Mated to the Alpha Wolves

by Anastasia Chase

  "I was joking. You're not very good with this sarcasm thing, are you?"

  His brows furrowed slightly, and he rolled his eyes in response.

  "You're just like Henry..." he muttered in slight disgust and headed back outside.

  The four of us went back and forth like that all day; the light snow and grass were stained with blood, but the majority of the ox had been reduced to packages of meat, and containers of bone and organs to be used later. The skin was pinned up to dry, though I had no doubt that a few birds might come by to pick it clean of any remnants of meat left behind. By the time everything was taken care of, the sun was already setting again, returning the cabin to dark solitude.

  Henry got a fire going in the living room, and Jack was busy preparing dinner in the kitchen. Zack was apparently trying to help, but not doing a very good job of it.

  "I asked for diced onions, not sliced." Jack rolled his eyes and lightly shouldered Zack out of the way to show him how it was done.

  "I don't see what the difference is." He relented his hold on the knife and watched Jack go to work. He gestured at the cubes of onions with a huff. "Isn't that what I was doing!?"

  "Nnnooo, this is what you were doing. To be precise..." He proceeded to hack apart the rest of the onion into big chunks. I was finding it difficult not to laugh, seeing Zack's mild frustration and Jack's demonstration of his brother's cooking skills.

  "I don't see what the problem is, my stews still taste good." Zack retreated and leaned against the countertop. He had enough of his brother's teasing.

  "Maybe, but they're never as good as mine and you know it." Jack dice the onions into smaller pieces before adding them to the browned butter. Zack pouted even more and shrugged his shoulders.

  "I can't argue with that, I guess..."

  "You should go help your brother with the fireplace before he burns the whole place down."

  "I don't think he's... Henry! That's too much firewood!" Zack all but sprinted out of the room. I heard heavy chunks of wood hitting the ground before an argument ensued.

  "This is what I have to deal with every day," Jack said, and sighed as he waved the knife towards the living room.

  "Yeah, but they're family. That's how they all are." I sidled up next to him as I watched him work. He was quite skillful with a knife, and it was evident that he had an attention to detail when it came to food. Once the onions were clear in the butter, he started slicing through the meat at careful angles. I didn't see fit to bother him with questions about it."

  "I highly doubt that."

  "And why do you say that?"

  "What would be the point of family if they're always annoying each other? It doesn't make any logical sense." Jack cut the meat into more manageable bites and added them to the onions.

  "If you really think that way, what's to stop you from going off on your own and doing your own thing?" He had a loner vibe about him, similar to Jacob. "You have to have some reason for sticking around."

  His brows furrowed as he gave the meat a toss. It was obvious he didn't have an answer.

  "Because you care about them. That's not a stretch of the imagination, you know." I touched his arm and he seemed to recoil. I didn't want to be offended, but he was putting up a guard for some reason… no, for no reason. My questions were entirely harmless, so I couldn't understand why he was getting so defensive.

  "I do... but I always end up looking like the bad guy," he said quietly, so quiet that I almost missed it. He didn't skip a beat as he tossed the meat again and sprinkled salt and pepper into the mix. He turned on another stove top to get some broth going and went to work cutting up some vegetables.

  His vulnerability, his insecurity, made me lower my guard. Jack was shouldered with all the responsibility of keeping his brothers safe, and he didn't have someone at his level to confide to. Until now.

  "Listen... I don't think either of them thinks of you as the bad guy. They know you take your job very seriously."

  "That's very easy for you to say when you've only been here a day and a half." Carrots and zucchini under the blade of his knife were reduced to cubes.

  "Maybe, but don't you think if they hated you, they would have told you already? Or left? They're pretty decent fighters and can take care of themselves."

  "No, they can't. Henry doesn't take anything seriously, and Zack..."

  "Is the youngest. But still capable. I'm pretty sure he wasn't sitting on his ass when we took down that musk ox."

  "No, but he could have done a better job."

  "You would've preferred he performed a song and dance for the thing?"

  He gave me a quizzical look.

  "How would that have helped?"

  I chuckled to myself and snatched a knife out of the chopping block to help.

  "Again, I was kidding, Jack. Sarcasm's not really your strong suit, is it?" I watched his knife motion and tried to emulate it as best I could with the rest of the vegetables he hadn't touched. He offered no criticism, and I took that as praise. But he wasn't done there.

  "You've got a good head on your shoulders. Good sense of humor too. I can see why you got to lieutenant. And why the boys like you."

  The unexpected compliment left me blushing. He gave everything a stir, covered it with a lid, and led me by the hand over to the sink.

  "It's... also why I like you..." He squeezed out a healthy dose of liquid soap into the middle of my hands and turned the water on warm. There, he washed the food residue off our palms and fingers, the lather feeling silky smooth between our hands. I had to admit, for hard-working hands, Jack's were unnaturally soft, and I found myself drawing circles in them with my thumbs. He cupped mine in his as he proceeded to rinse away the soap, his dark eyes locked on mine.

  "I don't know how or why, but I feel drawn to you, and I just want... more. Of you. Of everything."

  My cheeks grew hot as he neared, and our slick, wet hands found each other's waists. Water dripped onto our bare feet, soaking the small kitchen rug. I stared into his eyes as his gaze jumped between my eyes and my lips. I silently dared him, eager to see for myself what he tasted like. If his kisses were as passionate as Henry's, or as dark and heavy as Jack looked.

  I felt the brush of his lip. A small retreat. Then a small testing of his tongue as he trailed it, peeking between my lips, searching for permission to enter. I met it with my own. He still tasted like the kill from earlier, a metallic tang that made my brain buzz with adrenaline. His hands slipped from my waist, traced the curves of my hips, and found my rump. A healthy squeeze roused a surprised squeak out of me and granted me witness to a true smile on Jack's face.

  "So, you are capable of..." I maintained my distance, lips barely grazing against each other. "Smiling."

  "I have a million surprises you aren't even capable of guessing." He gave my bottom lip a nibble before stepping back. He thumbed at his nose as he watched me deflate, left me in a swirling pool of hormones that I could do nothing with. He was teasing me. I had been roped in hook, line, and sinker.

  "There'll be time to figure out... more of this. Once we're no longer preoccupied." He went back to his stew, as if we'd been talking about the weather, and I left the kitchen, a little flustered but quite giddy.

  "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost," Henry said, with a note of concern as I sunk down beside him on the couch.

  Was it my place to tell him what had just happened? Would that make him jealous, and how would that affect the fight tomorrow? I decided to keep it my secret.

  "I think... Jack just paid me a compliment."

  "Look out, the world's ending," Zack whispered, while keeping a careful eye on the kitchen. Henry gave him a high-five.

  "You're telling me. He's not nice to anyone."

  I took a page from Jack's book and slapped the back of his head.

  "Ow!"

  "Cut your brother some slack," I started. "You think he enjoys being like this? He takes care of you two, watches over you, and he thin
ks the both of you hate him."

  Zack and Henry looked at each other, then down at the floor.

  "We don't hate him. He's just... not fun."

  I pinched Zack on the arm, and he squealed with pain.

  "Being the leader isn't supposed to be fun. It's a lot of responsibility, being in charge. You have to look out for everyone except yourself. You have to shoulder all the blame if something goes wrong. You have to make the hard decisions that no one else has to or wants to make. And because you guys left your pack, he has no one to discuss all of this with." I still remembered the first few years of becoming lieutenant, how I second-guessed myself on every decision to the point of paralysis. The others had started to question whether I was fit for the job if I couldn't get anything done. It had taken a lot of self-evaluation and talking to someone to realize that I just needed to get the job done instead of thinking of the perfect way to do it.

  "That's horse crap, he can talk to us," Henry said snidely, as he rubbed his head.

  "You're his brother, but you're not his equal. I'm sorry, but that's just how it is. You're all about having fun and doing whatever you want. Jack doesn't have that luxury."

  They were stunned in to silence and looked a little humbled as well on hearing what their brother went through by himself. But they remained, staring into the fire, not knowing if there was anything they could say to their brother to make up for their mistreatment of him. I didn't know if there was anything they could say besides ‘I'm sorry.’ But I couldn't tell them that; this was their own situation that they needed to sort out.

  They were still silent by the time Jack called us in for dinner. The wafting smells were even better than the stew I had the previous night—which Zack admitted to making—and we each took turns dishing up our meal before returning to the living room. The air grew electric with the silence, no one knowing what to say to break it. Nerves were on fire and adrenaline was pumping. Jack seemed unaffected as he ate in silence, oblivious to the conversation that had taken place only a few minutes ago. Someone had to do something, or the tension was only going to get worse.

  "So, Jack, do you have a plan for tomorrow?" I finally asked. It wasn't the best topic of conversation, but it was better than nothing.

  "We make our way to the pack, figure out where the cubs are being held and head out there. With the numbers we have, we could easily create a distraction to get in and out before they know what's happening. That way, the cubs won't have to be in the middle of a fight. If everything goes well, of course."

  "Do we have a backup? Not that I'm saying your plan will fail, but it's good to have our bases covered."

  Jack seemed to think on it a while as he blew on his bowl of hot stew.

  "Does anyone have any suggestions?" He looked to his brothers, who stared at him dumbfounded. Apparently, he'd never asked for their ideas before tonight.

  The room was filled with the abundance of noise: ideas, suggestions, advantages and disadvantages, the chatter was welcoming and helped to break the ice. Not every idea was perfect, but at least Henry and Zack were a little more appreciative of hearing their ideas heard. Watching the three, they seemed a lot more like brothers now instead of two soldiers and their boss.

  But all this talking about the war—its past and current state—didn't lead the conversations in a positive direction. Ideas became speculation. We all hated the bears for what they had done and continued to do, but none of us could remember how this war had started exactly. That story was much too old, and not even our grandparents knew the truth.

  We shared our tales of our first adventures into the war when we became old enough, as well as those stories of those we had lost along the way. The animated air of the room became more somber, then dreadfully quiet. We all knew that any of us could die tomorrow, or all of us if everything went belly-up.

  I leaned against the arm of the sofa once I was done with my meal and hugged my knees to my chest. The fire crackled and another log splintered in half, sending a small plume of ashes to the outer edges of the fireplace. Zack curled up against my side, his head resting on my shoulder. He was tentative in his movements and even looked up at me for approval, which I gave.

  "You're worried about tomorrow, aren't you?" he asked, and placed his empty bowl atop mine on the table.

  "Don't be daft, we all are." Henry finished his bowl next and took the arm of the chair, where he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and winked. "Course, I know a great way to help you feel better."

  "You never let up, do you?" Jack lightly smacked him on the back of the head and gathered the bowls to take to the kitchen. Henry rubbed at the sting but didn't seem too offended. He'd been hit there too many times today.

  "Oh, please, like you haven't thought about taking her in the shower and—"

  "Enough!" Jack barked, though his face was quite red. The rest of us laughed. We continued like that for a while, with insinuations and jokes and mild flirting that made the room feel a lot warmer than it really was. Jack continued to deny every single one; Henry only thrived with the attention; Zack was the most bashful and although he didn't deny any of it, he constantly hid his face from view.

  I felt at ease, more than I had felt in a long time, and allowed the feeling of comfort to wash over me.

  "I just want to say... whatever happens tomorrow... thank you for saving me the other day. And I am going to do my best to help and not be a burden when we search for the cubs from both our packs." I closed my eyes.

  I felt them near, their arms sliding around me in a hug. I was surprised by the gesture, but I didn't dare to open my eyes for fear that the tears would slip down my cheeks. I just wanted to savor this moment and remember it for the rest of the night.

  "Thank you, Mia. For talking to us when we needed it. For just... being here. I wish the circumstances could have been better, but..."

  "You don't have to say anything else. You're welcome. And thank you."

  We sat like that for some time; Henry was the first to break the group hug.

  "All right, all right, enough of this mushy stuff." He pretended to look disgusted.

  "He's right, we're getting up bright and early in the morning, so you should all get a full night of sleep." Jack said from the kitchen. Zack was the only one left, and he found the bravery to return the kiss to my cheek from earlier.

  "Thank you, Mia," he whispered before disappearing upstairs.

  "Night, Zack."

  Tomorrow was going to be a long and hard day, but I wouldn't want to take on a territory of bear shifters with anyone else by my side.

  8

  I took the time to shower to wash the sweat off my skin and slipped on a fresh t-shirt. It had appeared on my bed while I was in the shower. I crawled into the cool sheets once I was dry. I left my door open on purpose so that I could hear the first signs of someone awake once dawn broke. I listened to the last cracks of the fire as it died, counted each one in my head until I could feel my eyelids growing heavy. Only when I couldn't hear anymore did I finally close them and welcome the embrace of sleep.

  The silence, though comforting, was a bit jarring. I was used to sharing a room with at least three other people, listening to breathing, people turning in their sleep. In here, it was just too quiet. I tried to convince myself that it was nothing, that I just needed to settle in and adjust to my new circumstances. But the more I tried, the more difficult it became. No matter how many times I tossed and turned, no matter how heavy my eyes felt, I couldn't get comfortable enough to fall asleep. All I could think about was tomorrow, and whether I would fail these brothers as I had my friends. The faces of Taylor, Jacob, and Nate continued to flash through my mind whenever I closed my eyes, and I heard their screams of anguish right before they died.

  I tried another old trick I used to use to help me fall asleep: I pictured my favorite place. There was a ridge I enjoyed going to as a child. It was surrounded by thick tall pines, and I used to slide down the hill with my other playmates. We'd ta
ke turns seeing who could go the furthest down the hill without falling over. I never won, given I was the chubbiest kid, but that didn't make the experience any less fun. I pictured the blue skies overhead, the fresh smell of spring in the air as the pines shook loose the last vestiges of winter's snow. That was when nature itself became more lively, colorful. It was a restart to everything, like a chance to do better this time around to undo the mistakes of the yesteryear.

  And it started to work too... until I recalled the day they first brought Jacob into our pack. He was a scrappy kid but still pretty tall for his age. Being the newcomer and an orphan, it was easy for everyone to pick on him. But I didn't partake; I knew what it was like to experience adversity, never really fitting in because I was too curvy. Like I'd asked to be this way. So, I had extended an olive branch to him that day and taken him to my favorite place, so he could have one good moment for himself.

  The dream turned my stomach and stole away the first inkling of drowsiness from my body. I was never going to relax this way and staying in bed was not going to do me any good. I needed something to help take the edge off. I slipped out of bed and ventured downstairs to find something to drink. I was pretty sure I had spied a few beers in the back of the fridge earlier and figured the boys wouldn't mind if I took one for myself.

  I padded downstairs as quietly as I could so as not to wake up anyone else, but there wasn't much I could do about the squeaky wooden stairs. The fire in the living room had died, but there were still a few embers clinging to life, desperate for a little kindling and a puff of air to start going again.

  The clock on the fridge flashed 1:04 AM. I groaned; almost two hours of trying to get to sleep, and there was only four hours left until dawn. I pushed aside the mountains of meat and the leftover stew to find the treasured prize, only to find that one of the cans was already open and half-empty. Disappointed, I left the can and turned to the cupboard to look for something more interesting.

  "Can't sleep, kitten?"

  I probably jumped about five feet in the air with my hands over my mouth to smother my scream. Henry stood there chuckling quietly to himself, pleased at the result of his sneaking.