“Do I smell food?” Max inquired, claiming the stool next to Lucius. He rested his chin on the hands, smelling the air with dreamy eyes.
“Dude!” said Crispin, appearing at Lucius’s side. “Is something cooking?”
Bacchus and Caius happened at that moment to return from their shopping excursion, dropping their bags on the floor as they raced into the room, fighting boisterously over the last counter space at the kitchen island. “Holy crap! Are you cooking something?”
“Thaleia,” said Crispin in awe. “She cooks.” He spoke the word like a revelation. Evidentially, cooking was an uncommon occurrence. I wondered idly what they normally ate.
“You just helped yourself without first asking,” said Icarus, materializing beside me. It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. He wasn’t pleased.
“Kitchen’s done,” I said, disregarding his observation. Rising from the floor, I extended my hand, a blue Colgate balanced across the width of my palm. His eyes flickered from my hand to my eyes, narrowing.
“Is that my toothbrush?”
I shrugged. “It really is a versatile tool. Works wonders around all those little nooks and crannies you can’t reach, like the faucet or the corner of the shower. Oh, and the hinges on the toilet seat. For that alone it’s absolutely priceless.”
Gawping at the toothbrush, his mouth twisted into a frown. He took it from my hand and tossed it in the trash on the way out of the room. I noted with much smug satisfaction that he didn’t assign me another grueling chore. Perhaps he’d think twice before my next punishment.
“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” Lucius said, eyes twinkling with mirth. “I’ll make sure I am ever on your good side, Thale Llorente.”
“Don’t mind him,” Max added. “He’ll come around.”
“I’ll take that for you,” Caius offered, taking the bucket from my hand. “Sit down, Thale. Take a load off. You look exhausted.”
“Here,” Crispin said, vacating his stool. “You can have my seat.”
“No, sit,” I declined. If I sat, I might not get up again. “I’m fine. Besides, the timer’s about to go off.” Famished, the thought of it sent my stomach into a frenzy of audible spasms.
“Sit,” Bacchus ordered, pushing me onto the stool. “You’ll pass out. You should’ve eaten earlier. After everything you’ve been through, you’ve gotta be starving.”
After everything I’d been through, I was surprised to have an appetite at all.
“Icarus is usually more attentive,” Lucius assured me. “But this whole thing’s caught us unawares. He’s got your…Marcus was his name?”
“Asshat, fucktard or shitface works for me.”
“Can’t say I blame you,” Max empathized. “Did he really—”
“Please,” I interjected, raising my hand. “I’d rather not right now. Neither do I want to hear about your iniquitous leader. He has the compassion of a crocodile and all things considering, I’m not feeling overly affable at the moment.”
“What’s iniquitous?” Crispin asked quietly, sidling closely to Caius.
“She’s angry with Icarus, Runt.”
“Oh…well…if it makes you feel any better you can cradle me against your bosom and cry into my hair. I’m a really good listener.”
While the four others played pong with Crispin’s noggin, I smiled dryly.
“Thank you, Crispin, that’s so very generous and completely altruistic of you. I have to say it’s relieving to see that chivalry still exists in this world.”
“Stop! Morons!” Crispin scoffed fending off his brother’s strikes. “She smiled for Christ’s sake! Have a sense of humor! She does! Losers! Bullies! Beefheads! Knock it off!”
“She’s enduring you,” Lucius chided. “Note her use of sarcasm.”
My smile fell. He was right; I was enduring him. I endure most men. Boys. Males. Age mattered not. It’s an ingrained reaction. Marcus reminded me off why that was, the sleaze.
I was thankful when the timer for the oven beeped, a welcome distraction. I motioned to rise, but a restraining hand dropped on my shoulder.
“I told you to sit,” Bacchus scolded. “I’ll get it for you.”
“Are you all so bossy?” I grumbled.
“No,” Max answered.
“Oh, just Icarus then?”
“I apologize for his crass behavior, but he really does have a lot on his mind.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly ask to be here.”
“It’s complicated, Thale,” he pressed. “You have family—”
“No effing way!” Bacchus exclaimed, bent over the oven door. Tugging the trout-shaped oven mitts firmly onto his hands, he reached into the oven and pulled out the large casserole dish with an exultant smile. “She made enough to share!” His voice squeaked with glee.
“Yes!” Crispin crowed. “I’ll get the forks!”
Enthusiastically, he fetched a box of plasticware from the drawer and flipped it, dumping a dozen forks skittering onto the granite surface. I looked on with amused fascination as they each seized one, their eyes alight with anticipation. However, they didn’t dig in, but turned to me expectantly, puzzling me with their abrupt cessation.
“What?” I asked.
Caius gestured to the dish with his fork. “You first.”
“I didn’t boil it in toilet water if that’s what you think.” Though I should’ve after they left me alone with Icarus. I made a mental note to remember that in the future.
“Etiquette,” Caius explained. “You cooked—you eat first.”
“It’s the way of the pack,” Crispin confirmed, nodding exuberantly.
“Fine.” Digging my fork into the corner, I scooped a crusty, cheesy mouthful of macaroni. As I lifted it in the air, cheese stretched from my fork to the corner of the casserole, breaking as I gave it a quick twirl. “Mm,” I mumbled around my full mouth, permitting them to follow suit. No pun intended, but they attacked it like a pack of wolves.
“What are you all doing?” Hailey asked curtly, arms crossed over her chest.
It was a disquieting sight, I observed, when a small girl such as Hailey could instill fear in the hearts of five much larger boys. Werewolves at that. Like chastened puppies, their heads dropped, eyes darting nervously about, forks and food forgotten in their hands.
Crispin straightened his back, braving to speak. “Eating. Thale cooked.”
“I see that,” Hailey said. “But why did Thale cook?”
“Because…because…” Crispin floundered, grasping for a respectable answer. One that wouldn’t get his head bitten off by the demon in the girl suit. Clearly, they were afraid of her.
“Because I was hungry,” I spoke up, since nobody else was man enough to stand up to the omen. “And nobody offered me as much as a glass of water since I’ve been here.”
“But this isn’t your home.”
“No, it’s not, but considering I just scrubbed parts of this house that you didn’t know existed, I didn’t think I would be intruding anyone’s personal space by making a chicken casserole.” Picking up a fork from the counter, I proffered it in her direction. “You’re welcome to join us, but if you wanna eat up then you’ve gotta pipe down. I’ve had a tough day.”
Overruled, Hailey’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m not hungry,” she sniffed and left the room. Shrugging, I dropped the fork back to the counter and took another mouthful of pasta.
“Whoa,” Crispin mouthed. “Cat fight.”
“Is she always that atrocious?”
Max grunted, not to be deterred from his meal.
“She’s complicated,” Lucius interpreted.
“Complicated, huh?” I said dryly. “She must take lessons from Icarus.”
“He’s really not that bad.”
Lifting one shoulder, I shrugged indifferently. “If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it’s usually because it’s a duck.” (In Icarus’s case, a top notch asshole.)
“Did your mo
m teach you how to cook?” Crispin asked, changing the subject. Ever the peacemaker. It was all I could do to keep from tousling his curly hair.
I shook my head. “No, my mom’s a terrible cook. She’s more of a desert person, but not a baker. She blends things. Fruit mostly, though she’s tried vegetables. That didn’t go so well. My parents founded O’berries actually.”
“O’berries?” Max echoed. “Like the smoothie place?”
I nodded. “The same. Anyhow, my parents both work full time running the corporate office so my brother Bennie and I try to help out wherever we can.” We figured that since my mom was such a bad cook, and we still needed to eat, we were best served in the kitchen. My mom opposed completely. Said we weren’t getting the proper nutrition. So we made a deal that she would allow us to do the cooking if we could fit at least three food groups into our meals. Today, we had dairy in the form of cheese, starches—macaroni, vegetables—spring peas and poultry—chicken.
Technically, it wasn’t the healthiest of meals, but then I didn’t have much to work with. Their cupboards were nearly bare. And the fact was, I was starving. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have cooked at all. As Icarus and Hailey pointed out, it wasn’t my home. At any rate, welcome or not, I figured they would pardon my offenses if I made enough to go around. And with the rare exception, my plan seemed to work successfully.
“Um, I’m just going to take some to Icarus,” Max mumbled hesitantly, gauging my reaction. “If that’s ok with you.”
“No need to ask me. It’s your food. I just cooked it.”
Visibly relaxing, he scooped some casserole into a bowl and headed off to find his alpha beneath whatever bridge the troll was currently hiding.
“So how did you all end up together?” I inquired, spearing another chunk of chicken. “Were you lucky enough to stumble upon Lord Icarus the same way I did?”
“No, we’re all related,” Bacchus answered, grinning at my depiction of Icarus. “Icarus’s father was my uncle. He was the oldest. The alpha. Max’s father was their younger brother. Lucius and Crispin’s father was their middle brother. Hailey’s the only cur in our pack. We took her in about five years ago.”
So they were cousins. That explained their likenesses.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry, but what happened to your parents?” I noted that he spoke of them in the past tense.
“They were killed about ten years ago during an attack on our pack.”
“Our fathers were killed,” Crispin interjected. “We don’t know about our mother.”
“Ten years, Crispin,” Lucius objected bitterly. “She’s de—”
“She’s not dead!” Crispin shouted, his bottom lip trembling, eyes rimmed with moisture. He looked like he wanted to pulverize his brother into a pulp. “She could still be alive!”
Caius pulled him into a headlock, rasping his scalp with his knuckles, trying to diffuse the situation. “You’re right, Runt,” he agreed. “She could.”
“Don’t fill his head with false hopes, Caius!” Lucius snapped, dropping down from his barstool, hands fisted at his sides. “If she’s still alive, she’s obviously doesn’t want us! He’s gotta grow up and face the facts! He’s not a damn whelp anymore!”
Storming from the room, Lucius knocked the lamp from the table. It dropped to the floor with a loud pop, breaking the bulb and knocking the shade off base. Crispin wrenched free from Caius’s hold and ran in the opposite direction, out the front door. The storm door slammed closed with a loud, aluminum thwack. I could feel my face flush in the resounding silence.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, mortified. Crossing the room, I picked up the lamp and righted it. The shade hung askew. I fiddled with it vainly for a few minutes before I gave up. “Will he have gone far?”
“No, there’s a park up the street. He usually goes there,” said Caius. “I should go see if he’s alright, though.”
“I should come with you,” I said. “It was my fault.”
Caius grinned wryly. “Oh Crispin will just love that.” Holding the door open, he stepped aside so I could pass.
“Wait!” Bacchus objected. Crossing the room, he picked up one of the bags from their shopping excursion and extracted a largish shoebox. “Your sneakers were a mess so we picked you up a new pair of shoes.” Opening the box, he let the lid fall to the floor and pulled out a pair of beige Uggs.
“No, I can’t take those. Do you know how expensive they are?”
Cocking his head to the side, he gazed curiously. “Don’t you like them?”
“Of course I do, but—”
“Good, cause we already paid for them. Besides you can’t walk around barefoot.” Refusing to take no for an answer, he started yanking out the balled up tissue paper from the toes and dropping them next to the lid. “Here. Put them on.” He jabbed them in my direction.
Sighing in defeat, I took the shoes and slid them onto my feet. Admittedly, they were soft and cushy. And they fit. I wriggled my toes, amazed they got the size right.
“Don’t worry,” Max called from the kitchen. “I’ll clean up the leftovers!”
“He ain’t kidding, either. He’ll lick the pan clean.” Rolling his eyes, Caius turned and pushed open the door. “After you.”
Shaking my head, I walked through the door and trod down the porch stairs. As I followed the twins up the street, my thoughts turned toward the dynamics of their family. Considering the trials they’d endured, they were remarkably well adjusted. Like me, I noted, they were fluent in the use of sarcasm. We’d get along fine. With the odd exception or two.
“What’s a cur?” I wondered aloud.
“A cur is someone who’s turned after being bitten,” Caius explained. “Half breeds. Mutts if you will. No offense.”
Well if that didn’t expand my list of questions. “So…how old is Hailey?” It must’ve been horrible. A child her age attacked like I was. She must’ve been traumatized.
“Twenty three.”
“What?” I blurted, my voice going up in question.
“She’s twenty three,” Bacchus repeated. “Born—pureblood lycanthrope age naturally until they reach their prime. Cur are created, immortalized at the age they were bitten.”
“What—why would anyone do that to a child?”
“They wouldn’t.”
“But they did, obviously,” I pointed out.
“She wasn’t meant to live, Thale.”
“From what we’ve gotten from her, she and her mother were hiking in the park when they got lost,” Caius elaborated. “Before they could find their way back to their car, it grew dark. It’s not the place to be after nightfall, if you catch my meaning. The forest becomes a lycanthrope hunting ground. They killed her mother and they would’ve killed her too had the park rangers not disrupted their attack. As it stood, she was bitten several times.”
“But how did she end up with you?”
“We found her in the park. Adopted her.”
“She doesn’t speak much of what happened between the attack and the time we found her, except that she returned to the park to find her creator. Naturally, he rejected her from his pack. As far as we know, she spent the next six years there, hiding out. She had nowhere else to go. Her mother was dead. She had no other family. And even if she did, she was afraid of harming anyone. She became a virtual recluse, living off the land and avoiding people.”
I shivered, thinking of what it would’ve been like if Marcus left me there alone, bleeding and infected, ignorant of what had attacked me. Ignorant of the things to come, the change especially. What would I have done if Icarus hadn’t taken me in? This was hard to accept, even with his help. I couldn’t imagine what I would do if I had no one to answer my questions.
“Why was she rejected? I can’t believe that if she met others of your kind that they wouldn’t help her. She was just a kid.”
“She’s an outcast, a burden. She brings nothing to the pack. She’s an extra mouth to feed. She’s too small to fight
. And she can’t bear children.”
I stopped, my mouth popping open.
“We obviously don’t feel that way about her, Thale,” Bacchus quickly pointed out. “But most lycanthrope do.”
“Bearing children? I’m sorry, but that sounds so…obsolescent.” I wanted to say chauvinistic, but it was cliché and inappropriate. Maybe I should’ve said primitive or barbaric. I didn’t know if that was right either, though. What I did know was that we were living in the twenty first century. Fertility wasn’t necessarily a prerequisite when looking for a compatible partner. There was always adoption.
Lord, what was I thinking? She was twelve. Sort of. What a conundrum.
“It’s not, really. It’s a necessity for our kind. There aren’t many of us left. In order to uphold our species, we must either procreate or infect. Unfortunately, the male to female ratio is exceedingly high. And women aren’t easily turned. They die more often than not. So when our packs war with each other, naturally the women are taken ali—” Bacchus cut Caius off with a sharp kick to his ankle, but I’d already heard too much.
“What do you mean ‘taken alive.’ Do you mean, like, abducted? Are you saying they take them so they can…they steal them for bearing children? That’s just sick!”
Bacchus and Caius confirmed my assumption with an apologetic frown.
I was seriously considering the notion that Hailey was dealt the better hand. Why me, I lamented. I thought of myself as a good person. I never used my looks as a crutch. I earned the things I had the hard way; I worked for them. I had morals. I never looked down upon others. I was a firm believer of the Golden Rule. So why, I ask again, was I being punished this way?
Because I didn’t believe. The Gods, God, whatever higher beings there were, single or plural, were now seeking vengeance on me. They were exacting retribution for my years of faithless prayers. It didn’t matter that I had prayed for other people, like my gram when she was dying or my brother when he had appendicitis. I had prayed, and yes, while technically it was for others, I benefitted from it, too. As a result, here I stood—the object of their amusement.
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