Chapter 21
No Farting, Fucking, or Fighting
DAN
I’m the odd one in the mix. Seems to be my lot in life.
An hour or less in the company of other alphas, and I’ve already backslid into bad behavior.
Standing, posturing, controlling territory.
Scent marking to show I’m here and make sure the other alphas don’t forget it.
Blood pounds in my veins, needs rising—to fight, to dominate, to rule.
Apparently, decades of quiet, sober living in mostly beta circles hasn’t changed me as much as I’d hoped.
I fish a small vial of suppressor enhancers out of my inner coat pocket and dry-swallow one, consider taking a second, then rethink.
More than two per day, or ten in a seven-day period, risks weakening the patch on my arm that mostly prevents dominance fights.
Better to have the second ready, if needed, for later.
Max probably had a hand in getting the over-the-counter version of this into stores worldwide at an affordable price. Bless him. Curse him.
The medicine takes time to affect hormone production. Still, just knowing that it’s started working makes it easier to breathe, to sit down—although the other two alphas are still standing—to lower my gaze, watching them from the corners of my eyes.
My inner alpha grumbles. These aren’t enemies, I remind him and myself. We only have to work together for a little while, presuming Johanna doesn’t request my removal. That thought makes him grumble all the more. Seeing her, smelling her, has awoken old dreams.
My alpha still believes that she should be his to care for and protect, therefore she is, and reality be damned.
If Johanna doesn’t remove me from the trust, I may have to do so myself. Medication can only counter proximity so much. She still smells so good.
The others aren’t throwing questions and counter-questions at each other anymore. They’re looking past me, at the almost-closed door. Pushing back my chair, I angle so I can watch both alphas and the door—no need to worry about the far end, where Johanna and her niece no longer sit.
Soft voices float through the crack between door and frame, words mostly unintelligible.
Then, footsteps, one set moving away and the other coming back.
The niece reenters the room, closing the door behind her as much as it was closed before.
Her hand lingers on the latch, ready to escape if necessary.
It shouldn’t be. Her father’s here, his love and care for her plain every time he glances at her.
Something about the other alpha, Mazarini, suggests he’s a father too.
Nothing about the girl—Anamaria, need to remember to use her proper name—reminds me of my children.
She’s an omega, while my twins are betas, and she’s at least a couple of years younger than them at a guess.
Still, she’s a cheery thing who shouldn’t have to put up too much with grumpy older alphas battling it out.
My daughter would elbow me in the side if she heard me say as much, calling me a patronizing old fool with a mix of fondness and exasperation.
Maybe Anamaria has something of my daughter’s fire, for she glares at each of us in turn, starting and ending with her father.
“Your arguing and scenting things gave Aunty Jo a headache. She can’t smell the nuances of your fragrance, but I can.
You all want her. Figure out a way to deal with that without making her life any more difficult than it already is. Got that?”
Another round of glares, this time with each of us nodding in turn.
I can’t tell the subtleties of my own scent well, but the sharp, vinegary cider from Shallot and thick just-snuffed-candle-can-snuff-you from Mazarini ease.
A faint wisp of lilac and omega winds through, making it all a lighter mix.
Maybe I won’t need that second suppressor after all. My alpha approves of this omega, considering her almost in the same category as my children.
She gives a decisive nod, then an impish smile lights her face. “Remember—no farting, fucking, or fighting!”
The door shuts with a hard click behind her.
“Well, now we know what not do.” I shrug and turn to Shallot, leaning back in my chair. My alpha approves: deferring and challenging in the same instant. “So what do we do?”
His lips curl in a snarl. Then, he shakes his head and sits. For a moment, he starts to lean back, mirroring my posture, but his spine stiffens, and he stays bolt upright. “Business first.”
“Business before pleasure?” Mazarini adjusts his chair before settling into it, no doubt to demonstrate that he’s sitting because he wants to and not to mimic the two of us.
“Because, in this case, it’s simpler.” Shallot waves at the papers scattered before us.
“They’re right—it’s too much money to just keep rolling over, though it can stay as-is for the short term.
We need a plan, so the first thing is to come up with ideas.
I challenge you each to have one by our next meeting. ”
“Which is?” Mazarini pushes.
“I’ll have my assistant schedule one.” Shallot shrugs.
Setting his hands flat on the table, he leans forward.
A mix of cedar and cider, wood and apples, wafts from him, for the moment overriding Mazarini’s candle wax and my forest scents.
“That’s enough of business for now. What are your intentions toward Johanna? ”
The glint in Shallot’s eyes suggests his alpha is riding him hard. Mazarini mirrors Shallot’s posture, leaning forward, but on fists instead of palms down. Another alpha readying for a fight?
Mine snarls within, but the suppressor is working. I remain in control. As far as I can tell, the only outward sign of my struggle is invisible to the others: a line of sweat making my shirt stick to the small of my back.
Shallot looks back and forth between us before settling on Mazarini.
The lawyer takes a deep breath, then unclenches his hands and leans back, arms crossed, making the posture both deferential and a challenge. “She wants a pack.”
“She has one.” Shallot’s voice is low and rough.
“You and your daughters, yes, but she wants more—the kind of pack who eat together, sleep together, love together.” The smell of hot wax strengthens. “She had two out of the three with Max, same with you and your girls.”
“And you know this how?” Shallot asks.
“We spent time together earlier this year under circumstances that enabled us to become close very fast.” Mazarini’s gaze turns distant, a smile plays on his lips, and some of the tension slips from his body for a moment.
“You sent the roses and book yesterday,” Shallot says.
Mazarini nods.
A grunt escapes me. I’ve followed most of the conversation, despite feeling I’m missing details, but the mention of flowers loses me.
“A book inscribed with quotes about grief was delivered to our house yesterday,” Shallot turns to look at me, although his body still angles toward Mazarini. “Along with eighteen roses—six each in red, pink, and white. Max loved red roses, Johanna pink.”
“You like white?” I ask Mazarini.
“It seemed an appropriate way to let her know I was thinking of her.”
“She loved the gift.” Shallot says through clenched teeth. “So, you want her.”
“I want her, and I want her to have the pack she wants.” Mazarini lifts his chin. “Even if that includes you.”
“She and I have always been pack, always will be. Not the kind that loved together, but that’s changing—slowly, carefully, but changing.
” Shallot nods and leans back. “Ask her, if you like, but I’m sure she’ll say the same.
And I, too, want her to have the pack she wanted but gave up for Max’s sake. Even if it includes you.”
They stare at each other for a long moment, scents swirling and shifting so fast the air purifier can’t keep up, but neither can I. I lose track of what’s coming from whom. Challenge, lust, and anger mix into a thick aroma that makes me sneeze.
Thus, drawing their attention to me.
Neither asks, but the question hangs in the air regardless. What about you?
My alpha strains to break lose and make his claim on Johanna, but he’s a creature of pure instinct, and I know better. She accepted my apology and my explanation, but that doesn’t mean she’s open to more—or that any dregs of our former love remain in her.
“I haven’t seen her in years. Decades. I’ve apologized for my youthful sins.
” No need to share the details yet; let her decide what she wants to share herself or whether she’d prefer I confess to them.
“I loved the woman I knew, and I see her in the Johanna I met today, but I have no reason to hope for more.”
Neither speaks. They just stare, their scents settling into a low constant. The air purification starts to catch up, except for the bitter cold wafting from me.
Much as it hurts, I tilt my head to the side, deliberately exposing my throat.
My alpha rails, clawing at my insides. The medication keeps him at a distance, unable to wrest control.
He wants nothing so much as to stake his claim.
His desires reverberate through me, but I made her choose once and know better than to repeat that error.
“No reason?” Shallot raises his eyebrows. Instead of taking advantage of my reluctant submission, his voice is gentle as his lips curve in a wry smile that makes my heart beat a little faster. “She could have refused you entry, but here you are—because she brought you.”
“She had to, at least until you go through the legal hoops of releasing me from whatever responsibility Max put on me.” I tap the nearest document. A flame of hope flickers to life deep within, and my alpha howls for me to fan the fire.
“Neither you nor Nathan are actually named in the trust documents.” Shallot chuckles. “I invited each of you here because Max asked it of me when he wrote you. Johanna knows she could say a word and I’d rescind the invitation, but she didn’t.”
He waits and watches, as does Mazarini. They let me process the implications at my own speed, not knowing how I’m battling to keep my alpha from declaring his rights to her.
My non-existent rights—unless she chooses to grant me any.
But this is bigger than that because it’s not a matter of just her and me. They’re talking about the four of us.
A pack. Something I’ve never had outside of vague dreams. Pack means all for one and one for all, a collective greater than the sum of its parts, a safety net to catch you if you fly too high.
Or so the pretty brochures from the Alpha Centers would have us believe.
When I was young and stupid—and unmedicated—I swallowed the song and dance almost word for word, though I wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone.
Now, with over half-a-century under my belt, I know better.
I’ve never been in a pack, but I’ve seen some in action.
More to the point, I’ve raised children and have extensive experience with the kinds of moment-to-moment tradeoffs required when living with and trying to guide others with minds of their own.
Back then, my chance at packing up with Johanna rested on dealing with Max, and I failed the test. Now, it may rest on getting along with Shallot and Mazarini.
No—with Corin and Nathan, if I’m going to try.
If they’re willing to try.
For that, they need to know the kind of person they’re dealing with. I don’t want secrets coming out belatedly and biting me in the cock or ass.
“In that case, there are things you should know about me: I’m on rut suppressors, have been nearly all my life.
Lower doses now, supplemented as necessary.
” I pat the pocket of pills, trying to ignore the fact that my hand’s shaking—legs, too, and both feet tapping restlessly under the table.
“But I’ll never be able to go off them. My alpha isn’t stable without help. ”
Just as they’d given me time to think, I return the favor. Both show signs of surprise, but no disgust or contempt, which puts them above certain of my family members.
Corin asks about my experiences with medication and side effects, and Nathan mentions a cousin or two who also take suppressors, along with what he’s heard of their experiences versus mine.
I don’t believe any of the fantasy drivel about packs, but this much rings true: they’re built on trust.
Alpha and man agree that we want a chance with Johanna if she’s willing. I’ve changed—for the better, I hope—and she has, too. Only time will tell if we fit together.
Much less with these two in the mix.
Yet their initial reactions intrigue my alpha.
He studies them with new appreciation for the breadth of Corin’s shoulders and the twinkle that comes and goes in his eyes.
Notes the elegant curves of Nathan’s shaved head, matching contours of his beard-covered cheeks, and deftness of his fingers as he arranges the papers before him.
As a man, I take longer to fall in love than my alpha, and am less ready to trust my instincts. Still, I start imagining what it might mean to be in a pack with them as well as her.
My mouth goes dry and toes twitch inside my too-tight shoes. The more I want, the more I stand to lose.
When I was young, my first instinct was always to lay it all out and get the worst over as soon as possible.
Asking Johanna to choose between me and Max is only one example from a long string of leaping firsts.
The longer a person waits, the more rejection hurts—and I’m all about avoiding pain whenever possible.
“There’s something else you should know.
” I swallow hard. “I’m the only alpha from a family of betas, most of whom still live in the mostly beta town I grew up in.
I have two biological children, beta twins, from a one-night stand with a beta neighbor.
She’s now married to another beta, raising four more children likely to also present as betas.
I live in a beta neighborhood and work mostly with betas.
I have no experience with being in a pack. ”
I manage to snap my mouth shut before sharing any more truths that, while pertinent, are better kept in reserve for now.
Seems I still try to get over the worst as early as possible.