Taken by the Rogue Alpha

2 | Peas in a Pod

I get back just in time to open my bookstore for the day.

It's been a year since I opened this little place. It's been doing well, but I can't take all the credit. Jeremy and a few friends helped me put this place together like a puzzle, and the finished product was better than anything I could have pieced together on my own. Jeremy and some of his friends renovated it, my friends helped pick out the shelves, pictures, lighting fixtures, and all the other luxuries that helped fill the space. I did all the cleaning, painting, unboxing, placing this here and that there, then did it all over again when suggestions were offered to make the place look better. By the time it was all set up, I was proud.

The walls are a pale, pearly pink with images of iconic authors and locations in black and white placed as strategically as possible per the opinion of everyone I consulted. The bookshelves are a couple inches under six feet tall but twice as wide, running horizontal from where a customer enters the door and vertical from where I sit at my counter. There are six rows of two according to genre which takes up a substantial amount of space in these cramped quarters, but not enough to discourage a wanderer. The shelves are black with white flowers to match my counter, which quite a few people have commented on as charming. On the side of the store opposite of me, at the front, is a bin full of discounted books—these are the books that do not sell when on the shelves, but they go quickly when sold at a reduced price.

And last, but certainly not least, the lights are a soft, muted yellow, and I find the ambience they project relaxing in the late evenings—especially in autumn and winter when it gets dark early. They get drowned out by natural sunlight during the day, and overwhelmed by those days of rain and snow, but evening is their time to shine.

I love the mundaneness of running a bookstore.

Most of the time when there are no customers I am reading reviews of past and present popular books, then purchasing online copies to read them myself. At the end of every month I order a shipment of the books I enjoyed the most. It is probably not the best method, but it has worked so far. At risk of sounding arrogant...I consider myself a well-read person, and I think I have an eye for good books whatever the genre, whether they are fiction or non-fiction, educational, leisure, and so forth.

Monday through Friday I am open from 9am to 7pm, and on Saturday I am open from 12pm to 5pm. Sundays are my days off—my time to stay home with Jeremy when he's not away, visit my mom, or catch up with my friends. My life is rather cyclical and regimented, but I like it that way. There are moments of spontaneity, of course, and I always take these moments when they come.

The store is slow most days during the week until the early afternoon when people get off from work. Summer is usually busier just because there is no school, but I've never had a day where I had no customers. I am the only bookstore in a town of 10,000 where people seem to love to read. The population is growing gradually—mostly wolves—and rumor has it within the next few years we are going to request city status. We will then be a pack-city, which is uncommon but exciting.

I am in the middle of reading The Bell Jar when the bell rings. Looking up from my screen, I smile when I recognize two familiar faces: Zhang and Kareena. It is currently 3pm and I haven't taken my break yet—they said they were going to pop in at some point today but they never specified when so I was timing my break for their arrival. This is a perfect time; there haven't been any customers in half an hour.

I hang up the sign that says "Will Be Open Shortly :) - On Break" and lock the doors. I embrace each friend in a hug and lead them to the back room. We have prepared for a small potluck; I whipped together a red velvet cake last night which I have kept stored in my mini-fridge today, Zhang has brought some wonton soup, and Kareena has brought chickpea curry and naan bread. They must have just cooked because the food is still hot.

We feast and, as per usual, commence gossiping.

Zhang and I have been best friends since high school, and we befriended Kareena in our first year of university since we attended the same institution in a neighboring city. I was an English major with a History minor, Zhang was a Biology major with a Chemistry Minor, and Kareena was a History major. We ended up in a lot of the same introductory courses mandatory across all disciplines, and the three of us have been peas in a pod ever since.

Zhang has finished her Masters and is pursuing her Doctorate, Kareena completed the Education After-Degree program and will begin her first year of teaching history to grade sixers after the summer ends, and, as you know, I run a bookstore. I have plans to go into a Master's program one day, but that day is far away.

Kareena is a mated wolf and Zhang, like me, is a mated human. Zhang is marked which was a joint decision between her and her soulmate. I can pick up on the smell from time to time, but because I am human it is faint and fleeting like day old washed hair. My eyes get drawn to the faded grape-colored patch on her neck every once in a while but I do my best not to stare. It makes me think too hard about my decision to abstain from allowing Jeremy to place a mark on me.

"So, Amelia, what's new with you?" Zhang asks between a bite of naan bread dipped in curry. "You've been quiet today."

"I'm just listening," I smile, inhaling a mouthful of wonton soup. "And enjoying the food."

"Don't sell us that," Kareena pipes in. "You're no mouse when we gather like this."

"I just miss Jeremy, is all. He left for two weeks today. It felt harder this time around than it has the times before."

It's not completely a lie—I do miss him. I do wish he was home. It has been a strange week. I told him we probably wouldn't be seeing Seth again but the more I ponder the possibility the more I feel like I have lied. Something just has me on edge. Does Seth know Jeremy is gone? No, that's silly...he couldn't know...could he?

"Why is that?" Zhang asks.

I go to take another spoonful of wonton soup but my bowl is empty so I reach for a piece of naan bread instead. Looking down at my lap as I tear it apart, I don't know if I should say anything...at least, not directly. I could use some more insight. Kareena is always up to date with current local events on account of being a reader, a wolf, and the fiancée of a cop. She'll know about any rogue activity that has been going on.

So I ask: "do you guys know of any rogue activity that's been going on?"

"Rogue activity?" Kareena repeats. I nod. "Well, I know that there's been some rogue activity going on within the town the last few weeks. Nothing crazy, but enough to warn us about their presence. It's only a matter of time before they start causing trouble, I think. This particular group is known to be a little more...unruly."

"Why don't we just, like, pass a law or something that forbids them from entering pack-communities?" Zhang asks.

It's a fair question.

"Well, there's been some cases a rogue will leave the congregation and join a community; turn over a new leaf, so to speak. Not all groups are bad, either, but you never hear about the good ones. In all fairness they are few and far between, but they exist," Kareena contemplates for a moment. "In addition, I think banning them from pack-communities would cause even more friction. Rogues hate human-dominant settlements and will avoid them at all costs. I think banning them would result in conflict on a bigger scale."

"Why do they hate human-dominant settlements ?" I ask.

Kareena shrugs.

"They have always avoided human-dominant places. Pack-wolves have, too, just because they like being tightly-knit. I don't know. Amidst all this rivalry there is this weird sort of dependency. No one really knows the true reason, but it can be fun to speculate."

"I think rogues like terrorizing towns that know exactly who—or what—is terrorizing them and why," Zhang adds.

"Is it because they're more likely to find their mate in a pack-community?" I wonder aloud. "You know, since they tend to get mated to those are are already mated."

"Perhaps," Kareena nods thoughtfully. "I never thought of it that way."

"What makes this particular rogue-group more unruly than the rest?"

"Well, their leader—their alpha, I guess—is very...cool and calculated. A lot of rogues just wreak havoc, which is obviously not great but expected, but this particular group with its particular leader has a way of causing fractures and paranoia. They're not sloppy or violent, you know? More unnerving. He's quite intelligent, and they are strikingly resistant to being pushed to leave until they're ready. He's a good leader. Lot's of roamers want to join his group, but he's selective. However, they are one of the larger congregations—they're almost a pack on their own. He runs his group like a business."

"Why do you ask, Amelia?" Zhang regards me gently. "Is something going on?"

I debate being candid but ultimately decide against it. I don't want to scare them and I'm afraid of what they might say if I do tell them what happened just over a week ago. Everything feels like it hangs in suspension right now. I don't wish for anything to happen while Jeremy is away. The best thing that can happen is all this weirdness blows over...unlikely as it is.

"Well, not exactly. It's just that Jeremy has been mentioning some rogue activity here and there. He's been trying to explain to me what rogues are and what rogue activity means but I thought I'd ask you guys so you could explain it to me in a way I understand," we all laugh lightly, somewhat awkwardly. I feel a slight pang at my dishonesty. "I don't know. This place has been stable as far as I've known since I got here, but I get the sense things are changing a bit."

"I wouldn't be too concerned, really," Kareena shrugs. "We aren't the first pack-town to have rogue activity and we won't be the last. We'll survive this one no different. All the towns before us have."

Zhang gives me a look—she knows me well enough to sense something is amiss but also well enough to know not to ask.

I get up from the table and go into the mini-fridge, grabbing the cake with one hand and scooping up the plastic utensils on top with the other. I set the cake on the table, remove the lid from the dish, and smile at my girls. We know to eat it as is. We're all friends here, after all. I take the first bite, smiling, ignoring the fact it doesn't reach my eyes.

"Dig in!" I say.

So we do, in silence.