A Very Alpha Christmas

by Anthology

  “Chill, Stumpy,” Kevin mocked. “Your precious wercher-whatsis shit is just fine.”

  “Worcestershire sauce.”

  “You’re the only person on the planet who can say that right.”

  “Part of the job.”

  Kevin snorted. “Cook.”

  Lee raised his eyebrow. “Chef.”

  “Chopping onions is not a job. Anyone can do that.” He waved his hand in the air. “At least I still have—”

  Lee yelled back at the same time, the werewolf side of him chomping for a fight. Again. “If it’s so easy—”

  “Oh good grief, you two are at it already? It’s a week before Christmas.” Evelyn Reynolds-Langston glared at them as she shook the snow from her coat, and flicked icy flakes at each of them.

  “Six days,” Lee corrected.

  “Same difference,” Evelyn said. “What the hell happened?” she asked, crossing the kitchen to the plywood-covered door. She turned and glared at both of them. “Can’t you two get along for two weeks?”

  “What did you expect, Sis?” Kevin said, though he kept his glare on Lee.

  While they hadn’t come to blows again since the door incident, things still weren’t exactly pleasant between them.

  “We’ve never been able to live together.” Lee sat back down, his fists clenched, hiding his severed middle finger.

  His sister glared at Kevin, then turned and gave him the same sympathetic “my poor baby brother” look she’d given him all his life.

  Lee hated it.

  He went back to his knives.

  She tossed her wet coat on the kitchen chair. “Well, you don’t have much choice for the next two weeks.” Evelyn crossed to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of white wine.

  “I use that for cooking,” Lee said.

  “If it has alcohol in it, it’ll work,” Evelyn said.

  Kevin smirked. “In-laws get in?”

  “Oh God yes. All the more reason why I cannot handle you two fighting. I need a reprieve.” She popped the bottle open. “I may release my beast this Christmas, and I’m seriously not kidding.” She brushed her hair back and tied the long ends in a bun at the base of her neck. The move revealed her strong widow’s peak.

  All three of them were werewolves. Just like their mother.

  Kevin smirked. “Alpha David won’t like that.” Alphas were supposed to be these big, monstrous men, who ruled over the werewolf pack. Men who scared you when you got in trouble.

  Not the kid you used to play hide and stalk in the woods with.

  Their cousins, the Drigans, were the head of their werewolf pack, the Alpha passed down to David when his dad—Lee’s uncle—died last year.

  None of them spoke as they had a moment of respect for their deceased Alpha, and their new one, David.

  “So weird he’s the Alpha,” Lee said after a few moments. They all used to play basketball or tag over on their property all the time. “Are they coming for Christmas dinner too?”

  Evelyn shook her head. “We were invited over there, but I told Kelsey we couldn’t come because my in-laws were here from Michigan.” Evelyn’s husband’s family didn’t know she was a werewolf, and she didn’t plan on telling them.

  Family motto—tell no one about the mythical genes unless absolutely necessary. Like you’re going to marry them or something.

  “They would likely blow your cover,” Kevin laughed.

  “You be quiet, Mister ‘I won’t date anyone who’s not already a mythical.’ Sometimes, you don’t have a choice, when the beast picks someone.” Evelyn glanced at Lee.

  Lee grunted. His mate died eight years ago. In his arms. Since then, he’d pretty much given up on finding anyone—once the beast found its mate, that was it.

  No one else would ever work.

  Evelyn cleared her throat, and he met her gaze. Yeah, his situation sucked—he’d be the resident bachelor, but there had to be a couple in every family, right?

  He and his cousin Chase could prowl together. Chase hadn’t found a mate either. And to hear Chase tell it, he didn’t want one.

  Evelyn sighed. “So what are we doing for dinner, anyway? That’s why I came over, to help you with the menu.”

  Lee laid down his knives and slid them back into their case. “Well, I’ve been thinking about that.”

  “Oh God, he’s thought of a theme,” Kevin said.

  “He’s the food expert,” Evelyn said. “He would be the one to pick something. He did go to cooking school.”

  “Culinary school.” Lee said.

  “Whatever.”

  He clenched his teeth and decided changing the subject would be better than reminding his sister culinary school was much more than cooking. “So I thought we’d have an old fashioned, traditional dinner. Just like Grandma used to make.”

  Evelyn raised her eyebrow. “Really? I figured you’d want to do something fun, like the last couple of years.”

  Lee shrugged. After Grandma died a few years back, they’d tried several holidays doing non-traditional dinners. At least, non-traditional for them. One year, they had Mexican for Christmas dinner, and the next, instead of turkey and all the trimmings, they had a brisket. One year, they even tried Italian.

  “I miss the traditional,” Lee said. The more he thought about the coming Christmas dinner, the more he craved some of Grandma’s usual dishes. She always made the same ones, and they hadn’t eaten them since she died.

  “Do you even know how to make them?” Kevin asked.

  Lee shrugged. “They can’t be that hard.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised,” Evelyn said. “I’ve tried making several of Grandma’s old recipes, but I could never actually make them, you know, edible.” She shivered.

  “How can you make her recipes?” Lee asked. Evelyn—unlike Grandma, whom she was named after—had never been a very good cook.

  “I have that old cookbook. The red and white checkered one? With all the writing in it?”

  Lee sat up straighter. “When did you get it?” That book, at least to him, was the Holy Grail of Grandma’s stuff—it was probably seventy years old or older, and it housed all of the original recipes, the ones he’d learned on. Hell, the ones Grandma learned on.

  Lee had looked everywhere for it after she’d died. After all, his passion for cooking came from Grandma. He would spend hours in the kitchen with her, helping her make all sorts of food.

  When she started getting older, and it was harder for her to make everything by herself, he’d help her prepare the big family meals.

  So when he couldn’t find her cookbook, it had broken his heart. He thought it had been sold in the estate sale.

  “I’ve had it. I think someone thought, since I’m named after Grandma, I’d want it,” Evelyn said.

  “Yeah, because you’re such a good cook,” Kevin added.

  Evelyn snorted. Because she wasn’t. She barely knew the difference between a steak knife and a butcher knife.

  Give the woman a spreadsheet and she was all over it. Hand her a recipe card, and she became a deer in headlights.

  Lee didn’t want to completely freak out, but he felt a weight lift from his chest, a sadness he didn’t realize he’d carried all these years, thinking the book was lost.

  Keep it cool, dude. Your sister already thinks you’re nuts over the cooking thing…

  “Can I have it?” he asked, his voice low and quiet.

  Evelyn blinked. “Sure. I’ll bring it by.” She took a sip on her wine. “Gah, this is dry.”

  He raised his eyebrow. “I told you, I cook with it. It’s not your usual sweet wine.”

  She shrugged and took another sip.

  “Thought you didn’t like it,” Kevin said.

  “Didn’t say I wouldn’t drink it.” She gestured to his beer. “It’s better than that piss you’re drinking.”

  Lee laughed, feeling better than he had in years about the coming holidays.

  4

  Four days before Christmas<
br />
  Lee peeled off his winter coat, and then his chef jacket, leaving him in a tee shirt and his slacks. The restaurant had been brutal tonight. Old Man Winter decided to dump another foot of snow on the ground yesterday, and while the main roads were pretty much clear now, several of the kitchen staff had called in, forcing him to scramble to get everything done.

  He seriously needed to hire some new people who wanted to work. Being a sous chef sounded super fancy, but working for a small restaurant in Liverly, more often than not it had him making schedules and doing paperwork on top of the cooking.

  Someone had to plan who worked where every night. Even when employees called in sick.

  He put his knife case down on the coffee table. Exhaustion prevented him from noticing what else was laying there.

  At first.

  The familiar red and white checkered book sat there, a piece of paper on top. He picked up the scrawled note from his sister, whose handwriting barely resembled a legible language.

  Found the book and this. Maybe you can do something with it?

  E

  He stared long and hard at the items, then ran his hand over his face.

  “I’ll be damned,” he muttered as he picked up the painted metal box. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw that recipe box.

  The frame was not completely aligned—dents where it had been hammered were visible, marring the paint.

  He ran his fingers over the metal, tracing the painted pattern which had to be at least fifty years old. He was shocked most of the colors were still so vibrant. White with those fifties colors—mint green, turquoise, pinks and yellows. It probably cost nothing way back when his grandmother bought it, but what was inside was priceless…

  The hinge was stiff as he raised the lid. Just opening it, he could almost feel Grandma—or rather, the energy that was always in her kitchen—surround him as he examined the contents.

  There was always this vibe in Grandma’s kitchen when she cooked. She would laugh and talk, like she had a team of chefs in the room with her as she worked.

  He’d always wondered if Grandma was drinking too much of the cooking wine, because only when she cook, she’d revert to being a twenty-year-old.

  She’d always said the cooking brought out her youth.

  Maybe that’s why Lee loved it—the cooking brought him back to a happier place. A younger place. A place where mates didn’t die.

  Even after his hard day at work, having the little box in his hand made him want to cook.

  He brushed off the thoughts as he examined what was in the box, or rather, what wasn’t. It housed a few of old recipe cards, stained around the edges, and in the back were blank cards, just as old looking, the paper having a bit of a yellowish tint.

  He flipped through the section tabs and felt drawn to the cards, almost like a swish of air across his face.

  The handwriting varied on the recipe cards. He smirked when he spotted his own blocky handwriting on couple he’d written for Grandma. Even some had been written by his sister, but the recipe was unable to be read, her handwriting so bad.

  “Well, guess I won’t be using that one,” he muttered to himself.

  “Which one?” came a woman’s voice.

  Lee jumped.

  There, standing in his living room, was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  Well she would have been, if she wasn’t so translucent.

  5

  Ruthie Martin stared at the man across from her. She knew those eyes—they were the color of a good cognac. But what were they doing looking at her? Why was he able to see her?

  Only Evelyn could.

  That was the way it was supposed to be, correct? She tried to remember—it felt like it had been a long time since she’d been out. She couldn’t be sure.

  She took a step toward the man. “Bob? Where’s Evelyn?” She started looking around for her friend. It had been a while since she’d seen Evelyn Reynolds, but surely she was around. “What are you doing with Evelyn’s recipes?” She reached out to snatch the box from his hand.

  Her fingers passed right through his as he pulled the box in close.

  He was much taller than Bob ever was.

  Wait. Something wasn’t right.

  “What the hell is going on?” he bellowed.

  She rubbed her temples. “Really, Bob, just give it back to Evelyn.” She reached for the box again, unable to grab it. What in the world? Her head felt dizzy. Was this normal? She couldn’t remember. Why was everything so fuzzy and strange?

  This didn’t even look like Evelyn’s home.

  And there was Bob, holding her recipe box, staring at her.

  Something was off.

  He turned, holding the box tight in his fingers…

  One short finger.

  And then it dawned on her, a singular memory, suddenly crisp and clear. She covered her mouth. This wasn’t Bob at all. While he had the same eyes, and similar facial structure, it wasn’t the son Evelyn raised.

  “And quit calling me Bob. I’m not my father,” he snapped.

  It was Lee, Evelyn’s grandson, who held her recipe box. One of the werewolves. Oh, she knew all about them—Evelyn had told her about Bob marrying the werewolf girl, and how all their children would be wolves.

  Evelyn had always thought it was marvelously funny. She adored those rambunctious grandchildren.

  But apparently those children were no longer kids…

  Ruthie glanced around the room. While the Christmas tree shone with Evelyn’s decorations, this wasn’t her house. Ruthie knew, because she’d been in Evelyn’s house for over seventy years and Ruthie knew her friend. Evelyn hated wood paneling, and this old place was covered in it.

  How long had it been since she’d seen Evelyn? Lee certainly wasn’t a grown man the last time she’d seen him—he’d only been a teenager, hadn’t he?

  “What is going on?” she whispered more to herself than to him.

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” Lee said. “What are you?”

  She blinked. “A girl.”

  He shook his head. “Not what I meant.”

  “Where’s Evelyn?” She had to get to the bottom of this, and without Evelyn, she wouldn’t ever be free again. Panic welled in her chest.

  If something had happened to Evelyn, then it was over.

  Malik would have won.

  Lee’s voice, a different timbre than his father’s—stronger, more gravelly—jarred her from the panic. For the moment, anyway. “Tell me who you are, and I’ll tell you where my sister is.”

  The fog in her brain began to lift, and little details were becoming crisper again. “That’s right, Evelyn’s granddaughter was named after her. She was so proud of that.” She smiled to herself, glancing around the room, but she turned her gaze back to him.

  She had to get this sorted and quickly. Time was of the essence. If the decorations were up, then there wasn’t much time to get cooking.

  “How do you know?” Lee asked.

  She also needed to deal with Lee. “Where is your grandmother, Lee Donovan Reynolds?” Ruthie crossed her arms, trying really hard to glare up at this very fetching man—up being the optimum word—he was almost a head taller than she was. She even started tapping her foot, because her mother always had when her patience was wearing thin.

  And Ruthie needed to speak to Evelyn, to find out how long it had been, and what she was doing here.

  Not stare at Lee, no matter that he’d grown up to be such a handsome man.

  “How the hell do you know my middle name?”

  “I’ve known you since you were born.” She forced herself to take a breath. A lady didn’t raise her voice. Instead she squared her shoulders and looked Lee in the eye. “Now, where is Evelyn?” She’d never really had to deal with any of the kids or grandkids before. At least not directly. She didn’t think she could, to be honest.

  Well, there was that one time. And that hadn’t turned out well.

 
So she stayed away from Evelyn’s family.

  “You don’t look old enough,” Lee muttered and ran his hands over his head. “Tell me your name. Are you a ghost or something?”

  Ruthie looked down at herself. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry.” She spun around and became corporeal—able to touch things. Her mind was so foggy, she had forgotten she hadn’t fully manifested from the box.

  Spinning was only a bonus—she didn’t actually have to, but twirling always felt good, especially when her dress swished against her legs. She smoothed the fabric down and crossed back toward Lee.

  She held out her hand. “I’m Ruthie Martin. I’m a friend of Evelyn’s. We go, how do you say it? Way back?” She smiled at him, trying to alleviate his obvious trepidation, but truly what could she do? After all, she’d not meant to scare him.

  He accepted her hand. “Uh-huh.”

  She grinned, hoping to smooth things over. What had her mother always told her? A smile would get her anywhere, if she used it right. And she needed to know what was going on. She must have been in the box far longer than ever before.

  No other reason why her head was so foggy this time.

  “Now, please, can you tell me what is going on?”

  He gestured around the room. “Christmas is coming. I got out this box to find recipes for the holiday meal, and you showed up, looking for my grandmother.”

  Ruthie nodded. “Well, Evelyn can explain more about me. I will help you cook. I have all the recipies.”

  “You’re a ghost of the cook book?”

  “The recipe box, actually.”

  He nodded very slowly, and moved away from her. “I hate to tell you this, but Grandma’s dead. She died three years ago.”

  “Oh my goodness!” Ruthie covered her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. “How long have I been in there?” She patted her brow, and for the first time in her life—and what an odd life it had been—she truly felt like she was going to faint. Her head swam, and she staggered.

  Evelyn had been her chance.

  Now it was gone.

  Just…

  Gone.

  Tears poured down Ruthie’s face, and she covered her eyes. Mourning her friend’s death, and with her death, the only shot Ruthie had to get out of the darn recipe box.