by Noah Harris
“Uhh, yeah?” Dean replied, flushing a little because he had no idea what had been said.
Katarina smiled, “I asked if you were ready for all of this. Mother and Father aren’t going to be ready to see the two of you just yet, but . . . well, you can see how much of an attraction you two are already.”
“And here I thought I was missed,” Mikael grunted, looking about, “any idea when they’ll be calling on us?”
Katarina shrugged once more, patting Mikael’s arm, “You know them, in their own time. Might as well take him by your place. He should at least know where he can safely run to if someone tries to pounce on him.”
As she turned and walked away, Dean glanced to Mikael, “Uhh, she was kidding about the pouncing thing, right?”
She paused, glancing over her shoulder, “You better hope so.”
chapter
Seven
Mikael’s place wasn’t much more than a small building shoved to the edge of the space that made up The Grove. It was certainly a quiet little place, far enough away from the little hustle and bustle a few dozen people could make. He was pretty sure there were more than a dozen people living in the area, but he wasn’t really looking to take a population census either.
“Home sweet home,” Mikael sighed, moving toward the door.
“Would have thought you’d be living in the big ass place where your parents are,” Dean pointed out. Okay, the building he was talking about wasn’t really that big. Just big in comparison to everything else in the area. It was certainly noticeable, seeing as how it was both older and more decorated than most of the other buildings around it.
“If I was willing to just barge in and crash at your place to avoid them, what makes you think I would have been willing to live with them when I was actually here?”
“Aww, thanks baby,” Dean retorted dryly, “you sure know how to make a guy feel special.”
Mikael glanced at Dean as he opened the door, the corner of his mouth twisting ever so slightly upward, “I’m sure I can find a way or two that’ll make you feel special.”
Even with everything going on, Dean could still feel his body react to the less than subtle promise. Instead of giving into temptation and letting Mikael win that little battle, he turned his attention to his surroundings. The place was spacious, though not huge, with a small nook to the side for a basic kitchen, a living room with a hearth, and a doorway that Dean was sure would lead to the bedroom.
“Hell, there’s no indoor plumbing, is there?” Dean asked, the idea suddenly hitting him.
“Naw,” Mikael laughed, “but we have ways around that, don’t worry. You can still be clean and all that.”
“Ugh, I’m going to have to boil my own bath water aren’t—” He paused in his grousing as he eyed the naked wooden beam near him, tracing his fingers up its length as far as he could. His eyes followed it up to where it connected with other beams and then drifted to the stout furniture, created from solid wood save for the soft parts where people would sit.
“Babe?” Mikael asked, bending his head down to stare at Dean’ eyes.
Smiling, both because of his recognition of the workmanship all around him, and the fact that Mikael had called him a pet name, Dean looked up, “You made this place, didn’t you? The house and the furniture.”
Mikael looked around, laughing slightly, “You can tell?”
Dean nodded, “It totally has your style. I’m just embarrassed it took me this long to realize it.”
Mikael seemed to be fighting the urge to beam, failing eventually as he reached out to stroke Dean’s jaw, “Well, you get points for noticing, anyway. Never knew you paid that much attention to my work.”
It was Dean’s turn to look pleased and flushed, “I . . . pay attention to everything about you, Mikael.”
For the first time since their early morning wake up, Mikael’s face totally brightened, “Thank you, Dean.”
Dean’s face scrunched up, “For what?”
“For being you,” the larger man answered, stepping forward to wrap Dean up in a soft, if somewhat urgent kiss. Dean felt his own tension slide away at the press of Mikael’s body against his own, and the sparks that flew as their tongues collided. It was all too easy to see where this kiss was going, he could feel it in Mikael’s body, in the way his muscles tightened and seemed to push against him.
“Just couldn’t wait could you?” A wry voice asked, cutting through the moment.
Dean jumped, pulling back from Mikael in surprise. Artemis had apparently decided to pop in, not a total surprise, as Dean had thought she might show up at some point. She stood only a few feet from them, Apollo behind her, and silently watching them from near the door. Dean wasn’t sure how they had both managed to get in here without Mikael or himself realizing that they weren’t alone.
“Artemis,” Mikael replied, not looking the least bit abashed, “I thought you would wait until after I talked to Father and Mother before stopping in.”
“That would be my fault,” a soft, but sweet-sounding voice announced. Where everyone else in the room made Dean feel shorter than normal, the petite woman who stepped around Artemis made him feel positively tall. Though it seemed that grace came naturally to every werewolf he had met in some form, this woman was by far the most graceful. She seemed almost to dance as she stepped before them, gaze flickering between the two of them with solemn curiosity. He noted the shape of her face, the sharp line of her jaw, and the hazel eyes leaning towards yellow. It made him think of Katarina’s eyes, and he realized this must be the other sister.
“Lucy,” Mikael replied, warming again as he stepped away from Dean to wrap the younger woman up in his arms. Her eyes closed as he surrounded her, her smaller arms getting as much of a grip as she could manage around him. Behind them, Artemis beamed, while Apollo looked as impassive as usual, though Dean noticed the quiet man was watching him more than he was watching Artemis.
After extracting herself from the hug, the smaller woman turned to Dean, holding a small hand out, “I am Lucille, his youngest sister.”
Dean blinked at her in surprise as he took her hand, finding the woman’s quiet and polite demeanor at odds with the others, “Dean, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She had the same watchful and intent stare that Apollo had, though she also seemed more open and earnest than he did. Having now met all three of the siblings, he wondered at the similarities and obvious differences between each of the werewolves he had met so far. Katarina had reminded him of Artemis, with the same energy and the same impression of restriction, as if both obeyed rules he couldn’t hope to understand. Lucille had already struck him as more like her cousin Apollo, lacking the energy and presence of her older siblings. Yet, he was suddenly certain that she held just as many secrets and mysteries as he sometimes sensed in Mikael.
“I wish I could say I’d heard a lot about you,” she began, her eyes moving to Mikael who shifted his weight under her gaze, “but sadly I haven’t.”
Dean shrugged, “Truth be told, I don’t know that much about you either. So, looks like we’re even.”
“Mmm,” she hummed, “I apologize for interrupting. But I’ve not seen my brother in weeks, that and . . . I wished to meet the man who is helping to cause so much trouble around here.”
Dean blinked again, unsure of what to say about that, “Not my intention, I promise.”
She smiled softly, “No, perhaps not. My brother has never truly intended to cause trouble either, yet here he is, causing it again.”
Her tone was hard to gauge, and her face gave almost nothing away. Where Mikael evaded notice by simply hiding behind a mask of playfulness and humor, Lucille used an unreadable, expressionless mask. Mikael was uncomfortable, but Dean didn’t know if it was because of what she was saying, or because he thought that she disapproved. Family dynamics were bad enough when you were a part of them, even worse when you were an outsider lacking any real knowledge of the situation.
“So
metimes a little trouble is a good thing,” Dean responded, not liking the discomfort he kept seeing on Mikael’s face, “he should be allowed to be happy, after all.”
“Here, here,” Artemis intoned from her spot in the room, eyeing Dean with obvious and open approval.
Lucille eyed him again, apparently taking stock of his words and of him. Again, he couldn’t figure out what was going on in her head, able to glean nothing from her neutral expression and piercing gaze. He was starting to find being under her intense scrutiny more than a little uncomfortable. Knowing where the woman stood when it came to this would have been nice, but she obviously wasn’t giving anything away.
“Duty, or personal happiness?” she asked, when she finally spoke. “Which is more important?”
Dean didn’t hesitate, speaking the words that his grandfather had used so many years ago. Words he had come to realize were true, “Doing what’s right for you is the most important. Some people might say duty, but I’ve always felt that duty is a hollow word when it’s forced on you by others.”
“Even when it’s for the betterment of the group?” Her tone was still neutral, and softly spoken.
Dean shrugged, “Isn’t the group supposed to be for the betterment of the individuals in it? If the person is bound to care for the group, the group is also bound to care for the person. This group wants him to do what’s right by them, in their minds anyway, but they aren’t willing to do what’s right by him.”
Lucille watched him for a moment in silence before nodding, and looking to Mikael, “He certainly has some spirit.”
To Dean’s surprise, it was Apollo who snorted, his deep voice filling the room even though he spoke softly, “He faced down Dante with a stick and a necklace, because the oaf attacked his dog. I wouldn’t say he was lacking for spirit.”
Surprised at the comment from the man, Dean looked to Lucille, who smiled softly, “As I recall, the dog did attack him first.”
“Yes,” Apollo agreed, in a voice just as even as her own, “I believe that was the story. A mixed breed dog against one of us in our True form, a very even fight. It is not unreasonable that the dog would defend both its territory and its master.”
“And the master defended it in turn,” Lucille finished, her tone still seeming neutral, though Dean could sense something else beneath it.
“Er, True form?” Dean asked, glancing to Mikael with a questioning look on his face.
Mikael grunted, “Some of us feel that our wolf form is the purest shape. They think the human form is corrupt, or weak. So they refer to the wolf form as the ‘True’ form. For others, it’s just a matter of habit, calling it that.”
“Oh,” was all he could manage in reply, idly wondering which of those camps Apollo belonged to.
“Well,” Lucille resumed, now watching Mikael with more warmth in her face than before, “I certainly understand what you see in this one Mikael. I just hope that spirit lasts, for your sake at the very least.”
“You worry too much,” Mikael told her, reaching out to grip her arm with a small smile.
“Someone has to worry about you,” her eyes found Dean’s, apparently seeing something there, “well, someone else in any case.”
Was that an insult? It was already feeling normal for him to find himself unable to figure out the meaning beneath her words. She had been riding the line between respect and disapproval for the entire conversation, and he couldn’t work out which side of the fence she was truly on. It almost seemed like she preferred it that way, which would make her the first werewolf he’d met who was fonder of games than was probably healthy.
“May Luna guide your way Dean, you will certainly need it,” she told him, before turning and leaving the cabin without another word or glance in their direction.
Silence hung over the room for a moment until Dean finally spoke, “Well, she’s . . . something.”
“She . . . means well,” Mikael responded quietly, staring at the door that Lucille had disappeared through.
“You mean, she doesn’t know which side to take,” Artemis responded with a faint snort.
Dean eyed her for a moment, cocking his head, “You don’t seem to agree with everyone else on this. So, why don’t you say anything?”
The other two men were silent as Artemis smiled sadly, “Well, I might be a big mouth, but I’m still a werewolf. Dean. We’re . . . people, but we still have the wolf inside of us.”
Dean cocked a brow, “Considering I’ve had one in my house for a couple of months now, I’ve noticed a few things.”
That brought an amused expression to her grave face, “Like?”
Mikael shifted next to him, probably trying to restrain himself, “Well, he hasn’t peed on anything to make it his, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Mikael groaned next to him as Artemis gave a bark of laughter and said, “Well, that’s good, can’t say I’ve seen any werewolf do that though.”
Dean shrugged, “Just some stuff I’ve noticed.”
“Secrets, secrets,” Artemis smirked. “Well, one thing you should know is that we aren’t big on going against our leaders without a good reason. Even me questioning them too much about a plan could be seen as a Challenge.”
Dean frowned, “I’m somehow sensing a capital letter on that word.”
Artemis nodded, “There are a few terms that mean the same thing, but Challenge will do. Basically, it’s you calling out the respective Alpha of your gender, and fighting them.”
“That’s . . . a thing for you guys? Fighting over a disagreement?”
Artemis looked uncomfortable, “It can be, depends on the pack.”
Dean blinked, “There’s more than you guys?”
Artemis turned to Mikael, “Have you told him nothing?”
“Some things,” Mikael mumbled, looking at Artemis with a pleading expression on his handsome face.
“Ugh,” she replied, waving him off. “You aren’t doing him any favors by keeping him out of the loop, Mikael.”
The man sighed, turning to look at Dean a little sheepishly, “There are packs all over the world, Dean. Not just the one here. We’re all a little different, but some things remain the same across most packs. Mother and Father are . . . well, they don’t really take too well to being questioned. The last person who questioned them too hard ended up being Challenged.”
“Which is where you fight the other person? Like, to the death?”
Mikael shrugged, “Not necessarily, unless it’s a really harsh challenge. It’s supposed to be until someone gives up or someone isn’t able to fight. But, sometimes it gets taken too far . . . and someone dies. It’s the risk you take when you Challenge someone.”
Dean frowned, “And let me guess, the last person who challenged your dad ended up dead?”
Mikael winced, “Like I said, it’s a risk you take.”
“Right,” Dean replied, knowing he sounded utterly convinced.
“We try to keep deaths low,” Mikael explained. “It’s not like there’s a whole lot of us to start with. Even if two werewolves have kids, those kids aren’t always going to be werewolves. Most of the people living here are Kin, people who have some of the blood in them, but aren’t actually full werewolves.”
“So,” Dean jumped in, “they carry the gene or set of genes, but it hasn’t been activated. They’re breeding stock.”
Artemis snorted, “Crude, but accurate. They are also family, so they’re more than that, but yeah, they hold the future of our race in their bodies, the same as we do. Still, like Mikael said, there aren’t a lot of us, so we kinda live within the rules as best we can. It’s better for us that way.”
“So, you all follow the rules. Rules that are meant to keep everyone in line, that are built on the idea that there are so few of you that the rules have to be followed to keep you strong.” Dean summed up, mostly to himself, he eyes turned to the ceiling in thought, “So, brute force intimidation from a position of power, and using the idea of commun
ity as a blunt weapon. I think I understand.”
Artemis stared, clearing her throat, “If you aren’t a fan, why bother coming?”
Dean jerked a thumb at Mikael, “Because of this one.”
Artemis looked at Mikael, “So, this meeting should be fun, eh?”
Before Mikael could answer, Dean turned away with a snort to explore what remained of the place, “You think this is bad? You should hear what I think about human politics.”
The three of them watched the Dean walk away, with varying levels of concern and amazement on their faces.
chapter
Eight
Dean was not as prepared for this as he would have thought he would be, that was for damn sure. While he had expected that meeting Mikael’s parents would be an awkward affair, he hadn’t expected it to be so . . . formal. It wasn’t quite as formal as some human ceremonies, but considering the rather spartan way that werewolves approached almost everything else, this was outright ostentatious.
When they had finally been summoned, the two of them had been directed to the large building that Dean had spotted before. The building had only a small entranceway that led into an open, surprisingly circular room. Two people sat on cushions on the far side of the room and Dean guessed that they were Mikael’s parents almost immediately. He didn’t miss the fact that there were no other cushions, which probably meant that they were to sit on the floor.
The seating was arranged around a circular pit, with fresh chopped wood laid carefully in the center. Considering the warm summer night, he was rather glad that they had decided not to light any fires in the enclosed space. One thing he had learned about werewolves after living with Mikael was that they gave off a lot of heat, even when in their human forms. Instead, lighting was provided by small torches attached to the support beams on the outside of the circle. Whatever lay beyond the curtained doorways on each side of the room remained a mystery to him.
The moment he saw Mikael’s parents, his mind started cataloguing their familiarity to the family members he had already met. Both sisters had their father’s almost yellow hazel eyes, though only Lucille demonstrated the same sharpness that now turned on Dean. It was also obvious that Mikael had inherited the man’s size, though his father was far larger and more imposing. What Dean could see of the man’s arms had scars in many places, and strong hands that bore their own scars now rested comfortably on his bent knees.