Until he did.
And spent the next six years trying to figure out why, and what to do with his life, and how to reconcile the monthly slavering beast he would become with his still skinny, still post-modern-reading self.
The yoga helped.
Alec’s Dad, the aptly named Butch, owned the house that Jack haunted. That was, in fact, the reason Jack haunted it. It was a popular misconception that a ghost haunted the man who killed him. In actual fact, they tended to go for the person who pissed them off the most in life. Jack, their former next-door neighbour, had hated Butch. There’d been an argument over the sprinkler system and the next thing they knew Jack was stuck forever haunting his neighbour. In a classic ironic twist, the pack now called Butch’s house Jack’s Place. This made Butch livid. Which was one of the reasons the pack did it. The other reason was that Jack wasn’t the kind of ghost who wafted around mistlike in the background. Oh no, he was the kind of ghost who organized parties and criticized your shoe choices. Which is why the parties were always at Butch’s place — Jack liked to get up in everyone’s business. The werewolves thought this was a great joke, that the pack had a pet ghost. Jack could get away with insulting them, because he was already dead and large hairy men didn’t scare him anymore. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Alec marched in, head high, still wearing his lab coat defiantly, and slammed his store-bought salad down on the rickety kitchen table.
“Hi, Ma.”
“Hi, baby. Salad? I was hoping you’d bring sushi. Still, very thoughtful dear. At least you brought something, which is more than I can say for your brothers.” His mother tossed peroxide blond hair out of her eyes.
Alec leaned his hip against the refrigerator. “Well, be fair, they brought their wives. Pam, at least, is useful.”
“Not tonight they didn’t. Pack only.” Both mother and son paused to look out the window at the backyard where a large collection of beefy men milled about drinking beer.
“Where you going, Ma?” Alec snagged a wedge of raw beef before his mother could stick it on the skewer.
“It’s lady’s poker night over at Sharon’s.”
Out in the back yard a couple of the men roared their approval as a great gout of fire flared up off the grill.
“Ugh. Why do they bother? Everyone eats it rare anyway.” Proving his point, Alec nibbled on the cube of meat he was holding.
“Oh, sweetie, men and fire, you know how they get. Doesn’t matter if they’re werewolves or not.”
“Any idea what’s going on?”
“Sorry, baby. Can’t say.”
She hefted the platter of kebabs and carried them out into the backyard. Alec trailed after her.
His mom placed the meat down on a dilapidated picnic table. “Right boys, there you go. Cook it or eat it fresh, it’s not my problem. Just do it out here and don’t mess up my kitchen. You know I hate coming home to find blood all over the floor; it’s hell on the linoleum. I’m off. You know where the beer is kept.”
A chorus of polite “yes, ma’ams” met that remark.
Alec watched her disappear back into the house.
Jack wafted up next to him like a mercurial little genie. “Not a bad sort, your mother.”
“’Cept she’s throwing me to the wolves.”
They stood at the fringes of the gathering, Alec tense and nervous, Jack bobbing up and down softly.
“So,” Jack had that tone in his voice, the tone that said gossip was imminent. “Did you hear Biff’s wife left him?”
“I can’t imagine why. All that lively conversation.”
“Hey now, a man can say a lot using only monosyllabic grunts. Did you bring sushi?”
“No, salad, I told you I would. Don’t you remember? Everyone mocks me when I bring sushi, so I thought I might as well give them a real reason.”
“That’s your problem Alec—”
“Oh, another one?”
“—you’re just obtuse enough not to play their very simple game with any skill. You could. You just have a death wish.”
“Oh, thank you for the psychoanalysis, fly boy.”
“Speaking of sushi, how’s the sea life?”
“Still not grunting.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I don’t like surprises Jack, what the hell is going on?”
“Oh, you’re gonna like this one, I think.”
One of the Neanderthals in front of them tore himself away from a scintillating conversation and lumbered in their direction. He had a massive scar on one cheek, a skull bandana around his head, and the exact expression a pit-bull wears when he catches some other dog peeing in his yard.
“My father could give lessons on stereotypical biker behaviour.”
“Butch is a man of culture and sophistication,” was Jack’s helpful comment before he drifted away. He couldn’t get too near to Alec’s father — classic case of ghostly Tourette’s. Jack would start lunging and swearing at the man who kept him tied to the world. It made for an interesting living environment.
Alec stood his ground.
“Son,” Butch spat the word out like it tasted bad in his mouth. “Did you bring your usual sushi?”
Alec gave his father a funny look. “That’s the third time I’ve been asked that since I arrived. Why? You hate sushi, no one ever eats it when I bring it, and you all make stupid jokes about ‘the other white meat’. Despite the fact that the new place by Bruno’s is really good.” Butch made Alec nervous and when Alec got nervous he babbled. “I don’t think the owner is actually Japanese, but that doesn’t seem to matter.”
Disappointment, a common emotion when talking with his middle child, crossed Butch’s face. “You would fuck it up this time.”
“Christ, Dad, if you wanted sushi why didn’t you email me? Or I could just go out and get the darn stuff right now. It’ll only take five minutes.” He turned towards the house, any excuse to leave.
“Oh, no, really, don’t bother.” That was a new voice. And a new smell. A briny, salty, fishy smell. Not unpleasant to the nose of a marine biologist, even if it was an extra sensitive werewolf nose.
Alec turned back.
To be confronted by one of the world’s most beautiful people — slender, high cheekbones, big blue eyes, straight white teeth, webbed fingers. . Wait! Webbed fingers?
“Whoa, you’re not a werewolf.”
“I should certainly hope not.” The woman smiled at him. Really, very beautiful. Bummer about the gender.
Butch was watching Alec’s reaction carefully, so Alec slid in slightly and took the beautiful woman’s hand in one of his. Trying to pretend attraction. Right, webbed fingers.
“You’re a mermaid?”
The woman gave him that look. “Merwoman, please!”
“Sorry, we don’t get many of your kind in these parts.”
“You do, you just don’t realize it,” that was another new voice — mellow, masculine.
Alec turned. Ooo. Still blond, only taller and definitely male. Merman. Alec suddenly lost access to the part of his brain that housed the English language.
The man gave him a slow smile. “Nice to see you again, Alecanter.”
At a loss, Alec stuck his hand out.
The merman’s skin was cool to the touch, the webbing between his fingers soft and rubbery.
Alec could feel himself start to blush. Crap, why’d I end up the only fair-skinned one in the family? “Do I know you?” Face like that — hell, body like that — I’m not likely to have forgotten.
That smile didn’t waver. “Picture me with dyed black hair and lots of eye make-up.”