Not Destiny

by N. J. Lysk

  "You’re going to be disappointed in me,” he blurted out as soon as she placed his cup in front of him.

  She paused. “Am I?” she asked. “Okay,” she added, taking a seat with her own drink. “I’ll get over it.”

  There was no doubt in her voice. Uriel wasn’t sure if it was a mother thing or an Esti thing, or if it meant she trusted him enough to know he’d never cross any of the lines she couldn’t forgive... Or if she loved him enough to know she’d forgive him even if he crossed one of those lines.

  “I’ve been seeing someone.” He sipped, surprised to discover it was chamomile. “A beta.”

  Esti didn’t comment, but then again, Uriel had never dated anyone who wasn’t a beta. Neither she nor Ruth had ever expressed an opinion on that choice; they’d liked some of them better than others. In fact, he kind of suspected Sun had stuck around as long as she had to hang out with his mothers as much as for of the rough sex he indulged her in.

  “I didn’t tell him,” he almost spat and gulped down some tea like it could cleanse his mouth of the words. It didn’t help.

  “That you’re an alpha?” Esti checked.

  He nodded, watching her face. She seemed more confused than anything else. “Why?” she finally asked.

  "Because me being an alpha isn't important," Uri told her quietly. He wasn't sure it was quite right; how could it be right when he'd spent the last decade of his life fighting against it?

  "Isn't it? Then why hide it?"

  "Because it's not important," he said too loud and immediately shut his mouth. He shot her an apologetic look, and she nodded her acceptance. In their house, where argument was always encouraged, you sometimes raised your voice or lost your temper. His passionate mothers had never blamed them for that, but they did expect them to rethink their actions and apologize if they'd crossed a line.

  She sighed, taking a moment to drink that was, he knew, a moment to think through what they’d both just said. "Uri, you know I don't believe in God, right?"

  He stared at her. He did know. She didn’t believe, even if there were days when she longed for the certainty of faith, it was beyond her. But she normally didn’t speak of it much. To be fair, what was there to speak about in an absence of faith? "Yeah, what's that...?"

  She met his eyes, hers dark like his own. When he’d been a kid nobody had looked twice when he’d held Esti's hand. Adoption agencies still prioritized parents of the same ethnicity as the child. And maybe it was unfair, but he’d been grateful. To know he belonged, to be seen as part of them.

  "I'm still Jewish,” his mother explained. “It's still who I am. You'd think it doesn't matter because I'm not practicing the religion, but in the world, being Jewish still has meaning, to other people and therefore to me."

  "And it's in your blood?" She’d spoken about it before, the connection to a shared history that did not depend on a shared belief.

  "Yeah.” She shrugged, mouth quirking in silent apology because they both wished blood didn’t matter, and they both knew it did.

  It just wasn’t the only thing that did.

  “You might not believe in being an alpha, but you can't renounce it; you've got to find a way to live with what you are, to love it and honour it even if you're not doing the things alphas are meant to do according to society."

  "But why don't you just say you aren't Jewish?” Uri had never dared asked it before. Even in their house, it’d seemed too private to question her relationship with the very universe. But right now she’d opened up to it, and he wanted to know. To understand. For him, it was easy, not to believe didn’t seem possible—even if he had trouble believing in any benevolence behind the power that moved the pieces of existence. He doubted, maybe because of Esti herself, but deep down... he just knew. “If you don't believe anyway? I don't get it."

  "I tried," Esti said. "It didn't work. It wasn't true either. Turns out the truth is not either one thing or another. Sometimes it's a contradiction."

  A contradiction, that sounded like him. An alpha who couldn’t commit to being an alpha, who couldn’t, in truth, stomach the idea of being with an omega. Not just because he couldn’t see how it could ever be right that he could do something like what Serene had done to Claudette, but because he didn’t want... He didn’t want anyone to look at him like that, like he was holding a weapon he couldn’t drop. He didn’t want to have to promise he wouldn’t use it, again and again, when he had no choice about holding onto it. He didn’t want to be careful all the time, just to be himself.

  He exhaled, then shook his head. "Why aren't you a philosopher again?"

  "Who says I'm not?" Esti asked with a smile. "All it takes to be a philosopher is the willingness to think things through, not a degree."

  He got to his feet, and she followed him up. He leaned down and put an arm around her shoulders, too carefully until she hugged him back tightly with an impatient noise. "You aren't that strong, boy," she told him.

  So he held on, closing his eyes and almost drowning in her familiar scent—the one he'd slowly learned to believe was safety and love and home. And he did believe it, which with the benefit of hindsight and a minor in psychology seemed like a bit of a miracle. But he wasn't the baby who'd lost his mother and grandmother in quick succession, who'd never known his other parent; he was the child his mothers had raised—confident that love could hold you up and show you the way, if you were willing to put your own on the path too, to build your self on its foundations.

  He pulled back, and Esti slowly let him go. "I have to go be a philosopher," he offered with a rather poor imitation of a smile.

  He was afraid, and he didn't know what in Hades he was doing, but... he had to try. He had to offer his love if he wanted even a chance of it being accepted.

  DEEP THOUGHT, AT LEAST of the philosophical variety, had to wait. He’d barely crossed the doorway the next morning when one of the interns called him over to see Mx Yave.

  “We got something,” Yave told him as soon he walked in. His boss was surrounded by three different readers, and they moved a plate to rescue another one to pass to Uri. It was the signature on the travel tickets of Claudette’s children—the requirement for both parents to sign for children to leave the country was one of the great accomplishments of the reforms mostly started to get omegas a little closer to equality. Two hundred years earlier, their ancestors had gone through the same process to give women rights over their children and bodies. Thinking of how insane that sounded now made it all the more obvious that despite his upbringing, Uriel could still think of a world where omegas weren’t given the same rights as alphas and betas—especially during their heat.

  The image on the screen was an attachment so he scrolled up to see the message. Three words stood out to him at once: Not a match.

  “She faked Claudette’s signature?” he asked in disbelief. It wasn’t just that it was a serious crime, especially since Serene had done it to commit an even more serious one: taking the children out of the country without their mother’s permission—or knowledge—but that it was so... well, stupid.

  “Seems too good to be true, doesn’t it?”

  “Is it too good to be true?”

  Yave shook their head. “As far as I can tell, she just got overconfident; she’s been pulling this shit for years, and Claudette’s never left before. She probably assumed she’d put up with this too. But you were right: you don’t mess with an omega’s children.”

  Uri frowned, the generalization grating. “Claudette’s strong,” he said instead of arguing. He glanced at the form again. “Is this going to be enough to get her custody?”

  “Probably. There’s even a chance the judges will ask Serene to relocate as well as never see them again.”

  “What can we do to make it more likely? Witnesses?”

  “Yeah,” Yave agreed. “The children. It’s their parents, and the judges will want to ask what they want anyway.”

  Only then did Uri realise that he had not asked where
Claudette’s kids were staying. “Oh, can we... Are they with her?” he asked, leaving the pronoun’s referent to be inferred by Yave.

  His boss gave him a raised eyebrow. “They’re staying with their grandparents, Serene’s parents, that is. But Claudette’s happy with the arrangement, she doesn’t get on with her own family.”

  Uri winced, remembering the statistics. Anyone cut off from family was particularly vulnerable to end up in an abusive relationship—there was simply no one to notice before it got too far out of control—but omegas by their very nature could end up depending on their partners a lot faster than was recommendable. When an omega went into heat, they needed someone, even if it was only someone who’d buy them groceries and make sure they didn’t go into shock—suppressants and helplines were wonderful resources, but they couldn’t replace a person looking after you. “But she likes her in-laws... That explains some of it; she probably didn’t want to cut ties with them.”

  “Indeed,” Yave acknowledged. “You’re good with kids, aren’t you?”

  “What?” Uri asked.

  “I read your resume, Uriel. You volunteer at an adoption centre, correct?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good with kids. You want me to interview them?”

  He got a nod. “I can come off a bit intimidating,” Yave said wryly. “You seem like a nice guy.”

  “Seem?” he asked, smiling a bit himself. He thought he was getting the hang of Yave’s sense of humour.

  “Well, who knows what goes on in that mind of yours? I’ll call the grandparents and see if they can get them in today, the sooner we know what we’re working with, the better.”

  TENIR WAS SEVEN, AND Mina was ten. They didn’t look much like each other, or like either of their mothers, but Uri caught a hint of Serene’s self-possessed attitude in Mira’s posture as soon as the girl offered her hand to shake.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he told her. “You can call me Uri.”

  “You can call me Mina,” she replied, her wariness more than apparent. Had Serene’s parents warned them of what was going on? Not that they should be kept ignorant, of course, but if they were on their daughter’s side of this legal battle and had access to two valuable and vulnerable witnesses...

  “And you must be Tenir,” Uri told the boy standing a step behind his sister. He nodded and offered his hand, not feeling the need to say anything.

  “Should we sit? We can get you some tea if you want.”

  “With sugar?” Tenir asked with the first hint of emotion he’d seen from either of them.

  “Sure,” Uri agreed. He popped his head out and waved to one of the interns until he looked up to be signed the request. “So you like sweet things.”

  “Yeah, and grandma—” The boy shut his mouth like he’d been slapped, and Uri glanced down to see Mina’s hand wrapped tightly around his wrist.

  “Mina, I think you’re hurting your brother,” he told her, taking a seat across from her in one of the armchairs, only a small table between them. He was still considerably taller than either of them, naturally, but at least this way he wasn’t looming.

  She turned her dark eyes on him, her pale skin flushed. “You’re just trying to trick us.”

  “Not at all,” he said slowly. “I’m trying to make you feel comfortable so we can talk.”

  Mina clearly didn’t believe him. Uri risked a glance down again. “You’re making me very uncomfortable, and I’m sure Tenir doesn’t like what you’re doing to his arm.”

  She held his gaze, tense as a wire as he leaned back as unthreateningly as possible. Tenir was equally tense next to her, probably not to cry out in pain.

  She let him go.

  Uri nodded at her. “Thank you.” He wanted to ask the boy if he was okay, but he contented himself with a quick glance. His arm was red, and he was still gripping the arm of the chair hard enough to leave the mark of his nails on it. His eyes were on his own lap. His obedience didn’t reflect great on Mina, but on the other hand... Why was she so afraid of what he might say?

  The intern, Boyd, walked in with the tea, not knocking because his hands were full, and Mina straightened fast enough both her brother and Uri turned to look at her.

  He didn’t comment, and of course, Tenir didn’t either. He was clearly attuned to his sister’s moods, although at this point he couldn’t tell if it was because he was afraid of her or relied on her to keep him safe from someone else. From everyone else, perhaps.

  If Boyd noticed the tension, he pretended very well to be oblivious as he put down the tray and set things up.

  “You wanted sugar, right?” Uri checked with Tenir, letting the girl have a moment to cool down. “How many?”

  {Two} he signed instead of speaking.

  Uri followed his instructions, then poured a cup for himself before looking at Mina again. On an impulse, he signed the offer of a drink instead of speaking.

  She nodded, watching him closely as he poured, then got the milk carafe and added it herself.

  {You know your parents want to separate.} Tenir followed his hands but didn’t react, sipping slowly. Mina was more open about it but didn’t respond either. Uri took it as a given. {One of the reasons Claudette wants to do that is because she wants to keep you safe.}

  Even though it required her to put down her cup, Mina chose to sign her answer. {We’re safe.}

  {Maybe ‘safe’ isn’t the right word,} Uri conceded. {Can I ask a question?}

  The girl shrugged, and Uri recognized the look on her face; he could ask. Didn’t mean she was going to answer. {Did Claudette know you were going to Russia with Serene?}

  Mina frowned. {Why do you want to know?}

  {Well, I’m a lawyer and taking you out of the country without asking your other parent breaks the law. It’s not right. Claudette was really worried about you.}

  That made Tenir squirm, his calm expression flickering. He was clearly still too young to hide his feelings well when under pressure. But Uri kept his gaze on Mina, who should have been too young but had learned anyway, and who clearly didn’t want Uri talking to her little brother.

  {So what happens if she didn’t know?}

  {Then that means Serene broke the law, and we can ask the court to keep her away from you.}

  “We can’t see her anymore?” Tenir blurted out.

  “Do you want to see her?” Uri asked after Mina didn’t object.

  “She’s my mother,” Tenir said. “I love her.”

  “Of course.” Uri nodded. “The thing is... you know how you like sugar but it isn’t very good for you?”

  The boy frowned, making his confusion plain without need for words.

  “Well, sometimes people we love are like that too. We love them, but they’re not very good for us.”

  “But mum said it’s okay if I only have a little sugar,” Tenir argued, and Uri realised his mistake.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Why can’t they just separate?” Mina asked bluntly. She was trembling slightly, but he couldn’t tell if it was with anger or something else altogether.

  “Because Claudette is an omega, and she will have a hard time staying away, and... It’s not the first time Serene has done something to upset her, is it?”

  {They made up,} the boy said, and it felt like an argument.

  Uri nodded. {This time Claudette doesn’t want to make up.}

  {So mother wants to?}

  Uri hesitated, then shrugged. {I don’t know.}

  Mira huffed, lifting her cup for a long drink and then putting it down so hard liquid spilled on the table. “What do you want?” she almost spat.

  “The truth,” Uri told her. “So that we can make sure you are all safe and happy.”

  “How can we be happy if we can’t see our mother?”

  “If you want to see her, you can tell the judges that,” he promised them. “But if she did something wrong, then you should also say that.”

  “But then the judges will say she shouldn’t see us!” />
  He shook his head. “They will ask you what you want too. They won’t make a decision about your life without you.”

  {It was a mistake,} Tenir offered suddenly. His sister hadn’t quite seen, and she turned to him with eyes blazing.

  “Mina,” Uri said with authority, and she froze. The way she swallowed hard before turning to face him told him it wasn’t the first time she’d been under the power of an alpha’s will. It wasn’t that alpha parents never used their ability with their children, especially in emergencies, but combined with everything else he knew about Serene, it didn’t sit well with him. “I’m your mum’s lawyer. Your lawyer. I’m on your side and anything you tell me here is between you and me.”

  Her eyes were wet when they met his, but she didn’t cry. “She didn’t know,” she said, almost a challenge.

  “Okay,” Uri said. “Did you know she didn’t know?”

  “No, the school knew.”

  “The school? Did you miss classes to go on the trip?”

  “We had to leave early on Friday. But we didn’t miss anything important, just an assembly.”

  “Who picks you up from school on Fridays?”

  “My mum. I mean, Claudette.”

  “You can call her mum, if that’s what you call her. She must have been worried sick when she didn’t find you there and couldn’t find where Serene was either.”

  Mina shrugged and picked up her cup again, mostly to hide her face behind it because she didn’t drink.

  “Do you know what a bonded omega feels when her mate is not there?” Uri asked.

  “It... hurts.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “And when an omega is worried, like your mum was, they need their alpha to calm down. But Serene wasn’t there.”