Werewolf fairytales

His father

*Fenrir*

My father Biddulph Garou, the Alpha of Moncrieff, lives in Walford Court, an hour or so from Margaret’s house. It is the country seat of the Garous for generations, the place where I grew up.

Sitting decorously in a carriage… because the very idea of slinging a leg over a horse makes me feel faint… I keep thinking about the fact that Margaret doesn’t know my father well. It sounds as if the Alpha has not embraced my mate.

I am unsurprised. My father is obsessed by the rituals and traditions of the high packs. It had undoubtedly nearly killed him to realize that he would either have to sell his son to a merchant’s daughter or lose the ancestral estate.

Unfortunately, I have always lusted after a life in which titles have no meaning, where a man earns honor from use of his own strength and wit.

Me and my father spent my childhood at loggerheads. Consequently, I was not all that bothered when I woke to find myself at sea, under the command of a disreputable scoundrel named Captain Dirk.

Piracy was a perfect revenge… an antidote to my father’s vainglorious love of the high packs.

In fact, I hadn’t even bothered to write to my father for years after I left England, not until Fennec’s father, the old Alpha prince, died. That death was a shock for both of us, but especially for Fennec, who knows damn well that his father had died wondering whether his only son was dead or alive.

It gives a man to think. My father knows I am alive because I have instructed my agent to reassure my family on a regular basis. And I have sent home gold as well. My father had been compelled to sell his son to a merchant; my money ensures that my younger sisters do not have to suffer the same fate.

But when Fennec ascended to the title in absentia, I realized that perhaps I should be in closer touch with my father. So I wrote him a letter, telling him bluntly that I had become a pirate, even though by then I and Fennec were de facto privateers. I didn’t see any reason to sugarcoat the truth.

My reception at Walford Court could not have been more different from my arrival at Arbor House.

My father has always aspired to a Alpha prince title. Apparently, he’s used Margaret’s dowry to good effect; the pack house now looks like a castle. No less than six footmen bow as I enter, not to mention the butler, who’s had another fourteen years to perfect his starched, sour look.

“Good afternoon, Mears,” I say, handing over my greatcoat. “You’re holding up well

Mears is far too dignified to respond to a personal comment. Instead, he bends his head a glacial inch, giving me a good look at the powdered top of his wig.

He must have heard about the piracy. Or he doesn’t like the tattoo. Or he is just a wizened old bastard with a stick where none ought to be.

“Welcome to England, Beta Fenrir,” Mears intones. “On behalf of the household, may I extend our best wishes on the occasion of your return.

He pauses, but I don’t see any reason to exchange flummeries.

“The Alpha is in the study,” Mears states. “If you will wait in the drawing room, I will inquire whether Alpha Moncrieff is available.” His eyes skitter to the tattoo and away again. Too bad I have left Shark at Arbor House; Mears would likely faint at the sight of him.

I consider pushing my way into the library to greet my father. But I am too old to cross swords with Mears.

I have only waited in the sitting room a moment or two before the door opens. I look up, expecting to see the butler, but my father is on the threshold.

The Alpha has grown older. Deep grooves run along the sides of his mouth. His hair has turned silver. He still stands tall, shoulders squared, and he doesn’t look frail.

But he was much older.

“Father,” I say, inclining my head, uncertain what to do.

The Alpha walks toward me without a word, his face showing no expression. But then he reaches out and pulls me into his arms. “My boy,” he says, his deep voice catching. “You came home. You finally came home.”

His arms are strong, and for a moment I have a fleeting memory of being embraced like this before. But how can that be? I hardly remember seeing my father, who Was always in London, sitting in the House of Alphas.

I clear my throat, feeling distinctly awkward. My right hand is clutching my cane, but I pat my father on the back with my left. “I’m here,” I say, trying for a cheerful tone. “Came home like a proverbial, piratical bad penny.”

When my father pulls away, I discover to my horror that Alpha Moncrieff’s eyes shine with tears. “I thought I would never see you again,” he says, ignoring my foray into weak humor. “I imagined you dead at sea, cut to pieces by strangers or drowning in a storm.

“There were some thorny moments,” I say, “but I’m back.”

My father touches the Daisy tattoo. “The mark of your profession.”

“Of my ship. The Flying Daisy.” I hesitate, then add, “I must sit down, Father.”

He springs back. “You’re wounded. You lost a leg.”

My smile is reluctant, thrown over my shoulder as I limp to the sofa. “My mate came to the same conclusion. But no, I managed to escape the fate of a wooden leg. I’m merely recovering from an injury.”

“If you lost a leg, I would expect you to replace it with solid gold,” my father says, sitting down opposite. “Mr. Pettigrew has given me biannual reports regarding your estate, as you instructed. It seems there’s a great deal of money to be made on the high seas.”

“Did he tell you that we have received royal pardons.”

“Actually, the Prince Regent did me the favor of forwarding that news himself.” My father’s smile speaks volumes. I had thought my pardon was the result of a very large ruby, but it seems that Alpha Moncrieff may have played a hand as well.

“I received several letters this morning indicating that the Alpha Prince of Islay made a rather dramatic entrance into the House of Alpha,” my father continues.

I nod. I am experiencing something close to vertigo. When I last stood on English soil, I was a youngster, forced to marry a merchant’s daughter whom I’d never seen in the flesh. I had been furious, rebellious, alienated from my father. Now that same father is revealing a dry sense of humor I had certainly never known about.

“Oh, brave new world.”

“I want to offer my deep apologies, Son,” the Alpha says now. “If I’d known how deeply you loathed the marriage, I wouldn’t have forced you to it. I was devastated when you fled the country.”

“I didn’t run away due to my marriage,” I say.

My father isn’t listening. “I thought about the match very carefully before I agreed to it. Your mate is from the merchant classes, true. But she was beautiful, docile, trained in every possible domestic art. I truly thought she would be an excellent spouse for you.”

I nod, open my mouth again.

But my father barrels on. “Of course, now there are the children.”

I would have thought that my father’s reaction to the idea of a cuckoo inheriting the title of Alpha Moncrieff would be near violence.

“I hadn’t kept up more than a remote acquaintance,” my father says, his eyes abjectly apologetic. “The children were presented as a fait accompli.”

“I understand,” I say.

My father leans forward. “I didn’t think you were ever coming back. How could I tell your mate that her life would be childless? It would be cruel.”

“I understand,” I repeat. But I don’t. My father doesn’t care that his own blood will not inherit the title.

The Alpha has always trumpeted our ancient blood, the accomplishments of our long-dead ancestors. I have come to loathe the very mention of the first Alpha Moncrieff, a perennial beast who slavered at the feet of Edward the First. In my opinion, he received the title of Alpha as a direct payment for personal favors of an intimate nature.

My father has never liked that suggestion, though there is a bawdy letter upstairs from the king that confirms my impression.

“I must return home for supper,” I say abruptly. I feel a bit like a man who is addicted to drink. I want to go home and see Margaret.

I want to talk her into changing her mind and going to bed with me immediately. Even if that doesn’t happen tonight, I want to kiss her for the first time since our wedding.

My father’s face falls, wrinkles sagging into place. “Of course.”

“Come with me,” I add hastily. “There are plenty of rooms in the house, from what I saw. Are any of my siblings home?”

“No, they live with their own families now. Your youngest sister married two years ago. They will be very happy to hear that you are home safe.”

I rather doubt that, but I am willing to leave it an open question. The return of a pirate is unlikely to be seen as an unmixed blessing. Except, perhaps, by my perplexing father. “So you live here alone?”

At that, my father smiles. “I maintain a full household, as you surely saw. I’ve been working on a new bill that I’ll present to the House in the next session, so I have a proper complement of secretaries as well.”

“Leave them,” I suggest. “Let’s go to Arbor House and see what Margaret has for dinner.”

“See what Margaret has for dinner?” the Alpha repeats blankly. It is obviously a more informal notion than he has ever considered.

I heave myself to my feet. I don’t want to adhere to the foolish stiffness that governs the lives of the high packs, and I have a shrewd idea that Margaret agrees with me. “I want to see her. She’s the only mate I’ve got, and I’ve known her for approximately one day. This afternoon I barely managed to talk her out of annulling the marriage.”

“That would be extremely difficult,” my father says, looking startled. “And ill-advised.”

“So come with me,” I say. “I could use the help. I have no idea how to make polite conversation. We didn’t have any aboard the Flying Daisy, as you can imagine.”

“Actually, I can’t imagine,” my father says. He gets up and pulls the bell cord. Mears pops through the door. The butler doesn’t even bother to pretend that he hasn’t been hovering within earshot the whole time.

“Tell Crafts to put together a bag, if you please,” the Alpha says. “I’ll be joining my son and daughter-in-law for supper this evening. I may stay the night.”

There is a strain of pleasure in his voice that makes me smile. When I considered a return to England, I have never considered that I might find my father lonely, or happy to see me.

“Have my carriage brought around, if you please, Mears,” I bellow after the butler. The man’s back becomes visibly rigid, but he turns about and bows silently.

“Just as if you never left,” the Alpha remarks. “Poor old Mears. He has such passion for propriety; must you tease him.”

“Teasing implies affection. We share a mutual loathing.”

“Would you like to visit your old bedchamber? I kept everything just the same in case you returned.”

“Unfortunately, even looking at those stairs makes me sweat. I’m going to save my strength to totter to bed this evening.”

My father frowns. “What caused your injury?”

“A lucky bandit managed to s***h Fennec’s throat and my leg just before expiring. He was damn close to taking off my crown jewels. If that had happened, I wouldn’t have come home.”

“Then I’m glad to hear it didn’t.”

I feel a surge of restlessness. I want to be wooing my mate, making sure she hasn’t changed her mind in my absence. “Let’s go.”

“Are you that eager to see your mate?”

“Yes,” I admit.

My father’s eyes lighten. “I didn’t pick so terribly, did I?”

“No.” There is something raw and powerful in my admission that shocks me. “No, you didn’t.”