Pregnant With Alpha’s Genius Twins

#Chapter 180 – The Battlefield

When all of the hummers and war machines have made themselves present on the fields surrounding

Walsh’s property, Victor steps out of the car, Alvin climbing out of the driver’s side with him.

They’re nowhere near the house, not really. Instead, they’ve positioned the majority of their forces

around the barracks where the mass of Walsh and Willard’s forces lay.

“Do you see how he’s made our job easy for us, Alvin?” Victor asks, taking his son’s hand and looking

down at him.

Alvin looks up at him, confused.

Victor gestures towards the barracks, where Willard’s Beta forces – trained by Victor’s own hand, really

– are scrambling to prepare themselves. “That’s the barracks, there, where your grandfather and Alpha

Willard are keeping his army. Then,” he points over a hill on the other side. “That’s where your

grandfather’s house is. What do you think is the mistake there?”

Alvin takes a moment to consider and then squeezes his dad’s hand, excited.

“Too close together,” he says, grinning up at his dad. “We don’t have to split our army to attack both at

once.”

“Exactly,” Victor says, nodding. “Precisely why I located my own Beta force so far from our house. It’s a

pain to have to drive there but,” he shrugs, “it’s better than this. Your grandfather’s house and barracks

were built over one hundred years ago, when packs needed to be close to their Beta forces to

communicate.”

Alvin nods, agreeing. “Yes, but now we can talk over long distances. It’s better to spread them out.”

At that moment, a set of Betas come forward.

“Sir?” They say, saluting to Victor and then glancing down at Alvin. Victor nods to them and goes to one

knee in front of his son.

“What did we promise, Alvin?” he asks, fighting the tightness in his throat. If things went terribly, terribly

wrong…this could be the last conversation he had with his son.

God, he didn’t even want to think about the last conversation he’d had with his other child, with their

mother…

“I’ll be good, dad,” Alvin says, likewise working to be strong in the moment. He hesitates, then throws

his arms around his father’s neck. Victor wraps his arms around his little boy, holding him close.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, his forehead on his son’s shoulder. “I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

Then, he lets Alvin go, and the little boy moves to stand next to his Beta keepers.

“Take good care of him,” Victor says, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Don’t let him out of your sight,

for even a moment.”

The Betas salute, meeting his gaze with steady eyes. Victor nods, and the three move off.

Then, Victor turns back to the battlefield. Beta Stephen comes up to him next.

“Sir,” Stephen says. “We…we’re ready to go. We might have an advantage, if we press now – before

they’re fully ready.”

Victor sees what he means – many of Willard’s forces have readied themselves, but some are still

spilling out of the barracks, pulling on their jackets. Sloppy. Clearly, they’ve forgotten many of their

lessons from their time with the Kensington pack.

Victor knows Beta Stephen is right – that the time to strike is now, but he hesitates. “Any word from

Rafe?”

He wants to make sure his brother is safe, of course, but he also wants the information that Rafe had

left several hours ago to collect. Rafe had been right – they needed to know what, precisely, was the

rationale Evelyn had for letting him know to attack now.

What, really, was their advantage?

Because, looking out at their enemy forces…Victor grimaces. It doesn’t really look like they have one.

They’re completely outnumbered.

Walsh and Willards forces are beginning to show their strength, now, as they line up before Victor’s on

the field. He had given Willard half his Betas, and that, combined with Willard’s original force as well as

Walsh’s, had given them quite the advantage.

Victor takes a deep breath, looking over at Stephen. “Is it as bad as it looks?” he asks.

Stephen grimaces, looking down at the tablet in his hands. Then he looks up at Victor, his mouth a

straight line. He doesn’t say a word, but Victor understands his meaning.

If they’re going to win this battle, they’re not going to do it by sheer force. Instead, he’s going to have to

use superior tactics.

God damnit, where was Rafe? This was the area in which he could really shine. But unfortunately, his

brother wasn’t there when he needed him.

Victor’s mind quickly flicks to the worst case scenario – that Rafe has indeed been playing him, that

he’s gone and made a deal with Walsh, sold Victor out in exchange for some kind of alliance with him –

But no, impossible, Rafe was under compulsion –

But compulsion – what even was that really? That time, with Evelyn, when they were escaping from her

father’s property last time they had been here – she had broken Walsh’s compulsion, so it was certainly

possible –

But there had been something to that – something extra, something about the two of them – him, and

Evelyn – which had made it possible.

Victor grits his teeth and puts it out of his mind. He’d already decided to trust Rafe, and he was gone,

so what was the point in second-guessing it now?

“Send a messagenger to Walsh,” Victor says evenly to Beta Stephen. “One last chance to reconsider,

to surrender to us. For the sake of the lives that will be lost, on both sides, if he presses this to war.”

Stephen nods firmly, typing something onto his tablet. “A deadline for that, sir?”

“Five minutes,” Victor says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then, we press forward.”

Stephen nods and types more. Then, as the pair watch, a group of four Betas move onto the field, a

flag of truce held between them.

This was a very standard part of these kinds of Pack battles – the negotiation beforehand. Four of the

enemy Betas come forward to formally meet them in the middle of the field. A piece of paper is

exchanged, and the Betas on both sides return to their packs unscathed.

Good, Victor thinks, nodding. At least the Betas on both sides had returned alive – this means, at least,

that Walsh and Willard are willing to obey the set standards of war.

Then, there’s nothing to do but wait. Five minutes.

The time ticks by and Victor simply stares at the forces ahead of him, almost unblinking. Stephen, still

standing next to him, is running a timer on his tablet, counting down the precise time. But Victor knows,

internally, precisely how much time has passed.

Three minutes pass, and then two.

His eyes shift to the front of Walsh’s line, where his messenger Betas are gathered. If he wants to send

counter-negotiations, now is the time to do it.

A minute passes, time is almost up. If Walsh wants to negotiate, the time is now.

The Betas don’t budge and Victor’s face is grim. Walsh has made his choice known.

The timer runs to zero.

A beat passes, and Stephen looks to his Alpha.

“Sir?” Stephen asks.

But before Victor can say anything, a flare rises from the enemy camp. Stephen and Victor watch it

climb into the sky. All of the eyes of Victor’s army are on it as well.

Everyone watches as the light climbs into the sky, trailed by a bit of smoke and then, when it reaches

the crest of its arc, explodes into tiny red sparks.

Red. Red for refusal. Red for no.

He hadn’t needed to send the flare – his five-minute delay was enough to declare Walsh’s intentions to

fight.

Instead, it was a beconing, an urge.

Come for us, the flare had said. See what you get.

Victor’s face is set in steely determination as the light fades from the sky.

“March,” he says, his single word firm, as he takes one step out onto the field of battle.

His command echoes out into the ranks of his Betas and, as one, the Kensington troops move forward.