Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby

Chapter 262: The Kin

Chapter 262: The Kingdom First Tour-1

The dawn mist still clung to the grass of London Heliport as the Airbus H155 helicopter waited like a steed for its riders. Baroness Angela Dodson of Kesteven stepped out of her car, flanked by her newly appointed secretary and bodyguard, who guided her towards the waiting aircraft.

From a distance, it looked like a dark, elegant bruise upon the grey tarmac... its colour a deep navy so rich it appeared almost black beneath the overcast light, broken only by a sharp silver stripe running the length of its fuselage. As she approached, the scale of the machine asserted itself: the bulbous, glazed nose housing the pilots; the sturdy undercarriage; and the daunting sweep of the five main rotor blades, drooping slightly at rest like the petals of some heavy, metallic flower.

The sound was the first true assault on the senses. Even at idle, the engines produced a deep, guttural thrum that vibrated up through the soles of one’s shoes and into the bones... a constant, visceral reminder of the restrained power within. The air was tinged with the acrid scent of fuel exhaust and hot metal. A member of the ground crew, clad in a high-visibility jacket, signalled for them to approach from the forward-left quadrant, their gestures precise and well-rehearsed.

The cabin door slid open, revealing an interior that felt a world apart from the industrial clamour outside... a capsule of quiet luxury. The dominant tone was a soft, muted grey leather covering six deeply cushioned seats arranged in two facing rows. A thick, dark navy carpet underfoot absorbed the light, while the bulkheads gleamed with polished burl wood veneer, lending warmth and understated opulence. Everything was bathed in a cool, ambient glow from recessed LEDs. The air inside was still, temperature-controlled, and faintly perfumed with the scent of leather polish and filtered purity.

Already seated within were Baron Anthony Hayward Chapman of Bethnal Green, Leader of the Opposition; Baron Ernest Prentice of Hampton, Chairman of the National Convention; and Baron John Constantine of Notting Hill, Chairman of the Opposition Party Board... each accompanied by their respective secretaries.

Baroness Angela Dodson settled into one of the leather seats and was immediately enveloped in a profound hush, the outside world reduced to a distant, contained hum. Through the wide, tinted windows, London appeared detached and manageable... a panorama framed and ready to be traversed.

"Welcome, Lady Dodson."

"Good morning, Lady Dodson."

"Angela, you’re late."

The three voices overlapped in a half-chiding, half-familiar chorus. Baroness Dodson smiled faintly and replied, "Now that we’re all here, we should get moving. We’ve a great many stops ahead, and being late on the first day of the campaign won’t look good on us."

Baron John Constantine inclined his head. "All right then. Let’s go."

secretary. "Robin, tell the pilots we’re ready for departure. They’ve been briefed on our routes,

They were fully prepared in advance. Miller Aviation will be handling all your transport for the duration of the election period... the

the cockpit. Then, raising his voice so everyone could hear, he added, "Weather is clear across the Midlands... just a bit of rain expected over Glasgow, but we’ll be in and out. Our first stop is Walsall. More than five hundred supporters are expected; it’s the official start of the campaign. The media’s been notified, and the party’s website and social channels will be streaming the

"After that, we’ll head to Glasgow for the shipyard announcement. Then on to Belfast... the Bridge to Tomorrow site. We should

his mobile screen. "Anthony,

everything you suggested... economic reform, corruption, the high street, NHS waiting times, childminders, and elderly

they’re thinking about their high street, their NHS queues, their children’s future. They don’t care for slogans

it’s our job to make sure they each hear their own version of it in our words. Right, Baroness? ’Kingdom First’." He spoke the phrase not as a rallying cry, but as a

the rotors grew into a steady, resonant roar that filled the cabin... a sound that matched the pulse of the

***

West Midlands. Walsall

might make. A few were there out of curiosity... to watch the spectacle unfold. Among the crowd were cheerful supporters waving placards and wearing "Kingdom First!" T-shirts,

of the crowd swelled, a sea of voices and banners rising to greet him. Behind him followed Baron John

the lectern and took a moment to survey the

long, this town... and towns like it across our kingdom... have been an afterthought to a distant government in

of reshoring industries, of British jobs for British workers, of

mean putting the Kingdom’s interests first... the people’s interests first. Walsall will say, Walsall First. Your industries will serve your communities. Your government offices will place your

All four leaders stood, waving to the cheering crowd before descending from the

as they made their way towards the waiting helicopter, a knot of journalists pressed forward, microphones