The Alpha's Selkie Mate

Chapter 9

Bellwether farm stretched as far as the eye could see. It skirted almost the entire edge of the eastern forest, which was dark as pitch even in the morning sun. Walker knew from his family’s ancient maps – the ones his father had kept in his office before they’d been destroyed in the raid – that it secured most of their border on that side.

And secured it well. It had sheltered the Hoarfrost Pack for hundreds of years; keeping them safe from territorial pack wars, hunters with a taste for shifter blood, not to mention curious human eyes. Few would dare brave its dark reaches to attack them. Anyone that wanted to would have to endure the long trek to the mountains in the north.

There was just something off about it though. Like someone had taken the image before his eyes and bleached it slightly, everything a little greyer and paler than it should be.

The forest was the only place on Hoarfrost land that was like that.

No wonder his people used stories of it and the supposed monsters inside to keep their pups in line.

Just looking at it now, morning mist trailing off the top of it like ghostly smoke, sent a shiver up his spine. Walker didn’t know how the Bellwether’s could stand to live in its shadow.

But now that everyone knew how lucrative the land was… nothing would stop them from coveting it.

He ran closer to the house, form changing seamlessly. Kiran was already ahead of him, a fresh change of clothes in hand. Walker would have to hope that the surf had washed most of the scent of s*x off of him; it would be cruel to appear before a widow smelling like that.

Damn him, he should have gone back to the pack house and showered first.

“Thanks,” he muttered to Kiran, taking the clothes and getting into them as quickly as he could. There was no answer from the other male, who was looking across the copse with a gloominess that matched the forest.

Walker wondered if Kiran thought his silent treatment would make him consider his words about taking a Luna more seriously, or whether it was the presence of the forest that ate up his attention.

Clothed and hoping that he didn’t smell of s*x, Walker made his way past the fields of crops towards the farmhouse, leaving Kiran behind.

The house was another beast entirely from the surrounding area. A beacon in the harsh landscape of the temperate lands of the Pacific Northwest. It was a jolly little cabin. Hewn and built from the cedar that grew plentiful on their land, made by John and Leandra’s own hands.

If they’d had any ties with humans, their timber would have made for a profitable business. It would bring enough money to invest back into infrastructure. Bigger farms with equipment and machinery that would make life easier. Money to spend on other types of food, spices, sweets, and exotic fruit. Maybe even a boat or two to increase their pitiful fishing yield.

If only they could do that, the pack could go from surviving to thriving--

But no, that wasn’t meant to be.

Sighing, Walker trudged up the stairs to the porch of Bellwether homestead. The wind made the door screen wobble and wail.

“Hello,” came a small voice to his right.

Walker turned to find a small girl looking at him with red-rimmed eyes, sitting on a plank that was attached to the roof of the porch. A swing. One that John had built with his own two hands, just like the rest of the home.

She couldn’t have been more than four or five, big eyes in a small face. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a loose braid that had mostly fallen out over her narrow, hunched shoulders.

The seat, from what he could see under the skirt of her homespun nightie, was purple. Here and there, he could see small, wobbly daises in faded pain. Probably done by the girl herself. The whole thing was chipping, dull wood shining through what had once been a bright color.

“Hey, kid,” Walker returned with a soft voice, standing in front of the screened-in door. He pointed at it. “Is your mom home?”

Her little features, freckled and pale, twisted up. “She said she doesn’t want to see anyone,” she returned dully, worrying the hemp rope of the swing with her tiny fist, toes barely touching the floor.

He couldn’t tell if she was angry, or if she was trying not to cry.

Coming a little closer and dropping down to her level on one knee, he asked, “What’s your name?”

His father would have known her name. He knew everyone’s name. Had known everyone’s name.

“Tern,” she mumbled, kicking at the dust on the porch and missing. He could see now that tears were gathering in the corners of her shining eyes.

“Like the bird?” he asked and she nodded, swiping at the tears before they could fall with a furious sniff. “That’s a pretty name,” he added.

“It was nesting season when me and Caspian were born. Dad said one pecked him on the head as he rushed home when mom had us.” She looked at Walker with big, navy eyes. “It’d gotten lost.”

It felt like she was looking right through him. He knew it was just a throwaway comment, but it might well have been a sucker punch to the gut.

Smiling awkwardly, he gestured at the house. “How long has your mom been…”

Before Walker could find a tactful way to finish his question, a hand shot through the bars of the porch to grab Tern’s skinny ankle. “Crying? She’s been doing that all damned day—”

“Shut up,” Tern yelled in childish indignation, jumping to her feet and kicking her assailant as best she could through the railing. She didn’t so much as grimace when her bare toes cracked against wood more than once.

It worked well enough, however. There was a pitchy yelp from someone still out of sight and a louder, mean-spirited laugh. Walker swore he might even have heard another blow being doled out.

Tern looked at him, eyes wide, her cheeks turning pink. “My brothers,” she said, as though that explained everything.

Having grown up with three older brothers himself, it explained it perfectly.

Two boys rounded the edge of the foundation, sheepish looks on their faces, the older one rubbing the back of his head. One was of an age with Tern, likely her twin Caspian, but the older boy Walker put at maybe nine or ten.

It was hard to tell when they were all so skinny, all pointed elbows and knees and hollow cheeks.

Between eight of them, Walker’s sacrificed rations – whether they were an alpha’s share or not – wouldn’t have gone far. The realization struck him and he winced inwardly; he should have done better by them.

He had no idea what ‘better’ looked like but he should have done something.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Caspian asked with enough bite to shake Walker out of his stupor, eying him with naked suspicion. His eyes were brown, unlike his siblings.

The older boy rapped his brother over the back of his head, making him squeal. “Don’t you know who that is? It’s the alpha.”

Tern turned towards him in unison at this announcement, eyes wide. It might have been fear or curiosity, maybe both, but it made him feel like he was under the spotlight. One that highlighted all his failings; they wore it in their thin, wan faces.

“Are you really the alpha?” Tern asked, tilting her head as her eyes narrowed. “I thought you’d be…bigger.”

They always did. It didn’t matter that he was 6”1 and 200 lbs. of sleek, powerful muscle. A male in his prime with nothing holding him back. He had the blood of an alpha, generations of strength, and breeding that had honed him into the perfect predator.

Compared to his brothers and father though, his cousins…Walker was a runt.

“That’s because he wasn’t meant to be the alpha, dummy,” the older boy cut in once again before clapping a hand over his mouth and ripening like a tomato. “Uh…sorry.”

Walker laughed a soft sound that barely made it out of his throat. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, laying a hand on Tern’s head. “Your brother’s right though, I wasn’t meant to be the alpha. Sometimes we end up in tough places that we were never destined to be and we just have to make the best of it. Like your mom.”

Tern smiled up at him, showing the gap between her front two teeth.

“Do me a favor?” Walker asked, smiling when Tern shook her head eagerly. Let your mom know that I’ll come by again tomorrow morning. Hopefully, she’ll feel better by then.”

She wouldn’t.

“I’ll do it,” Tern cried at the same time as her twin shouted, “I’ll go.”

“He asked me, dummy.”

“He didn’t use your name, idiot.”

It quickly dissolved into a contest to see which of them could make it through the front door first, both of them batting at each other along the way. Tern used her hip to bounce her twin into the doorframe, running past him.

The ruckus of them fighting and the quick rap of their footfalls faded when the door swung closed, leaving Walker on the porch with the eldest boy. He still didn’t know his name, but he could see that he had the look of his father about him, or he would when he was older.

The same solemn blue eyes as John and little Tern.

“Dad isn’t coming home, is he?” the boy asked quietly after a moment, his eyes lingering on the screen where his siblings had run out of sight.

Walker’s father would have ripped off the band-aid - wolves aren't made to be coddled, male or female, young or old. But Walker couldn't do that, it felt too much like overstepping. Leandra should have the right to tell her children when she was ready and how she wanted.

Walker hedged his bets. "What did your mom say about that?"

"She didn't say anything. After the liz--" he turned pink again. "Sorry. After your friend came over to see her, she locked herself in her room. But Dad's never gone this long. He's dead, right? That’s why she’s been crying all day; she never cries normally."

He said it so casually, shoving his hand into the pockets of his oversized jeans. Walker wondered if they were a hand-me-down from someone, a cousin or the like.

Heaving a sigh, Walker decided not to lie. “I’m sorry, kid.”

Nodding, the kid bowed his head. It took Walker a moment, too long, really, to realize that his shoulder had begun to shake with silent sobs.

Before he could reach out, the boy choked on a sob. “Are we going to lose the farm? Mom said we would.” Just like his sister, he swiped at his tears, trying to stand up straight and meet Walker’s eyes. “It’s not fair. Dad built this place for us. No one wanted it before. Look!”

He grabbed Walker by the sleeve and dragged him into their small front room, which had too many chairs shoved into it. Several blankets had been used to make nests on the floor in front of the cold, dark fireplace.

“Look,” the boy cried again, directing Walker’s attention to the scores in the wide doorframe.

Six names for six children, all next to scratches to demark their increasing heights – a legacy of their family.

John, the boy still holding his sleeve, was the oldest and tallest. Named for his father. Who’d tried not to cry in the face of said father’s death. Caspian and Tern were locked in a battle for tallest, gaining over each other constantly but neither having pulled away in front. Cassandra, younger and smaller with only a few scores. And two names with no marks yet; Joseph and Thomas.

The pups they’d last year– not yet old enough to stand and be measured.

Walker’s heart plummeted through the floor. Without thinking, he reached out and ran his fingers over the marks. The wood was yellow cedar, just like he’d thought. Good, versatile wood. He wished he could smell it, one of the few scents he could remember from his childhood.

With every year that passed, the memory seemed to fade.

“Your father?”

John sniffed and nodded. “You can’t take it. I promise that I’ll get up early every morning, even though I hate it, and help mom out. I won’t let her do everything by herself. Tern and Caspian can help too, I’ll make them. We can do it, I swear.”

Not even in double digits and already willing to be the man of the house.

Walker couldn’t force down the admiration that welled within him. What good would it do? Didn’t matter how impassioned the kid's pleas were, this was politics.

“I believe you,” Walker said, clasping his shoulder. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure your family is taken care of, okay?”

It was a non-answer and they both knew it.

He just hadn’t expected the kid to call him out on it.

“But you’re still going to give away the farm, aren’t you?” A statement, not a question. John shrugged Walker’s hand off of his shoulder with a sneer, little fists balled up at his side. “Aren’t you?”

“Look—kid—”

“Get out!” he screamed, ramming his shoulder into Walker’s side. It wasn’t painful – if anything, it probably hurt the kid more – but the intent was clear. Not putting up a fight, Walker let the kid herd him to the front door.

“You’re just like the rest of them!” Tears running freely down his face now, he slammed the door in Walker’s face.

If only that were true.

It would be easy not to care if it was.

But he did care.

He was pretty sure there were dozens of his people that thought it would be his downfall, Kiran most of all.

Walker stood there for a good minute, staring at nothing. He let the guilt gnaw at him; it was what he deserved. But how could he make this right? The pack needed the farm to be run well.

His people’s survival depended on it.

Eventually, with his shoulders sagging, Walker trudged towards where Kiran was still standing with that look on his face. Walker sighed, passing him without stopping. “She’s locked herself in her room. Won’t see anyone.”

Thunder cracked in the distance, a flash of lightning following soon after. Clouds began to gather and swirl atop the forest. Walker rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his pocks. As if the day wasn’t bad enough. The rain would follow through soon, the humid summer warmth breaking.

“Hard to blame her. With so many little ones…they must have truly loved each other.”

Love didn’t even come close to what Leandre and John had.

But wasn’t that just mates for you? Two halves of the same whole, never to be the same again when one perishes.

Fucking fate. What a fickle b***h she was.