VAMPIRE Wolf

Chapter One

Sven

“Your father has cancer.”

Four words that turned my world on its head.

When I was eighteen -- just five years ago -- I moved from my small town of Gull Bay, Connecticut to Miami, Florida to pursue my education in English. Choosing a distant school hadn’t been an accident, though I pretended like my sole motivation was to leave snowy winters behind. I had to get away from my family. I had to start my own life. In Florida, I could pursue my dreams.

Then the cancer came. At first, there was hope that he’d be fine with treatment. But when tests revealed it had spread from his pancreas to his liver, I knew I was going “home.” It didn’t matter that he’d been a distant father ever since I failed to conform to the life path he had in mind for me. He was still my Dad.

As my plane descends through the gray clouds and the seatbelt light comes on with a soft ding, my heart lurches in my throat, and it’s not just because we’re losing altitude. I feel like I’m entering the lion’s den. I went to Florida for a reason -- to get out from under my family’s crushing expectations. I promised myself I would never come back to Connecticut, not even for holidays, and up until now, I’ve been able to make excuses for why I can’t travel. I know living under their roof means I’m going to be giving up every semblance of freedom. I know I’m not going to be able to come and go as I please without an explanation. I know they’re going to dig their claws into every aspect of my life they feel the need to control.

They see me as a disappointment for a number of reasons. The first big one is that I was never an athlete like my brothers. I was a bookworm, which they didn’t feel was worth boasting about. The second is that I went to college. Omegas in my family imprint young and marry rich. College is not in the cards for us according to family tradition, and at twenty-three, I should already be hooked. But I haven’t imprinted on anyone yet, and I’m in no hurry, either. It’ll happen when it happens.

The plane hits the asphalt just as the rain begins to fall, and by the time it slides to a stop, it’s coming down so hard I can barely see out the window. It’s fitting that it’s raining so hard. It sets the mood for my return home.

I file out of the plane with everyone else and make my way to the escalator that leads down to baggage claims, knowing my family will be at the bottom. I close my eyes and take a deep, shaky breath as I descend into the waiting crowd, and when I open my eyes, I see my parents and two brothers standing together with a white sign held between them that reads “SVEN” in thick black letters, as if I might have forgotten what they look like.

Mom is the first to greet me. She rushes at me and envelopes me in a warm hug, showering me in the flowery scent of her extravagant perfume. “Welcome home,” she breathes into my hair as she gives me an extra squeeze. For a moment, I forget everything she’s put me through. For a moment, I forget that she told me she wished I was never born on my last day in Connecticut.

For a moment, she’s just Mom.

“It’s good to see you,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. Why do I feel like I’m about to cry? I’ve been dreading this day for weeks, yet as I look between my family members, taking in faces I haven’t seen in five years, all I feel is the pull of nostalgia. Maybe I won’t be such a disappointment if I’m coming back to help. Maybe things will be different this time.

Dad, who looks surprisingly healthy outside of the dark circles under his piercing blue eyes, doesn’t say a word or step forward to greet me. He gives me a curt nod of acknowledgment instead. I’ll take it. I’ll take anything I can get from him.

My brothers pull me in for a double side-hug as soon as Mom lets go of me. “Glad you’re back, bro,” says Anders, the marginally taller of the alpha twins. Eric, the quieter one, just flashes a dazzling white grin at me.

Other than personality and height, they look so much alike that people get them mixed up. Both brothers are tall, muscular, bronzed and blond, like Dad was in his heyday, while I’m lightly built and fair - skinned with jet black hair. Mom’s blonde, too, which makes me visibly different from the rest of my family. Another reminder that I’ll never fit in with them.

“I thought we’d all go out to dinner. We could get sushi, your favorite,” says Mom, standing back to look me over like she can’t believe I’m actually here. My stomach churns with guilt.

“Sounds good,” I say faintly, feeling smaller than ever. And that’s something I feel often, considering I’m all of five - foot - seven and Anders is nearly a foot taller than me.

After getting my luggage from baggage claims, we go to the parking lot and pile into Dad’s black SUV. From the airport to the restaurant, my family fills me in on everything that’s happened over the past five years, as if I haven’t been in touch the entire time. So far, they aren’t showing their true colors. I’m afraid to hold out hope that they’ve changed, but I can’t help it when they act like I’m the beloved prodigal son they never stopped loving.

By the time we reach the restaurant, I’m so guilt - ridden I don’t think I’ll be able to eat. Exhaustion from being on a plane for several hours isn’t helping. But it’d be a cold day in hell that I’d turn down sushi.

“So, what have you been up to these past five years? What are you doing for work?” Anders presses eagerly as he digs into his own personal sushi boat.

“I’m a grant writer,” I reply.

“How does that work? Is that online?” Mom asks. There’s a hint of concern in her voice that makes me pause. Like it’s not a real job if it’s online.

“Yeah, it is,” I end up saying, because I’ve promised myself that I’m not going to lie to them to make my life easier.

She raises her eyebrows and opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, but she seems to have second thoughts and closes it before taking a bite out of a Philadelphia roll.

“What does that entail?” asks Eric.

“I write proposals that request funding for different organizations,” I say.

“So not just one?” he says. “Are you a freelancer?”

I wince at the stare Mom gives me. Dad’s giving me a sideways look too, but he hasn’t said a word throughout dinner. “Yes,” I admit, knowing that seals the deal on what they’ll think of my job from here on out.

“You could do anything with your life,” Mom complains. “And you chose to be a freelancer? Why?”

I shrug. “I like the freedom it gives me. I’m my own boss.”

Anders smirks. “You sound like an alpha.”

“Yes,” Mom mumbles, stifling herself with another piece of sushi.

I’m surprised she’s able to keep herself from ranting at me, considering her opinions on a working omega. She’s never kept her feelings to herself, especially where I’m concerned. She believes an omega’s role is to raise a family and stay out of the workforce, and as her only omega child, I get the full brunt of her opinions. For now, though, it seems like she’s dedicated to keeping things peaceful between us. It’s not like her to hold herself back from an argument, but I can’t complain.

“Do you enjoy it?” she asks, forcing a tight smile.

“I really do,” I say, nodding. “It’s a good job.”

“That’s nice,” she says tersely.

Dad’s steely gaze flickers to her, then back to me. “And there are no alphas on the radar?” he asks, finally breaking his silence. “No one I need to investigate?”

“No, Dad,” I sigh. “No alphas.”

Anders and Eric grin at each other before looking back to me. “Eric’s engaged,” Anders says. “He found his own omega.”

My eyes widen. I can’t help but be shocked that Eric found someone before Anders. Eric was always the quiet one who was afraid to talk to omegas while Anders had been jumping in bed with them since he was a freshman in high school. “Seriously? Congratulations,” I say, dumbfounded.

“She’s a nice girl,” Mom says, nodding. “She’s your age, and tiny. Like a little mouse. And she has good manners, too.”

“When’s the wedding?” I ask.

“October,” says Eric, still grinning from ear to ear. “Anders is gonna be my best man. Would you want to be a groomsman?”

I’m a little surprised I’m invited at all, considering the family’s acting like I’ve been completely out of touch with them for the past few years. “Yeah, of course.”

“That’s if you’re still around,” Mom says, pointing her chopsticks at me. “You’d better not run off on us again.”

“Not planning on it,” I say stiffly, forcing a smile.

Dinner ends on amicable terms with no one getting into an argument, signaling that even though my family might be faking it for my sake, they’ve definitely matured -- especially Anders, who is always itching for a fight. In order to fake it, they had to have changed a little. I can’t remember the last time we had a meal together that didn’t dissolve into bickering and nasty jabs.

Maybe there’s hope after all.