the sitting room I was just minutes ago. "Do you want me to show you guys around."

"How are you going to pay for these living expenses?" Taylor asks right off the bat, looking up to the modern chandelier hanging from the steep ceiling, taking in the detail of the carved wood running along the ceiling as design. "You don't work and with...Nixon gone...you don't have an income."

She's right, I do not work and with my husband gone he cannot work to make the family he left behind money. But he was not human, at least half of him was not. He left me a pack to run that generates a massive amount of money due to side businesses, he left behind an empire to me of a rogue pack that is strong. Sure, with Crimson Lock now a rogue pack and some packs cutting off their treaties with us after my husband shot and murdered their Queen, we will face some economic struggles, but Nixon was smart and spent money only for what the pack needed. However, he did spend much on his family, on me, on the baby, on the world he would leave us in, but he didn't leave me with debt to figure my way out of, but a massive pile of cash just sitting in a bank, waiting to be used as it is more than I could ever imagine.

"Nixon was smart with his money, investing in stocks and coming from wealthy parents helped when they passed away," I reply, the best response I can form as I cannot tell my parents the truth. The truth that their daughter married a werewolf Alpha, that their daughter is pregnant with a werewolf baby, that their daughter's deceased husband murdered a werewolf Queen, and that their human daughter now rules a pack of werewolves that the king werewolf sees as an enemy. Talk about an awkward family dinner. "Should we start on the first floor or second?"

Thirty minutes later and we have made our way to the door where my favorite room of the house is, the white French door shut, the golden knob waiting to be turned as I look over to see my family still in awe of the layout of the house. Opening the door, the lights turn on, the walls soft with a dim light cast upon them from the string lights placed around different little decorations of the room, a crib in the center, pastel pink curtains pulled shut, a birch wood flooring, and a cream rug right under the crib as a ricking chair is off to the side where a bookshelf is filled with books Nixon placed dating from his childhood and mine. "Beautiful," mother comments, walking further into the room as father follows behind her, leaving Taylor and I alone as the evening has just begun. Soon enough the awkward family dinner will begin and I will remember what we have gone through as a family.

"They still hate his corpse," Taylor comments, voice soft as I feel my heart ache. "They hate that he took you from them, that he knocked you up and all this fucked up shit, but they rejoiced to know that he died." She should know whose domain she has stepped into. "What was his cause of death? Car crash? What a way to go, so pathetic. Knowing his daily activities he was probably murdered. Karma for Gavin after all."

"If I were you, I would be wise and shut my trap," I snap, keeping my voice down as my parents stand at the end of the room, looking at the bookshelf where a little stuffed animal wolf is, a dark brown one with dark blue eyes.

"Look me in the eye and tell me that Nixon did not kill Gavin."

I do, I look to Taylor, my eyes meeting hers as no longer do I feel chained down like before. "Nixon did not kill Gavin," I say, knowing what I say is a lie. "But I watched as the bullet hit Gavin in the head and his blood leak onto the floor." Clasping my hands behind my back, I wait for her words.

"You little bitch."

"Know your place here, Taylor," I snap, meeting her stare with a short gaze that holds a sense of temptation, as if taunting her, daring her to continue. "Because you are in the domain of a woman who has lost more than you ever have, a woman who has become stronger because of her loss, and a woman who would not dare throw you out to the wolves."

As Taylor's skin pales, mother and father walk back over to us, smiles on their faces as I lead them back down the stairs and into the kitchen where the food is ready to go. Still warm, I grab the chicken, placing it on the table as my mom and Taylor help put the food on as my father grabs a knife and begins to cut the main dish.

"So, does anyone from Nixon's family visit you often?"

Natalia, Nixon's sister, married to some elite back in the capital where Zion dwells. "He has a sister, but she lives some states away. I saw her about three weeks ago when she came to take care of some paperwork with Nixon's will."

"Did he leave you anything?" Mom asks, jumping right to the point as my father gives her a look, as if scolding for asking that kind of question after I have just lost my husband.

"Every last cent he owned. All of his properties, items of-

"Properties?" Father asks, gaining my answer of listen the six other mansions/penthouses that Nixon acquired over his lifetime. "And your daughter...how will she be raised without a father figure?"

I take in a shaky breath, shaking my head as my eyes begin to water. "Let's just have a dinner without the tears please," I reply, a sense of begging in my voice as I do not want to speak a word of my loss again. I have already thought of all of these things, all of these things that made me cry myself to sleep a month ago. I still fall asleep many nights with my pillow wet from my tears, my eyes closing to the view of Nixon's wedding ring left upon the nightstand, unmoved from months ago when he told me he loved me for the last time before his life was taken.

"Did he love you, did he truly love you, Lily?" Mom asks. "Because for months and months I have been asking myself this and wondering if this man actually cared for my sweet little girl."

I take in a shaky breath, holding back the tears. "He loved me with all of his heart."

"And did you truly love him?" she asks, looking my straight in the eye.

"Every damn bit."

<><>

As a child, my dream was simple: to walk across a stage to a grand piano and woo the audience with my talents. I wanted to preform for the world, to put on a show, to impress a crowd of people I have never met as they want to see what they have heard I can do...what I can preform. But you grow up, you find reality, you discover that you are not the prodigy you wanted to think you could become as a child, you find that there are more realistic things in the world to dream of. Growing up, I let that dream slide away and let new ones replace it, more obtainable ones as I wanted to study physics, wanted to see the lights of London during New Years, and to find my own form of happiness. As a child all I ever wanted was to be magnificent and a year ago, all I wanted was a college degree, a stable job, and a chance at happiness with someone I could love till the end of days. Maybe asking too much from fate always lands you fallen from grace and in an abyss.

Taking hold of the book, I flip through the first few pages, the black ink with elegant handwriting covering every page, dates listed, numbers written, and a whole documentation of Zion's every sin. Of his every misdeed, crime, murder, act of hate, and so much more. There's a reason why they say no good deed goes unpunished. It's all karma, the bitch of living that is karma, that you know will come back to bite you in the ass one day, but you never expect it. And since you never expect it, soon enough that deed you thought karma would get you for slips away from your memory and you are left unsuspecting when it finally comes for you. But this time, this form of karma, it is not some intangible object or form that is personified, no, but karma for Zion comes in the form of this black book and the wife of the man he murdered.

One day karma will come for me...for what I will do in a matter of time. The actions I will soon watch unravel and fear be placed in the eyes of the man that took my husband from me.

"Alpha Maxwell?" A voice calls out from the other side of the door, a familiar voice that makes me think back to a year ago.

"Come in," I respond, placing the book back in my desk drawer as his presence fills the room and I am reminded of the man I loved with every inch of my heart. "What can I do for you, Terrance?" I know why Nixon placed Terrance as one of the people for my inner circle in this new ago of Crimson Lock, why he placed the male he once wanted to hurt to look after me. Nixon knew he would die the moment he decided that he would go after Zion and declared Crimson Lock rogue. Nixon wanted someone I once trusted and still trust to look after me, to have a familiar face in my inner circle, and to perhaps have someone to once again smile with.

Terrance stands before my desk, meeting my eyes as he wears the casual attire of a warrior for the pack, a black long-sleeved shirt with a crimson stripes around the left sleeve, black pants, and combat boots. He's to become head warrior when Chance, the current head warrior, steps down in a few years. "Lord Elijah is here to speak with you." Lord Elijah, the right-hand man of Zion and someone a man that holds a title as he has no royal blood in him.

"Send him on in then, we do not want to keep our guests waiting." Terrance looks tense, his arms clasped behind his back as his chin is help high, as if some statue. "Is there something wrong with that."

He shakes his head, barely opening his mouth as I know he wants to express a matter of concern. "I do not know what you and Elijah have going on, what you two are planning, Alpha Maxwell, and I know it is none of my concern, but I know this plan of yours is a dangerous one."

My jaw clenches as Terrance steps out of place and offers his opinion to me. It's not that he has stepped out of place though that causes my eyes to harden, bu it is that he is trying to inform that I should back down. That I am being put in danger. That I have not thought about this enough. "You said it yourself, warrior, it is none of your concern, so send Elijah in," I inform, my voice stern as I remember how Nixon would once boss his men around. Nixon would allow his eyes to darken and his wolf to surface just enough for his men to almost piss their pants. Sadly, I am not like Nixon,  I have no wolf, but I do have his title.

Terrance nods, leaving the room fast as he shuts the door behind him and I am once more left to the silence of the room. Hands placed upon my stomach, I lean back in my chair, looking to the newest sonogram of my child. She is to be born soon, just two more months to go as she will be born into a world without a father. I have mourned Nixon, I have cried myself to sleep, I have felt my mark burn, and I have visited his grave as my hate only grows for Zion every day. Nixon left me, not that he ever wanted to, but he did not leave me with nothing. No. Nixon left me with a daughter to soon be born, a pack to rule, a new family to have within that pack, and a new path to take as the king will soon be in checkmate by a pawn.

"My dearest Lily Maxwell, bigger than before I see," Elijah greets as I enters the room, door swinging open as he seems to fill the entire room with his big personality. "Long time no see and I must say, every visit we have I can just feel the anticipation for our plan growing."

If there is one thing I have learned about this man, it is the fact that he is a headache, an asshole most of the time, and someone with a big personality. "Can we just skip the shitty meet and greet and get down to business."

Elijah cocks his head to the side, walking forward to my desk as I simple stay put, holding my head only higher as he tries to intimidate me. "The packs have spoken."

"Which packs?" I ask, taking out a pen as I know we will now talk of important subjects that will effect the world my daughter will be born into .

"A handful of warlord packs that have started to think for themselves. Their Alphas request a meeting with you personally in the next few weeks."

"We said no meetings until my daughter is born, we made a deal," I inform.

Elijah takes a seat upon the couch before the bookshelf where Nixon's collection of literature is held. "War is one the way, Mrs. Lily, a war and an assassination, meaning that things change and you must be willing to be flexible, to let those changes bend you over and have their way with you."

"You could use a different personification other than taking you from behind and fucking you over," I comment, crossing my arms as Elijah simply nods his head.

"I am saying, Alpha, that if you want your revenge, you need to adapt to the circumstances as some major packs are willing to submit to you."

"And what do I do with these packs? Form a new plan, let them in on our little plan?" I ask, Elijah smiling as he becomes eager to answer.

"You play them, just like you would a puppet. This is how war works, how revenge works, how you make allies and you use them as they are in the palm of your hand."

"So I become the bad guy in the long run?"

Elijah shakes his head, getting to his feet as he walks back over to my desk, looking to the sonogram of my daughter in a navy frame. "This is reality, my dearest little Lily, and in reality, we are all the bad guys when you become part of these plots. It is not justice, this little plan that we are doing. It is revenge and we both know it. Zion killing your husband was not justice, but revenge. Nixon killing Sybil was not justice, but revenge. We live in a world of black and gray, not white, and if there is white, then it is not pure." Elijah smiles, tilting his head to the side as a mischievous look crosses his gaze. "And this revenge will feel so good, that you will want to do it over and over again."

Silence fills the room as I know what Elijah says is right. "Do you want your daughter to be born into a world where her father is seen as a mad man who killed a beloved queen and is looked down upon by every individual not part of Crimson Lock? Lovers of Zion's reign will want her harmed if she ventures into their territory." Elijah takes up the sonogram picture, looking to the unborn and innocent child. "My mate was a woman that once held every royal male in the palm of her hand because of her beauty and kind heart. My mate was once pure and sweet, someone who could always put a smile on your face and calm a storm. She was once strong...until Zion wanted her."

And so the story continues as I take a glimpse into Elijah's life.

"Zion lusted after my mate, wanted her, to spread her legs and make that pure heart of hers become tainted. I was away, on a small trip to the European Werewolf Empire, married and mated to her. She was in the white castle Zion calls his home, Zion getting her alone as he slipped her a little something into her wine and the moment he raped my mate I could feel it, I could feel her pain and suffering as her kindness and innocence of mind was taken by a force that many still call a role model." Zion raped his best friend's mate and wife. "When I got back to the palace the next day after a last minute flight to find and comfort my wife and hurt Zion, rumors made by Zion spread around the kingdom that my wife had cheated on me, coming onto Zion and telling him that she wanted to fuck her kind."

Elijah is tense, hate coming off of him in waves. "My wife came to me crying, telling me to not approach Zion because he threatened to humiliate not just her even more than already, but also her family that were royals in New Zealand in the Werewolf Empire there. She begged me to leave it be, and when she cried herself to sleep month after month, telling me to do nothing, that spark that she once had, it dimmed."

"And where is she now?" I ask, voice frail as the story causes me to feel pain for Elijah and his wife.

"At the bottom of a river." My eyes widen. "She fell from grace, jumping from the castle walls of her family's palace, into the rocky river below a good ten stories, her body washed away before we could retrieve it."

Silence.

Elijah shakes his head, eyes watering as his fists clench. "Zion, a year later, practically forced me to meet, date, and marry my dead mate's cousin, Zelda, a beautiful woman, but nothing like my mate. Zelda and I find no happiness in one another, but we both have the same hate for Zion, something that keeps up feeling alive as we have been putting on a show for Zion for the past two years now. Even a child was just born before Sybil's death, adding to the show as Zion believes he has made me find happiness again."

"Zion deserves the death he has coming for him," I reply to Elijah's story, leaning forward in my chair as I watch Elijah put down the picture of my unborn daughter. "Him and Lillian were perfect for one another."

Elijah laughs, a sudden laugh that causes me to become afraid. It is a laugh that you would hear from someone stressed out beyond compare as they are about to lose their sanity. "Lovers separated by the insane voices in their heads. Lillian wanted Nixon to try and feel normal, as if she could be normal and not insane, a sociopath, and a serial manipulator. Lillian married Nixon and for a time she thought he could help her become sane, but Zion got hold of her again and together their demons danced. She deserved her death and Zion should have died with her."

"And so Zion will soon be buried alongside Lillian," I add, getting to my feet as Elijah nods. "Tell those Alphas that they will meet me in two weeks from today within the territory of Crimson Lock, that they will have to leave the warriors and weapons with them outside the pack lands. We will not take any risks."

"And what shall we do when this child of yours is born?"

I guess my dreams as a child to perform and woo a crowd never did die. My dreams to convince an audience of my talents and make strangers become impressed by my ability are still active in my life today. Sure, I will not woo an audience by playing a piano, no, but I will woo an audience by making treaties and showing them that they should become my allies. I will put on a show and hold these Alphas in the palm of my hand, puppets of mine as Zion will never know what hit him.

"When my daughter is born, Elijah, I will personally march up the stairs of Zion's castle and watch his blood stain the marble floors that Nixon's blood once also stained."