Alpha

by D. M. Turner

  The icy air penetrated all the way to his bones. If he didn’t get them inside soon, he and Ian would suffer serious frostbite. Not irrecoverable for a werewolf, but it wouldn’t be pleasant while the tissue regenerated.

  He closed the distance between himself and Ian, who glanced sideways and growled, baring his teeth. He stopped and squatted to bring his gaze level with his friend’s. “We need to go inside. Colin needs to get out of the cold, or he could end up with frostbite.” They all could. Hopefully Ian wasn’t grieved beyond concern for his son.

  After several moments without responding, Ian nodded, picked up the body of his wife, and headed through the snow back to the house. Brett followed the trail of blood left in his friend’s wake, keeping Colin’s face tucked into his shoulder so the hiccupping toddler didn’t see his mother.

  At the house, Ian walked straight through broken glass and the living room into the master bedroom. Brett picked his way carefully through the shattered window pane, unable to prevent a comparison between the scattered pieces of glass and the brokenness of his best friend. He shook his head. Concentrate on what needs to be done right now.

  They’d have to cover that opening until a new window could be installed in the door. He headed for Ian’s office to call Brady. There wasn’t a thing in the world he wanted to do less in that moment than summon the alpha and his mate to tell them their daughter was dead.

  Colin generally slept in a corner of the master bedroom. Alison hadn’t felt he was old enough to sleep at the other end of the house alone. That meant his clothing and all was in the room with Ian. Brett stopped in the laundry room to see if any of Colin’s blankets were there. He sighed, pleased to find one folded on top of the dryer.

  He set the toddler on top of the washer and removed the winter clothes. Then he checked him thoroughly to be certain the little guy wasn’t hurt. If he had had any injuries, they’d healed. Nothing appeared bloody or broken. The overkill padding of the winter clothes had probably saved Colin’s life. Thank you, Lord, and thank you, Alison, for protecting your son in more ways than you realize.

  After pulling on a pair of Ian’s sweatpants that were in the dryer, Brett swallowed tears, picked up Colin, wrapped him in one of the blankets, and tucked him close to his shoulder. Colin rested his head on Brett’s shoulder, stuck his thumb in his mouth, and closed his eyes. Good thing the wee one was used to being shuffled from one person to another in the pack.

  Brett carried Colin into the office and picked up the CB radio handset. After a deep breath to control the urge to sob, which wouldn’t help Colin or Ian in the least, he keyed the mike. He had to be careful what he said in case someone other than Brady and the pack heard his transmission, which wasn’t unlikely. He needed the pack to come, not the police or curiosity seekers.

  “Wolfman, this is the Professor, you got your ears on?” Never before had those words sounded so hollow and odd to his ears. Such a mundane way to relay a call for help in the midst of such a tragedy.

  “10-2, Professor. What’s the word?”

  Receiving clear. The one day lousy reception might actually be welcome and expected with all the snow. “I’m 10-20 at the Resort. We’re 10-34.” In trouble and needing help. Not a code they’d had to use in real life before, though Brady had made sure each of them knew it.

  A moment of silence passed then Brady responded in an even, measured tone that was unlikely to alert strangers, “10-4, Professor. ETA five minutes.”

  “10-4, Wolfman.” The real message would have to be delivered face-to-face when Brady and Felicity arrived. Not a task he looked forward to.

  Brett laid the handset back on the desk. Others in the pack would’ve heard the transmission. They’d know to head straight to Ian’s place, which they’d all dubbed the “Resort” since it was the pack’s retreat.

  Pack members who had telephones would call those without radios. All of them would drop whatever they were doing and converge on the house as soon as they could.

  For the moment, he needed to check on Ian. As he exited the hallway, the front door flew open. He passed the kitchen and entered the living room and almost collided with Graham, who looked ready for a fight.

  “What’s going on? I was on my way up here to talk to Ian about something when I heard the radio.”

  Which explained how the man had gotten there so fast when he lived far closer to town than Brady and Felicity. “There’s been trouble. Alison’s dead.” He kept his voice soft and low to avoid alarming Colin, who had fallen asleep against his shoulder.

  “What?” Graham startled back, color fled his face, and his mouth fell open. Then he shook his head. “No, that can’t be.”

  “I’m afraid it is.”

  “What happened?”

  “Mountain lion. It tried to run off with Colin. She stopped it.”

  The man’s eyes closed, and he put a hand over his mouth. When he opened his eyes again, they glistened with unshed tears. “Brady and Felicity... they won’t be able to handle this.”

  The fact Graham was worried about that only intensified Brett’s own concern. Graham had been with the pack since its inception. Of the whole pack, he’d known the alpha and his mate the longest.

  Brett shook off concern for the other couple. He had more immediate worries. “Can you take Colin? He was pretty shaken up, but he’s calm now. I need to check on Ian, and I don’t want to take Colin in there. I don’t think he should see....”

  Graham nodded and reached for the toddler, who grunted then settled against his shoulder and returned to deep sleep.

  “I’ll be back in a bit.”

  “I’ll take Colin into one of the spare bedrooms, so the others don’t wake him.”

  Brett nodded and left the man to it, heading for the master bedroom. The door stood open, so he entered without knocking.

  Ian had laid Alison on the bed. The way she’d been torn up, the blood covering her, and the pallor of lifeless skin left no room for any illusions that she was merely sleeping. Ian knelt beside the bed, his hand gripping hers, his head resting on the edge of the bed as sobs racked his body.

  Tears surged up again. Brett hadn’t seen his best friend cry since he’d pulled him back to himself in Germany forty-five years before. He quietly closed the distance and squatted behind Ian to put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ian. I can’t even begin to tell you how much.” A tear fell. He dashed it away with a swipe of his free hand.

  “She’s everything. Everything,” Ian whispered. “Mo chridhe. My heart.”

  “I called in the pack. Brady and Felicity will be here soon.”

  No response.

  The faint rumble of a car engine alerted him that someone else had arrived. He removed his hand from Ian’s shoulder, slowly rose to his feet, and headed for the living room to intercept whoever was there.

  The door burst open, and Brady charged in, his wife close on his heels. His gaze swept Brett’s bare feet and chest and sweatpants that hung a bit too loose because they were too big. “What’s happened?”

  He forced back new tears and took a deep breath. “There’s been... trouble. Alison... took Colin out to play in the snow. We heard her scream and ran. A mountain lion tried to carry Colin off. She stopped it and saved him. She fought the cat in human form.” His chest tightened to the point he wasn’t sure he’d ever breathe again. He swallowed and forced air into his lungs. “Alison’s dead.”

  “What?” Felicity’s eyes widened and filled with tears. “No!”

  He nodded and pointed to the master bedroom. “Ian brought her in.”

  She ran into the master bedroom. Brady followed her. A scream ripped through the house, making Brett shiver.

  Tears fell then, and he couldn’t stop them. The cost of having a mate and family was too high. Too high.

  * * *

  Wednesday, February 21, 1990

  Head against the bed, Ian was barely aware of others coming and going, or of the passing of day into night and back again. He sa
t on the floor beside the bed, part of him expecting Alison to wake up and tease him into bed so she could warm him against the chill in the room. Neither happened, and despair knifed deeper into his soul.

  The smell of death hung in the room, his only companion. Even tears had abandoned him. A hollow ache remained. Loneliness deeper than he’d ever known. He deserved it. He’d failed her, just as he had Marie. As her mate, he should’ve protected her, but he’d failed.

  “Ian?”

  He glanced up at his best friend, who knelt in front of him.

  “They’re here to take Alison’s body.”

  He frowned. Tears returned. Perhaps they hadn’t abandoned him after all.

  “Ian?”

  They’d cremate her, as they always did when a pack member died. He gripped her cold hand. What if she wasn’t really dead and they cremated her?

  “Ian?”

  The stench of death filled the air, and Alison’s body was cold. Of course she was dead. No matter how difficult that was to grasp, it was true. They would never cremate someone who was alive.

  He nodded and released her hand.

  Brett nodded to someone in the doorway. O’Neil came into the room. The “cleaner”, the pack called him. Another pack member followed him. They laid out a body bag and carefully moved Alison from the bed to the bag and zipped it closed.

  As they carried her out, Ian wept and turned away. He hadn’t deserved such a precious gift. He hadn’t protected it as he should have. What if he failed again and lost Colin, too? Alison would never forgive him.

  “You need rest, Ian.” Brett’s hand settled on one of his drawn-up knees. “Why don’t you lie down in one of the other bedrooms and try to rest?”

  “Where’s Colin?”

  “Graham has him in one of the spare bedrooms. I can take you to him, if you want.” Brett stood up.

  Ian climbed to his feet and followed his friend through the house, ignoring pack members scattered throughout the living and dining room. Brett led him upstairs and to the first door on the left. He pushed the door open and stepped back. Ian went into the room, scanning to find his son, who slept on the bed.

  “How are you doing, Ian?” Graham approached with caution, his gaze averted.

  “I needed to make sure Colin’s alright.”

  “He’s fine. He’s cried for Alison a couple of times though.”

  Hadn’t they all? Ian nodded, crossed to the bed, and lay next to his son, curling around the boy.

  The door gently closed.

  He didn’t have to look to know Graham and Brett had left.

  * * *

  Sunday, February 25, 1990

  You failed again, and now someone else is dead.

  Ian pulled the blanket over his head, knowing it wouldn’t do a bit of good. The dark moon had come again. It had been a long time since it had whispered to him. Alison’s love had silenced it. But he was alone again. Because of his failure, she was no longer there to chase away the accusations of the enemy.

  The memorial service that had been held Friday evening had left him cold and empty. He barely remembered most of it. There’d been music, but he couldn’t recall what songs had been chosen. Stories had been shared about Alison, but he hadn’t heard a single one. Afterwards, the condolences of person after person had made him want nothing more than to retreat to silence. Felicity had looked as lost in despair as he’d felt since the moment Alison had been ripped from him. The last one of her children was gone. Ian’s wife was gone.

  And it’s your fault.

  * * *

  After a quick, light tap on the door, Brett pushed it open.

  Ian was still in bed with the blanket pulled over his head.

  The dark moon had come, and that would be serious trouble if he couldn’t pull his friend out of the state of despair he’d been in since Alison’s death.

  He and Graham had taken care of Colin the past few days, but the boy needed his father. His mother was gone. Irretrievable. But his father wasn’t beyond help. Yet. Brett just had to figure out how to reach him. He couldn’t lose his friend, which was a very real possibility according to Graham, who’d told him about a couple of werewolves he’d seen follow their mates into death. Grief was a powerful enemy, and it craved lives.

  “Ian?” Brett pulled aside the covers. “You need to get up. It’s time to eat.”

  Ian shook his head but otherwise didn’t move.

  “You haven’t eaten the past few days. You must eat.”

  “I can’t.”

  Time to pull out the big guns, and hope Ian didn’t hate him for it. “If you don’t, you’ll break your promise to Alison.”

  “What?”

  “If you don’t eat, you’ll die. If you die, you’ll leave Colin an orphan. You promised Alison you’d take care of him. If you abandon him now, you’ll have lied to her.” Lord, I hate myself for saying these things, but I don’t know what else to do. I could really use some guidance here. “Colin’s lost his mother. He needs his father.”

  “How am I supposed to go on without her?”

  “You’ll find a way. You spent most of your life without her. You have to figure out how to move forward from here. For the sake of your son, you can’t give up.”

  Ian stared at the ceiling for a long time, then his gaze met Brett’s. “I failed again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I failed to protect Marie. Now I’ve failed to protect Alison.”

  Brett swallowed hard and shook his head. “No. There was nothing you could do, for either of them. You know that as well as I do.” He hardened himself for what he needed to say next. “But if you don’t get up and eat and take care of yourself, you will fail Colin. You’ll break your promise to Alison, and that’s the choice you’re making. What happened to Alison and Marie was beyond your control. What happens now with Colin isn’t. You have control of that. What are you going to do with it?” He flipped on his heel and marched out of the room. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he paused, leaning a hand on the wall. Had he really just verbally lashed his wounded friend? What else was he supposed to do?

  “Brett?” Graham stopped in front of him with a puzzled frown. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah. Just... wishing there was another way.”

  “Another way for what?”

  He shook his head and pushed away from the wall. “Where’s Colin?”

  Graham lowered his gaze. “In the living room watching O’Neil and Carlos replace the window in the door. They’re keeping an eye on him for a few minutes. I had to run to the restroom.” His hurried tone sounded apologetic.

  “You’re allowed, you know. As long as he’s safe.”

  A faint thump behind him made Brett turn. Ian came down the stairs, still in need of a shower and shave, but he was out of bed and coming down.

  “Good to see you up and about.” Graham smiled, his expression reflecting both relief and sympathy. “I’ve got bone and liver broth warmed up on the stove.”

  “Thanks.” Ian nodded. The sweatpants and t-shirt he normally filled out hung loose on him, attesting to the weight he’d lost. At least he’d had the presence of mind to pull on the clothes Brett had left for him days before. A shower would’ve been helpful though. “I want to move back to the master bedroom, but I don’t think I can bear to have her scent all around me.” He frowned and shook his head.

  Brett laid a hand on his shoulder. “We changed the mattress and gave the room a good cleaning. That might help. You can try it tonight if you want. If it doesn’t work, you and Colin can always move back upstairs for a while.”

  “Sounds good.”

  * * *

  Monday, March 26, 1990

  Though he wouldn’t admit it if asked, Ian had spent the month since Alison’s death doing little more than go through the motions. He hadn’t seen much of most of the pack, but Brett and Graham had taken turns checking on him. And he had little doubt that was exactly what they were doing. Brett’s mothe
ring had come as no surprise, but Graham’s had. Ian hadn’t realized Graham cared much for him, particularly after they’d had a near run-in over Alison years before, so his hovering had been an interesting development Ian wasn’t sure how to categorize.

  The new moon had come again, so Brett would walk through the door any minute to spend the day with him. Some things about his friend were entirely too predictable.

  Colin sat in the middle of the living room floor on the thick rug, playing with toy trucks and a small stuffed wolf. The wolf chased and stomped the cars, and a few had been buried under the edge of the rug, much to Ian’s amusement. Moments like that, when genuine pleasure broke through the numbness, reminded him that he was alive. His son had provided each of those moments.

  You’ll fail him.

  Ian flinched, hunkered down further into his chair, and whispered, “Go away.” He glanced at the clock. Brett was late. What was keeping him? His friend couldn’t chase away the moon, but he could distract Ian enough that the whispers no longer tormented him.

  The front door opened, and Brett entered. His dour expression knotted Ian’s stomach. Only something really bad would put such a look on the man’s face.

  He waited, afraid to inquire.

  Brett dropped onto the couch and watched Colin for several moments. Then he glanced at Ian, blue eyes full of sorrow. “Felicity’s gone.”

  “Gone? What do you mean gone?”

  “She died early this morning.”

  “What?” She had struggled with Alison’s death, just as he had, but he hadn’t expected it to lead to her death.

  “She quit eating when Alison died. Brady couldn’t break the cycle of grief. It’s probably a miracle she survived this long.”

  “How’s Brady?”

  “Devastated. Graham and some of the others are watching over him.” He shook his head. “I don’t know if he’ll pull out of the grief. First, Alison. Now, his mate. It may be too much.”