by JK Cooper
“Evening, sir. Name?” the guard asked. He had a flashlight, black body armor and clothing, an M4 on a two-point sling, and a sidearm at his right hip. A Glock 22, if Shelby guessed it right.
“Grant and Shelby Brooks,” her dad answered. “Mr. Copeland is expecting us.”
The guard looked at the tablet in his hand, its backlight lighting up his face eerily. He tapped the pad a few times, then said something into his radio. When it squawked back, the guard said, “You’re good to go.”
Grant said, “Rangers lead the way.”
“Heard, understood, and acknowledged,” the guard answered.
Grant pulled forward as the gate opened.
“What was all that about?” Shelby asked.
“He was a Ranger.”
“How could you tell?”
“I can tell,” Grant said. “Lots of us go into private security after we leave the army.”
“What’s with the heard, understood, and whatever line?”
Grant said, “Rangers used to say ‘hooah’ a little, the phoneticized initials H U A for heard, understood, and acknowledged; but ever since that Black Hawk Down movie, we kind of moved away from it. They just overdid it for us. He was saying it without saying it. See his hardware?”
“M4 carbine, fixed angled front post iron site, keymod rails. Glock 22 at the hip.”
“Glock 17,” Grant corrected. “But very good. You were close.”
“What do you have on you?” She knew her dad always carried something.
“Glock 19. But, that’s not going to do us a lot of good if things don’t go as planned.”
“Do you think—”
“No, I don’t. But I’m cautious.”
Beautifully designed hedges flanked the private road as they drove up the hill. Yard lights began to glow even though the sun was just starting to set.
“So, this guy is . . . loaded,” Shelby said. She took in the exquisite landscape and felt like she had entered an environmental preserve.
“Always have a bullet in the chamber, Shel.”
“No, I meant this Copeland guy, not the security guard. He’s loaded. Rich.”
“Net worth near or at $1 billion.”
“That’s, like, crazy money, right?”
“To us, you bet.”
“Why does he live here, then?” Shelby asked. “Why not some place in the Hamptons? Or even Dallas?”
“His pack,” Grant said. “The city packs have a very different view of things, your mother said. Much less accepting and a more rigid hierarchy. They can be more abusive.”
“But the big city would be fun for a change, right?”
“We can’t risk it,” Grant said. “For your sake as well as mine.”
They arrived in front of the house, and two valets opened their doors.
“Welcome to Copeland Manor,” the one who opened Shelby’s door said. “Please enjoy your stay.”
Shelby and Grant walked to the front entrance then waited as a servant opened the magnificent double doors that resembled something from a medieval fortress. He motioned them inside.
Her dad put his hand on the small of her back and whisked her inside. Shelby’s heels clapped loudly on the marble floor. The floor had a beautiful inlaid design: a shield with two thick red horizontal lines intersected by a diagonal black line. The crest reminded her of the “does not equal” sign from Algebra II, except for the knight’s helm at the top, and spanned wider than she was tall. Beyond that, a spiral staircase led up to a loft that looked down upon the entryway.
“Seriously?” Shelby said.
Grant leaned in. “It’s the Copeland family crest, I’m sure.”
“How many kids do they have? I mean, this place has to have like ten bedrooms.”
“Seventeen,” answered a kind, deep voice. The man entered from the right. He wore gray slacks and cuff links that had light blue stones in the middle. No tie or jacket. A full head of salt-and-pepper hair was neatly kept in a conservative cut, brushed over to one side.
His smile was quite the opposite of his home/Marriot hotel: welcoming like his voice, not imposing. He stood nearly as tall as Grant but was less impressive physically.
“Mr. Copeland,” her father said, walking forward with an extended hand. “So nice of you to have us in your home. Thank you.”
Elias took Grant’s hand.
He turned his gaze to Shelby. “And this, I presume, is your lovely daughter, of whom we spoke earlier today.”
Elias took her hand. “A pleasure.”
Then Elias stopped and sniffed the air sharply. “Ah. You won’t need that, but I don’t blame you for bringing it.”
The pistol, Shelby realized. He can smell the gunpowder or the gun lube. Or both. She realized she could as well, the gun powder’s slight acrid tincture especially.
Grant looked downcast. “I meant no offense, Mr. Copeland. It’s just—”
“No, no, it’s fine. I know your previous experience. I take no offense.”
Shelby and Grant followed him into a dining room that must have been out of a travel magazine showcasing a castle from France.
Shelby mouthed to her father, “He’s a werewolf?”
He leaned in close to her. “Not what you were expecting?”
“It’s a bit lavish, I admit,” Elias said. “We don’t use the formal dining hall except on very special occasions.”
“Mr. Copeland, you really shouldn’t have—” Grant started but Elias interrupted him.
“Elias is just fine. And, yes, we really should have. This is an exciting night. Ah, may I present my wife, Gennesaret.”
A beautiful middle-aged woman arose from an equally splendid chair—more of a throne, Shelby thought, with its dark wood and white marble inlays—and came around to greet them. Dark slacks, obviously tailor-made, met a simple sleeveless ivory blouse. An emerald pendant and matching earrings contrasted against her fine ebony hair that showed the faintest signs of silver at her temples. A slender face and naturally rosy lips—some women had all the luck—smiled graciously.
“Welcome,” she said to both, her voice quiet and refined. “I hope you enjoy our time together.”
“Thank you,” Shelby and Grant said in unison.
Grant added, “We’re honored to be here.”
Gennesaret looked meaningfully at Shelby. Her stare was kind and motherly, but stern. “It is we who are honored to have you here.”
Shelby felt a deeper meaning from Gennesaret’s words. What did Dad tell Elias earlier today? She had no doubt that her “unique standing,” as he often called it, came up. Truthfully, she didn’t really understand what that meant, and doubted her dad did either. Just because she manifested late? Didn’t that make her the runt of the litter?
They approached the table and each place setting was beautifully appointed. Shelby noted the simple elegance, not overboard or gaudy. She ran a finger down the handle of a butter knife, tracing the design of blades of grass etched into the metal. Not silver. Could you imagine the irony? Pewter, Shelby thought. I bet even the silverware is custom made. Gold rimmed, the china with blue images—flowers and houses and horse-drawn carts—made Shelby squint as she tried to see all the detail.
“From Holland,” Gennesaret said. “A client of Elias’s owns a shop there.”
“Are we missing someone?” Grant asked.
A fifth place setting sat vacant.
“Our son,” Elias said. “He had a prior engagement but will be along shortly, I’m sure. Please, let’s be seated.”
Elias’s words felt like a command to Shelby, and she found herself wanting to obey. An unmistakable charisma attended Elias, that mantle so easily discernible among leaders, power worn lightly but with complete confidence. Presence. There was no other description that came to Shelby’s mind as she stared at him. Even that caused her discomfort, and she averted her eyes.
Shelby sat on the far side of the table and she noted that her father took the opposite end of Elias’s
position. Always thinking tactically. She knew her father couldn’t help it, and she was definitely grateful for it.
“Now,” Elias said, placing an elegant cloth napkin on his lap, “tell us, how have you taken to Lansborough?”
Shelby and Grant each took their turns in talking about their experiences since getting to Lansborough, including today’s events at the high school with Chelsea and Sean, though Shelby downplayed those last interactions.
“Ah, the Gittrik kids,” Elias said. “You couldn’t find a more opposite example of personalities among siblings, could you? Do you know that every election, Mayor Gittrik sends Chelsea over here to tell me they’re looking forward to my support? It’s not even a request. I used to think it was cute, but well . . . ”
Two servers entered the dining hall from doors behind her dad that she thought were part of the wall. So cool! But she saw her dad stiffen slightly when he sensed people behind him.
It’s alright, Dad. Was it alright? She did feel moderately relaxed here, bordering on safe.
A wonderful aroma of sautéed vegetables and some kind of meat filled the air. And fresh bread! Shelby’s mouth watered. One of the servers set a plate of braised lamb chops, steaming squash, a roll with a perfectly crisped top, and a bowl of some kind of creamy soup before her.
She licked her lips and slyly darted her eyes toward Elias.
“Don’t wait on me, Shelby,” Elias said. “Dig in.”
Not slyly enough, apparently. Why did she feel the need for his approval already? Runt of the litter, that’s why.
She took her first bite and the lamb seemed to melt in her mouth.
“Wow,” she said when she had swallowed. “That is so good.”
“Wait until you see what’s for dessert,” Gennesaret said.
“With all due respect, Mr. and Mrs. Copeland, we aren’t here to compare recipes,” Grant said.
“We’d lose,” Shelby said. “Forgive my dad. He’s a little on edge. We both are, I guess.”
“Why?” Gennesaret asked.
Grant took the napkin from his lap and wiped the corners of his mouth.
“You mentioned troubles with another pack earlier in my office,” Elias said.
Grant stood up. “At the risk of being rude and indecent, let me show you.”
He took off his sports coat, untucked his shirt, which exposed his pistol, and lifted the shirt over his head. Shelby watched the Copelands carefully, but they didn’t react with the slightest bit of discomfort. Grant turned and exposed his back. From his right shoulder blade, down across his ribs to the front of the right pelvis, streaked four deep purple lines. Scar tissue.
“Who?” Gennesaret asked.
“Pack outside Odessa,” Shelby said as her dad put his shirt back on. “My mother’s former pack.”
“The Alpha’s named Nicholas,” Grant said. “My wife told me to seek them out if Shelby ever manifested. Had a promise of safe harbor among them. Things changed. The attack was . . . sudden.”
“Tobias’s pack?” Gennesaret asked quietly, looking to Elias.
“Tobias apparently is no more,” Grant said.
“But you survived,” Elias said.
“Escaped,” Grant corrected. “I killed two of them but Nicholas . . . Shelby shot him at least half a dozen times. I knew he wasn’t dead when we ran though, he was too injured to chase us.”
Grant was lying. At least, not telling the whole truth. Shelby felt the urge to speak up and correct him, but she resisted. Her dad probably had good cause to be cautious in how much he told. But Shelby again felt that there was more to the story, more than she could remember.
“So, you can shoot,” Elias said to Shelby.
She raised her eyes and met his but averted them quickly. “A little.”
“Very good to know,” Elias said.
“Nicholas is not the leader Tobias was,” Gennesaret said.
“You’ve had dealings with his pack?” Shelby asked.
“Not for some time, Shelby. Not since Tobias was beaten by Nicholas in a challenge. Nicholas is less open to outside pack influence.”
“Insecure leaders often are,” Elias said. He turned to Shelby. “And you? Were you hurt?”
Shelby shook her head.
Gennesaret said to Grant, “You were extremely lucky you were not bitten.”
Grant shrugged. “Still human as far as I can tell.”
“Many do not survive the transformation process, the venom in our fangs proving too much. But I somehow believe you would have survived.”
“I hope that’s not an invitation to try, Mrs. Copeland,” Grant said. “I sort of don’t mind being just human.”
Elias chuckled kindly. “We don’t usually go down that road, Grant. Changing humans to werewolves is not our goal. And, as Lycans, we are fully human, too.” He turned to Shelby. “And, Shelby, what happened to you during all this? You shifted, I presume?”
“I couldn’t,” she said, shame in her voice. She knew everyone could hear it. “I wanted to, but . . .”
“Shelby did not manifest until last year,” Grant said. “Before we went searching for a pack for her. It was during—well, I’m not sure I’m the one to explain it.”
“I was attacked,” Shelby said.
“Another werewolf?” Elias asked. “But your father said you were natural born.”
Shelby shook her head. “Not that kind of attack. A boy. Someone I went to school with. I thought I liked him and he . . . um . . .”
She put her hands in her lap, balling them into fists. You’re not this weak!
“He tried to take advantage of you,” Gennesaret said. She rose from her chair and came to put an arm around Shelby. She smelled like a field of jasmine in the spring.
“But, that was the first time you manifested?” Elias asked. “You’re, what, eighteen now?”
“Almost,” Shelby said. “I was sixteen when it happened.”
“You poor thing,” Gennesaret said, stroking her hair.
“Grant,” Elias said, “usually if our children don’t manifest at the early stages of puberty, they aren’t affected. And, I’m sorry to ask this, but under the circumstances, I feel I must. A Lycan manifesting at the later stages of puberty is atypical, to say the least. Compounding that by the fact that only one parent was a Lycan makes it almost impossible. Are you sure you—”
“I am her father,” Grant said firmly.
“I know you care for her deeply, and it’s obvious you would do anything to protect her, but are you absolutely positive that you are the biological father?”
“Without any doubt, Elias.”
Shelby had to admit it was something that she had wondered about half a dozen times since manifesting, but no more than a few seconds each time.
“You understand,” Elias said, “I’m not in any way trying to be rude, but we’re dealing with several extremely rare instances here.”
“But not impossible instances,” Gennesaret said.
Elias and his wife stared at each other for an intense moment before Elias nodded.
“Omega,” Elias said to Shelby. “If what you say is true, then you are an Omega.”
“It must be,” Gennesaret agreed.
Grant nodded. “I am no expert, but I was married to a werewolf, a secret I always kept with complete fidelity. From what I know, I suspected Shelby must be an Omega.”
“You thought I was an Omega?” Shelby asked.
“Unique standing, Shel.”
“It’s why the pack outside Odessa tried to kill your father and take you,” Elias said. “They must have known somehow. It makes more sense now.”
“No, that was different. It was my wife’s former pack, and there was history there that I had foolishly believed might not matter anymore.”
“What’s so special about an Omega?” Shelby asked.
“They are very sought after,” Gennesaret said.
“But why?” Shelby asked.
“Because, young one, Om
egas can complete packs. Bring peace and a sense of fulfillment to everyone in the pack. Packs with Omegas often survive longer.”
“That also makes them targets by hunters,” Grant said. “A way to divide and weaken a pack.”
Shelby narrowed her eyes slightly at her father’s words. Why would he say something like that? Or even know that? Well, he was married to a werewolf, she reasoned. If he had suspected she was an Omega, it made sense why he was always in “super-dad” mode. He had definitely been more chill before she had manifested.
Elias did not respond to Grant but instead leaned back in his chair, staring at nothing while he rubbed his chin, obviously deep in thought. Gennesaret took a small sip of wine from her glass.
“There’s a legend,” Elias said, “that discusses the completion of a pack, one that has an Omega who blossoms in summer rather than spring. The pack that has such an Omega would experience greater unity and power than otherwise possible and would rise to lead the disparate packs of the earth.”
“Okay,” Shelby said slowly.
“Yeah, it’s just a legend, but many believe it,” Elias said. “Many seek that prowess among us. There have been others, packs I mean, who have claimed to have this sought-after Omega but nothing has ever come of it other than strife and death.”
Gennesaret looked at Elias. “The Advent?”
“No,” Elias said. “Unrelated.”
“The Advent?” Grant asked, beating Shelby to the question.
“There’s another part of that legend,” Gennesaret said. “But it cannot be. They—”
She cut off. “I feel the presence of our son. He is home,” she said to Elias.
He nodded. “He just pulled into the garage.”
Shelby felt more than heard that nearly imperceptible whoosh of slight air pressure change found when a door is opened.
Immediately, that feeling that had come upon her when leaving the high school earlier came back to her. A warmth in her chest spread throughout her limbs, and things around her appeared brighter, their gleam deeper. A deep exhale escaped her lips, followed by a sharp intake that she held. Faster, her heart beat faster, but not out of fear or anxiety. An ache welled up inside her, one that she didn’t know she had been feeling her entire life; a lost, orphaned planet that had finally found its warm, life-giving sun.