Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
I know what is required. Put the humans at ease. Speak their language. Convince them that we’re not so different after all.
Vinay tugs his sleeves and shifts in his chair. “Uh, yeah. Only been to the High Rise before.”
“You’ll have to take a boat out on the lake. Get a real sense of the place.”
“I—I will. Thanks.” He sips his water.
“What are you two talking about down there?” Mother calls.
She heard. We can hear Kenny chewing in the other room. The electricity humming in the walls. A fly fart. But for humans—we pretend.
“I was suggesting that Vinay take a boat out on the lake.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Mother purrs. “Do you fish?”
“I’m not sure if you could call it that.” Vinay flashes a self-deprecating grin. He knows what’s required of him, too.
Everyone laughs politely. Dinner is served. Conversation ranges in the usual directions—sport, wine, well-worn anecdotes about human-shifter miscommunication.
Father makes a show of pushing his scallops around his plate. He eats a forkful or two of the turmeric rice and asks our guests what they think of the avocado masala.
The Shahs rave about the coconut and tamarind sauce, but Mrs. Shah is doing some pushing of her own. The chef is experimenting again.
Has Rosie eaten?
I’ve reached in my pocket for my phone before I remember myself.
She’s fine.
Scavengers receive staples in their allotments. Yes, they’re always complaining that the food doesn’t stretch the whole week, but our nutritionists have run the numbers. It’s simply not true. It’s a scam. They want extra to trade.
But how do scavengers distribute their allotments?
I’ve honestly never thought about it.
They’re shifters, and they’re barely out of the dens. I suppose the strongest decide who gets what.
Rosie is soft and round. She doesn’t have the hard edge that her friend has, the female with the piercings who tried to take the blame for stealing my phone. That’s loyalty, and it’s rare, but it also suggests Rosie is weak, if she inspires that kind of protective instinct. That dumbass cousin looks out for her, too.
Do Rosie’s friends make sure she’s given enough to eat?
Is she hungry?
Fuck.
I slip my phone into my lap.
Does she have food?
No dots. What is Derwyn doing? This is unaccept—
Smells like stew from here. Some kind of water rodent. So yes?
I release the breath I was holding. Mother clears her throat. She’s glaring my way, eyebrow arched. I slide my phone away.
Oblivious, Mr. Shah lets out a well-fed sigh and drops his napkin next to his cleaned plate. “My compliments.”
Father inclines his head. The creases at the corners of his eyes are deepening, his face graying. He’s fading fast. He needs his shot.
“We hope you’re enjoying your stay at Moon Lake.” I take over the conversation, drawing attention to my end of the table.
“Very much.” Mr. Shah accepts a digestif from an attendant. “Our family is excited to join the community. It’s truly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I have to say—I expected something a little more—” He searches for a word.
“Exotic?” I suggest. With humans, we’re always “exotic” or “wild.”
Mr. Shah chuckles. “I would have said wild. The media would have us believe shifters live as wolves, running wild in the woods.” He gestures toward the Kandinsky and cocks a dark eyebrow.
“The truth is always less interesting, isn’t it?” That’s talking point number two in our PR packet. Talking point number one? Everything you’ve heard about shifters is exaggerated.
Both talking points are lies. Mr. Shah basically just described the Last Pack.
“On the contrary,” Mrs. Shah gushes. “Rahul and I have just been fascinated. The advancements you’ve made in fifty years. The harmony between the community and nature. The sustainable design. It’s remarkable.”
“We’re grateful to our human partners for what we’ve accomplished together in such a short period of time.” I repeat talking point number three by rote.
Uncle Alban covers a snort at the foot of the table with his napkin.
I plow ahead with talking point number four. “Shifters are cooperative by nature, so we’re able to implement change quickly. We pivot quickly, too.”
“Pivoting” is high value in the current marketplace according to my Human Business Jargon instructor.
Alban exhales gustily, blowing out his jowly cheeks. Mr. Shah glances his way. I grit my back teeth. I guess we’re going to have the usual family debate in front of our human guests.
“You disagree?” Mr. Shah’s eyes glint, his interest clear.
Shah runs an incubator with a combined value of three billion dollars. He’s not a stupid man, and he’s not about to ignore an insider hot to air dirty laundry.
“Shifters are competitive by nature. The strong rule. The weak are culled. We ‘pivot’—” Alban spits the word, “so well because we don’t carry dead weight.”
Mrs. Shah’s jaw drops, but she quickly covers her distaste with a bland expression. Brody mumbles his agreement, his mouth full.
“‘Culled’ is not the right word, Uncle.” I offer the Shahs an apologetic smile. “There are differences in nuance we still come across between our use of the language and your own. ‘Culled’ as my uncle uses it is closer to the word—” I search my memory of Human Linguistics. “Renovate. Or educate.”
It’s another bold-faced lie, but Mrs. Shah visibly relaxes.
At the head of the table, my father’s chest rumbles a warning. Alban eases back in his chair, smirking. “Oh, aye. We educate the scavengers. Cadoc himself goes to school with them. All sorts. Females, even. Eh, nephew?”
Brody stops chewing and smirks at me, a piece of scallop stuck on a partially descended incisor.
My muscles harden. My wolf comes soundlessly to his feet.
I’m careful to keep my voice unaffected. It isn’t hard. I’ve been practicing my entire life. “Yes, we educate all shifters—from every pack that chooses to send their young. Many humans as well. We have never discriminated on any basis.”
“Vinay is very excited at the prospect of attending Moon Lake Academy.” Mrs. Shah steers the conversation back to a polite subject.
“Do you play basketball?” I ask him, dismissing my uncle and cousin.
Obviously, Brody told his father about Rosie in the cafeteria. Alban won’t ignore the development. He’ll already be plotting. Urgency swamps my brain, muting whatever Vinay is saying.
What was I thinking, leaving only Derwyn to watch over her? He can fight, but will he recognize a threat?
My fingers itch. Pack females can text without looking at their phones, but I’m not that skilled.
Alban won’t make an immediate move. He wants to install himself as regent and Brody as the alpha heir. He won’t act until he knows he can win a challenge and have enough backing to prevent the pack from collapsing. Rosie’s fine for now.
I prod the gentle hum in my chest.
Safe?
Nothing but the faint sensation of high notes floating into the air.
Safe?
Plink. Plink.