From Ashes to Alpha

I stood before Morgan's mahogany desk, my posture deliberately relaxed yet alert—a habit I'd developed from years of living on edge.

The office screamed old money and new power; antique furniture that probably cost more than my entire apartment contrasted with cutting-edge tech subtly integrated into the decor.

Through the half-open blinds, sunlight sliced the polished floor into golden ribbons, illuminating dust particles that danced in the air.

"You know what the 'Five Pack Summit' is, Davis?" Morgan asked, flipping a silver coin between his fingers with practiced ease. The gleam caught my eye as it tumbled over his knuckles.

"City's five major packs' quarterly meeting," I replied, keeping my voice measured. "Usually only the highest-ranking members attend."

Morgan's lips curved into a faint smile. "Correct."

The coin continued its hypnotic dance across his fingers. "It's tradition, but more importantly, it's what keeps this city from descending into chaos. This Friday's summit—I want you there as my security detail."

My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my expression neutral. He slid an embossed invitation across the desk toward me. The paper felt heavy, expensive—like everything else in Morgan's world.

"I thought Daniel would be handling that," I said carefully, studying the golden lettering on the invitation.

"Daniel will be present," Morgan leaned back in his leather chair, which creaked softly under his weight. "But I want you there too. You bring... a unique perspective to the table. And..." he paused, his eyes calculating, "certain individuals have expressed interest in you."

The air in the room suddenly felt thicker. "Because of my connection to the Jones family?"

"Partly." Morgan's gaze locked with mine, unflinching. "Remember, Davis, you represent our organization.

Observe, learn, but don't interfere unless absolutely necessary. This is both an opportunity and a test for you."

I nodded once, firmly. "I won't disappoint you."

"I know you won't." Morgan placed the coin back on his desk with a soft clink. "Go prepare. And Davis?"

"Yes?"

"Wear a suit. A good one." His eyes flicked over my well-worn jeans and simple button-up. "First impressions matter in these circles."

As I turned to leave, he added, "One more thing—Amelia Jones will be there representing her family's interests."

My step faltered momentarily. "I see."

"Will that be a problem?" His voice carried a subtle warning.

I squared my shoulders. "No. No problem at all."

"Good." Morgan's attention returned to his computer. "Seven o'clock. Don't be late."

I followed Daniel into Ashford's, one of the city's most exclusive men's boutiques.

The moment the doors closed behind us, the cacophony of street noise faded, replaced by soft classical music and the subtle scent of cedar and expensive cologne.

Floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflected warm lighting from crystal fixtures, making the relatively small space feel expansive and intimate at the same time.

"Mr. Rhodes," a slender, white-haired man greeted Daniel with a slight bow. "Always a pleasure to see you again."

"Mr. Ashford," Daniel nodded. "This is James Davis. He needs something appropriate for the Summit. By Friday."

The old tailor's eyebrows rose slightly. "The Summit? I see." His eyes scanned me with the practiced precision of someone who had been measuring men for decades. "That doesn't leave much time for a proper bespoke suit."

"We'll take one of your ready pieces and have it adjusted," Daniel said firmly. "Morgan's instructions."

Mr. Ashford nodded, motioning for me to follow him to a raised platform surrounded by three angled mirrors.

"Please, Mr. Davis."

As I stepped onto the platform, the tailor began circling me like a hawk, occasionally muttering to himself or jotting numbers in a small notebook.

"Remember, the Five Pack Summit isn't just about business," Daniel said, leaning against a nearby wall. "It's a display of power. Everything you say, everything you do, represents Morgan."

I stood straighter, allowing Mr. Ashford to measure my shoulder width. "What should I know? About the other packs?"

Daniel crossed his arms. "The East District belongs to the Zhao family. They control most shipping and import trades. Legitimate front, dirty operations behind the scenes."

"Hold your arms out, please," Mr. Ashford instructed, wrapping his measuring tape around my chest.

"The North is Volkov territory," Daniel continued as I complied with the tailor's directions. "Two brothers who specialize in arms dealing and protection rackets. Ex-military, both of them. Dangerous, but predictable."

"And predictable is good?" I asked, watching Daniel's reflection in the mirror.

"In our world, absolutely." He nodded. "West District is under Rossi family control. Started with casinos and loan sharking, expanded into everything else. Old Italian money, old Italian grudges."

Mr. Ashford knelt to measure my inseam. "Please stand naturally, sir."

"South District belongs to the Martinez group," Daniel finished. "Drugs, underground fighting rings, prostitution. They're the newest players, which makes them the most eager to prove themselves."

"Each pack has their territory and specialties," I summarized, "but boundaries are always shifting."

"Quick study." Daniel nodded approvingly. "That's why Morgan keeps you around."

Mr. Ashford stepped back, studying me with a critical eye. "The gentleman needs a more fitted cut to showcase his youthful vitality. Nothing too conservative."

Daniel nodded. "Make it refined. Quality attire earns respect."

The tailor disappeared into a back room, returning moments later with several fabric swatches. "For Friday, I recommend our charcoal wool with a subtle blue thread. Distinguished without being ostentatious."

I stared at my reflection, suddenly struck by the surreality of it all. Just three years ago, I was scraping by in the slums, another nameless werewolf cast out by his family.

Now I was being fitted for a custom suit to attend a gathering of the city's most powerful pack leaders.

"Will they accept me?" I asked quietly, meeting Daniel's eyes in the mirror. "Someone with no background, no family connections?"

"They only care about two things: who you represent and what value you bring." Daniel moved closer, adjusting my stance slightly. 

"Morgan chose you for a reason. Stay alert, but show confidence. Remember, you're not just security—you're Morgan's eyes and ears."

I couldn't help but smile slightly. "Sounds more complicated than just being a bodyguard."

"Welcome to the real pack world, friend." Daniel's expression was unreadable. "The one where the real power plays happen over handshakes and whiskey, not claws and fangs."

Mr. Ashford returned with a jacket, helping me slip it on. "How does this feel, Mr. Davis?"

The material was lighter than it looked, sliding over my shoulders like water. "It feels... powerful," I admitted.

"Good." Daniel nodded approvingly. "That's exactly how you should feel."

The limousine glided through downtown streets, its tinted windows separating us from the ordinary world outside.

I adjusted my tie for the fifth time, the silk fabric of my new suit still feeling foreign against my skin. Beside me, Morgan scrolled through his phone, seemingly unconcerned about the night ahead.

"Stop fidgeting," he said without looking up. "It undermines your presence."

I forced my hands to remain still. "Sorry."

Morgan finally pocketed his phone and turned to me. The interior lighting caught the silver in his temples, enhancing his aura of authority.

"The first time is always the most difficult," he said, his voice softening slightly. "But remember why you're here. You've earned this, James."

"Have I?" I couldn't help asking. "Or am I just here because Amelia Jones requested it?"

Morgan's expression hardened. "Does it matter? Use the opportunity regardless of how it came to you. That's how our world works."

Before I could respond, the car slowed to a stop in front of an imposing brownstone mansion. Though understated compared to the modern skyscrapers surrounding it, the building exuded old power—the kind that didn't need to announce itself.

"Ready?" Morgan asked, straightening his already impeccable jacket.

I nodded, taking a deep breath. "Ready."

As we stepped out of the car, I immediately noted the security—visible and otherwise.