"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Face me like a man," Jordan ordered, his voice reverberating around the chamber.
The chess master pushed his shoulders back and turned his gray eyes up to meet Jordan's.
"The chess master and the challenger will now fight for the first move," the announcer said. "Ready..."
Jeffery's gray eyes took on a pleading edge, and Jordan shook his head with a cocky smile. No mercy.
"Fight!"
Jordan lunged at Jeffery, who was wearing a white sash and pants, the same outfit that Jordan had seen half a dozen times over the last twenty-four hours as Jeffery took the set out of his chest and put it away again. Jordan shifted into half-form in mid-lunge, catching Jeffery in the throat with the inside of his elbow. Jeffery shifted, breaking the hold, and kicked Jordan's feet out from under him. Jordan rolled and jumped with hands and feet, gaining the upper hand as Jeffery scrambled to his feet. Jordan took him from behind, pinning his arms and head in a sleeper hold, squeezing his waist with his thighs. Jeffery rolled around, but Jordan held on. He hadn't stopped hundreds of shifter tantrums without learning a thing or two about tenacity.
"The master is immobilized! Challenger moves first!"
Jordan rippled back into his human form and released Jeffery. They broke apart, panting, and it was all Jordan could do to keep from kissing Jeffery's mouth; whether to taunt him or comfort him, he didn't know. The two sides of his consciousness were battling for dominance, and he had a duty to keep them balanced. Darla's future was on the line. Jeffery retreated to his podium, climbing up to look down at the board. Jordan simply drifted off to the side, standing on the same level as the players, gazing at the contested territory in the middle. Rules were made to be bent.
He paced the contested territory, sizing up his wolves and Jeffery's. Jeffery was gesturing, attempting to be subtle, to tell Jordan to get back to his podium. Jordan ignored him, glancing toward the three judges who sat in their own podium across from him. They murmured to each other for a moment, then one of them shrugged. Jordan grinned. Unorthodox, but not technically against the rules. That was his domain. That gray area, where no one really knew what to do with him. He stepped away, then gave his command. "G-1 to F-3," he called out. His knight didn't hesitate or question and simply glided across the floor to take his place.
"What the hell are you doing?" Jeffery muttered to himself from his podium. "E-7 to E-6," he called out. His wolf moved and his hands began to sweat. If the judges had even the slightest inclination that he didn't play to his best, the match would be forfeit. He didn't have the option to play mercifully. Jordan paced the contested territory again, and Jeffery's stomach lurched. He wished Jordan would just follow the damn rules.
Jordan made his move, flanking Jeffery's wolf with his other knight. It didn't make sense for him to go on the attack so soon, Jeffery thought, not before he'd had a chance to evaluate the teams' respective skills. Uncomfortable with the aggressive move, Jeffery stoically stuck to his favorite opening. "F-8 to B-5," he called out. His bishop moved before he'd even finished his order. The Delta Reserves were familiar with his style. Each of them had played this game before, this way. Jordan's pacing took on a cocky kind of swagger and Jeffery swallowed hard.
The match continued on like that, with Jordan making surprising and unorthodox moves, while Jeffery played with the logic and skill of one who was used to playing with equally educated opponents. Jordan didn't move like Jeffery expected him to, and entered into skirmishes with reckless regularity. He won every time, and Jeffery's heart thudded angrily in his chest. He's banking on luck, he thought. God damn it, I told him not to do that! The random skirmishes distracted Jeffery and he grew flustered. He made a single mistake, and he knew it the moment the order passed his lips. His naked king was exposed. He gripped the edge of his podium, hoping that Jordan would miss it. Jordan flashed a smile up at him from his place in the center of the board, and made the call without hesitation.
"Check mate!" The announcer thundered. "Please wait while the judges evaluate the play."
The judges stepped down from the podium one by one, and Jordan moved off of the board. They weaved around the players, checking that everyone was in their rightful places, and that there weren't any irregularities between players. They withdrew; returning to their podium. After a moment, they raised a black flag, and the arena erupted with cheers.
"Challenger wins!"
Jordan beamed at his team, and congratulated each of them in turn, shaking their furry hands and paws and clapping them on their shoulders. Wounded players were carried off the field by their teammates, and the audience began to file out. Jeffery climbed down from the podium and extended his hand.
"Congratulations," he said, meaning every syllable to the base of his core. "How did you do it?"
"I quit thinking about it like a game," Jordan said, taking Jeffery's extended hand. "Started thinking in terms of battle. Slow motion battle, of course. Pretty sure taking turns isn't something people actually do on the battlefield."
"Well, you did it," Jeffery said. "Just about slaughtered my pawns, but you made it happen. Good job."
"Thanks," Jordan grinned. "So what's next?"
Jeffery's face became serious.
"A taste test, essentially," he said.
Jordan cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.
"You'll be blindfolded, in half-form. You'll be faced with a line of shifters. They will each ask you a question. You will answer it with their rank."
"I... I only know like five ranks," Jordan said, aghast. "And I certainly don't know what any of them would ask me."
"Yeah," Jeffery said. "I know. It's going to be a judgement call. Come on back to the room; we'll study."
Jordan followed Jeffery out of the arena. Behind them, Steel watched them go, his blue eyes pensive.
Jeffery pulled a thick book out of his chest once they were back in the room.
"You live here, don't you," Jordan suddenly realized. "The chessboard, the clothes, now this... why do you live in the barracks?"
"Old habits die hard," Jeffery shrugged. "I was a Delta when I arrived. They offered me domestic quarters when my duties shifted, but I declined. I like it here. It's sparse; uncluttered. I'm not very good at organizing... you should see my office... and if all I have is a bed and a chest, it gives my brain room to function."
Jordan nodded. "I can understand that. I do enjoy organizing, and having things, and comfortable spaces though. Darla disagrees. She likes chaos and destruction."
"She'll grow out of it," Jeffery said absently, opening his book. "Here. This book has entries for each rank. Each entry is printed on paper which has been marked with the scents of five shifters of that rank."
"Scratch and sniff textbook?" Jordan asked, laughing in disbelief.
"Something like that," Jeffery chuckled. "Trust me, it helps. Here. Start reading."
Jordan took the book, and was immediately overwhelmed by the scent of wolf.
"Study in half-form," Jeffery said. "Your sense of smell will be more accurate."
Jordan shifted and sat on his bed with the book. Each entry read like an astrological sign and it was difficult for him to take it seriously at first. After a while though, he began to understand the methods of determination.
Beta. Comfortable taking direction. Confident in giving direction. Offers alternative perspectives to their alphas. Frequently argues with alphas if they feel the alpha is in the wrong. Strong, courageous, pragmatic, empathetic. The most balanced of the shifters. Asks 'why' rather than 'what'.
"I could have been a Beta," he muttered.
"Trust me," Jeffery said. "You're one hundred percent Alpha."
Jordan shot him a suggestive grin, and Jeffery returned it. "Focus," he said, waving to the book. "You've got a lot more letters to get through."
Each page was separated from the others with a thin, odorless blank page. As he turned it to uncover the Gamma entry, he noticed a distin
ctive shift in the scent marker. Suddenly interested, he sat up tall and read aloud.
"Gamma. Exists outside of direction. Sees the eventualities of every potential decision. Incapable of snap judgements. Prefers hard data over individuals. Abides by the Veil of Ignorance to determine what is just, moral and legal. Lawmakers. Makes decisions based upon the most effective and least harmful available option." He looked up at Jeffery. "What's the Veil of Ignorance?"
"It's a philosophy named as such by a man called John Rawls. Do you have siblings?"
"I have a sister."
"Did your mom ever make one of you cut the pie, and the other one choose?"
"Yeah, all the time. It was the only way to keep us from fighting about dessert."
"Same idea. It's the philosophy that you can only make a fair and just decision by removing your status from the equation. If you were able to cut and choose, you would take the larger piece. The Veil of Ignorance gives the judge the position of the person cutting the pie. It strips all parties of race, age, gender, species, et cetera, and simply focuses on the morality of the situation at hand."
"Definitely not a Gamma," Jordan muttered. "That's entirely too much thinking about pie for me."
Jeffery laughed.
"That's why they're the council," he said. "They make decisions based on the fairest outcome... most of the time."
Jordan shot him a questioning look, and he shrugged. "We all have hidden biases," he said. "Even the Gammas."
Jordan nodded, and turned to the next entry. "Deltas. Prefer to take direction. Eagerly accepts challenges, rarely questions the morality of their task. Prefer physical labor to mental challenges. Loyalty, once won, is rarely lost. Shit. That makes Montague's Deltas extra dangerous."
"Maybe," Jeffery said, cautiously. "Without Gammas to decode the personality traits prior to turning, or Omicrons and their subordinates to run a background check, I doubt very much that Montague was lucky enough to find that many natural Deltas. I'm almost certain that they're being pressed into the position."
"Which means they aren't going to stay loyal, if they're given reason not to."
"Right. I'm sure a few of them will. I think that band of officers was full of Deltas, for example."
Jordan nodded and turned back to his book. Into the night and through the next day, he read the book again and again, creating images in his mind of the twenty-four different possible ranks. He absorbed their scents, learning the subtle differences between the ranks. The exercise caused a question to rise in the back of his mind, but he shoved it away. He didn't have time for that right now. Jeffery rewarded his devoted studying with a night of hot, sweaty sex, and Jordan awoke on the day of his test refreshed and feeling confident.
The next morning, Jeffery led Jordan back to the arena. Before entering, Jeffery wrapped a blindfold around his eyes, then led him by the elbow into the arena. The crowd cheered, and Jordan grinned beneath his mask. He had to admit he was enjoying the attention. He just wished he could share the excitement with Darla. Jeffery led him across the dirt and turned him. Jordan shifted into his half-form, and the crowd exploded with cheers again. He immediately sensed the rank of the person standing before him, but held his tongue until the question was asked.
"What do you want me to do?" the young voice said.
"Delta," Jordan answered. The next person stood before him, and again he sensed the rank before the question was asked.
"Who will suffer?" a strong, feminine voice demanded.
"Theta," he said.
The questions went on and on, each one confirming his scent recognition until he encountered an Omega who seemed to have rubbed shoulders with Deltas and Upsilons very recently.
"Who should I tell, and what should I tell them?"
Upsilon. An Omega asking a question better suited to an Upsilon. Jordan hesitated. He had a choice. He could answer the question logically; who would know the truth but him? Or he could answer truthfully, and risk outing Jeffery to the entire colony. He couldn't make a mistake, not now. If he wanted to have Darla back in his protection, if he ever wanted to read to her or bathe her or feed her or play with her again, he had to do this right. He sent a mental apology into the universe, then opened his mouth.
"Omega," he said, clearly.
The audience gasped. The person in front of him choked on the air. Murmurs began filling the space, and the person didn't move aside. Jordan wanted to rip his blindfold off, but he couldn't risk throwing the game. He was grateful when someone else removed it for him. As it dropped around his chest, he came face to face with Jeffery's wide, shocked eyes.
"Omega?" Jeffery whispered, under the hubbub. "I gave you the right question! Why did you do that?"
Jordan just shook his head and waited. The judges came and took Jeffery a little ways away. They circled him, sniffing his skin and asking him sharp little questions. Jeffery answered, and grew more and more red-faced as the rapid-fire questioning went on. Jordan stood, confident in his call but with a sinking feeling in his gut, watching as three old werewolves decided the outcome of his life. They finally released Jeffery, who hung his head in what looked like shame, and returned to their podium. Each one of them lifted a green flag and the audience cheered.
"What does that mean?" Jordan asked the crowd of shifters around him.
"It means you passed," the Theta answered, with a warm smile. "Congratulations."
Jordan beamed and let the applause wash over him. He was one step closer to getting his baby back, but his good mood fell as he looked across the arena at Jeffery, who appeared as though he wanted to sink into the floor. Jordan's heart ached for causing him such public pain.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Jeffery fled from the arena as soon as he was able to do so without drawing additional attention to himself. Powerful, raging emotions boiled in his gut as he raced through the halls to his bedroom, threatening to explode. He bolted for the bathroom as soon as he was inside his room and emptied his stomach into the porcelain bowl. He sobbed as he vomited, and feelings battled for dominance within his brain. He heard Jordan slam into the room, and he quickly washed his face, glad for his thick glasses in that moment. They hid the puffy redness of his eyes.
"Jeffery?" Jordan called, knocking on the bathroom door.
Jeffery took a deep breath and pulled the door open, looking up at Jordan's apologetic face.
"Are you okay?" Jordan asked.
"Okay?! No! No, I'm not okay!" Jeffery exploded, pushing into the room. "You... you got me... you made me..." He couldn't seem to finish a sentence, and he slammed the side of his fist against the wall in frustration.
"You're angry," Jordan said. "I get it. I'm sorry. I had to go with my gut."
"Your gut?! Your gut is not the problem here, Jordan! Mine is! Why would... how did... God! Fuck! Do you understand what this means?"
Jordan shook his head, bewildered.
"If you got Omega from me, after all that studying you did, after I spoon fed you the goddamn question, if you still got an Omega vibe... God, I don't want to do this, I don't want to do this." Jeffery pressed his forehead against the wall, rolling it back and forth.
"I'm sorry," Jordan said, helplessly. "I didn't mean to piss you off..."
"Pissed? I'm not p–pissed, I'm pa–pa–pa..." He slapped a hand over his mouth a little too hard. He hated his stutter. He'd worked so hard to get rid of it, and now this. "I'm panicking!" he shouted. "I'm panicking. I never, never wanted this; it's too much. I would rather go back to that damned jungle than do this, Jordan. It's fucking terrifying. Do you understand yet? Do you understand what you just told me out there?"
Jordan shook his head, his eyes wide.
"I'm fucking pa–pa–prrr, goddamn it, I'm going to have a baby!"
The blood rushed out of Jordan's face, and he sat down hard on the bed.
"How... how do you know?" he asked. "We only... it's only been a few days."
"Werewolves don't work like that, you idiot," Jeffery s
napped. "The scent markers don't care if it's been a few days or a few weeks; as soon as the womb starts to unfold the whole chemical makeup changes. Omega. Son of a bitch. I wanted to help people, damn it. I wanted to make a difference. Now... I... I can't... I'll have to..." Jeffery slumped to the floor, cradling his face in his hands, and began to cry. Jordan's arms were around him in moments, and Jeffery curled into his chest.
"Listen to me," Jordan said, firmly. "Raising kids... raising wolves... it does make a difference. It makes a world of difference. The child you bring up will be strong and sensitive and inquisitive. They'll learn from you. They'll go on to be the next generation of powerful, flexible people. Look at you, Jeffery. You went from Delta to Upsilon, and you rocked both of those. You'll rock Omega just as hard, and this kid will grow up knowing that they really can do whatever they set their minds to."
"I screwed it up," Jeffery snapped, pushing away from Jordan. "I screwed up the extractions..."
"Did you bring loved ones home?"
"In body bags!" Jeffery wailed.
"You didn't have to do that."
Jeffery blinked. "What?"
"You didn't have to bring the bodies home. You were a damn mercenary. If your mission was dead on arrival, you could have just left them there. No pay for bodies. But you brought them home, why?"
"So their families would have closure," Jeffery said, confused at the question. "So they could bury their dead. So they wouldn't have to wonder and worry."
"Sounds like a successful mission to me."
"But Upsilon," Jeffery said, wiping his face on his arm. "I lost... so many shifters."
"How many did you save?"
"I... I don't know. I lost count."
"Was it more than you lost?"
Jeffery nodded slowly. "I lost... I lost five shifters a year, about. Maybe four humans. We brought... my team and I... brought fifty-some-odd shifters home last year."
Raising Wolves Page 20
