“What’s it mean, fighting smart?” Marvin bent down and began scratching Alec’s ears. Alec leaned into the caresses. It was a little lap-dog degrading but it felt wonderful.
“It’s an alpha trait, keeping the brain with the change, as it were.”
“Oh, I thought “alpha” had to do with dominance and size.”
“Size, sometimes. Dominance, definitely. But that has to do with smarts and how you use them.”
Fifi looked down at Alec. “Enough playing, pup.”
Alec sighed and shifted back to human. He found and pulled on his jeans before Marvin could say or do anything rash.
Marvin gave him a very significant look.
Alec looked to Fifi. “So, now that it’s out, what are you going to do about me?”
Fifi shrugged. “I’ve been waiting for you to get your crap together and take on responsibility for your half of the pack for a couple years now. Couldn’t understand what was holding you back.”
Alec winced.
Biff looked at his brother, head cocked to one side thoughtfully. “I can.”
“What’s your interest in this matter?” Alec wanted to know.
“Didn’t you realize it? I’m your beta.”
Alec took a closer look at his brother. It would explain his protective behaviour over the years. “Oh.” I guess he always knew he was a beta, just like I always knew I was an alpha.
“So?” Fifi demanded, one heavy foot resting casually on Butch’s still lupine back, as if he were afraid Alec’s dad would leap up and begin attacking once more.
Biff shrugged, looking significantly at Alec and then Marvin, who’d sidled up behind him and wormed one hand into his.
Alec puffed out his cheeks. “So, I’m gay.”
Butch twitched and growled under Fifi’s foot but did nothing further.
Fifi shrugged. “So?”
“You’re not mad?”
“You’re not making a pass at me, are you? Why should I be?”
Biff said, “We all, well, kinda already knew.”
Alec turned to his brother, voice rising, “Oh really? How long?”
Biff raised both eyebrows. “Well, there was that thing when you were six. I was gnawing on one of Ma’s shoes but you took if away from me because it was Italian.”
Alec’s jaw dropped. “You don’t care?”
Biff shrugged. “Why should I?”
“You aren’t worried about your alpha being, well, you know. .”
“Alec, I just think it’s time you settled down, came out as an alpha, took your piece of the pack, and relocated us. We’ve waited long enough, we’re restless.”
“None of the others care?” Alec was thinking of his brothers and the rest of the younger pack members.
“The ones that do will stay with Fifi. The rest of us don’t give a damn. New generation, Alec, it’s just not an issue anymore. We’re, you know, modern. Though, I don’t know how they’ll feel about the in-laws smelling like fish.”
Marvin grinned at him.
Alec turned to look down at the merman. “So, I come with a bit of baggage.”
Marvin grinned. “Every relationship has its little hurdles.”
“Little? Who you calling little?” Biff glared.
Marvin ignored Biff, nuzzled up against Alec’s neck and gave it a little lick.
Alec jumped slightly. “Behave.” He turned back to Fifi and Biff. “So what do we know about the Bay Area, any packs roaming there?”
Fifi grinned. “Not that I know of. The general feeling on San Francisco, amongst the older pack leaders, is that there are too many, well, you know. .” He trailed off.
Alec shrugged. “Guess I’m the right kind of alpha for the area then.”
Biff grinned. “So you’re in? You’ll do it?”
“Do I have a choice? At least there are still marine biology labs over there.”
Marvin slid an arm around his waist. “Plenty. I may even have influence with one or two of them.”
Alec smiled and looked down at the merman’s blond head. “I suppose to be unexpectedly in love is a nice change from being unexpectedly alive.”
The merman stood up on his toes and kissed him.
Alec wondered what Marvin looked like with a tail. “Man, this is going to be one weird relationship.”
“All the best ones are,” replied his merman boyfriend.
Moira Rogers
Zola’s Pride
A Southern Arcana Short Story
He was going to get the cops called on him if he wasn’t careful.
Walker Gravois dropped his second cigarette, crushed it under his boot and turned his attention back to the wide window across the way. Fluorescent light streamed through the glass, doing more to illuminate the narrow street than the lamp over his head. Inside the dojo, a woman with chocolate skin blocked a punch, then paused to correct her assailant’s form.
She didn’t have to be facing him for Walker to recognize her. Zola. Every line of her body tugged at memories he thought he’d banished years ago, and he couldn’t help but compare the woman before him with the one he remembered.
She’d been thinner then, just as strong but not as curvy. The wicked flare of her hips drew his gaze, and he licked his lower lip to ease the tingle of curiosity.
Walker checked his watch with a quiet curse — half past ten. He’d been standing there for close to an hour. In this part of the Quarter, it wouldn’t take long for someone to phone the police about the pervert loitering outside the dojo, watching the students kick and lunge in their tiny T-shirts and Lycra sports bras. Unfortunately, the neat letters etched into the glass window that listed closing time as nine o’clock seemed like more of a guideline than a rule.
And he desperately needed to talk to her.
He’d just begun to entertain the notion of simply walking in when Zola stepped to the front of the room and turned to address her gathered students. Clearly, she was preparing to dismiss them, so he shoved his unlit third cigarette back into the pack and crossed the street.
Man up, Gravois, he told himself. She‘ll either hear what you have to say. . or she‘ll kick your ass clear across the river. The hell of it was that he had no idea which she’d choose. Normally, he wouldn’t worry — he could handle whatever fury Zola unleashed on him — but he had more to think about now than himself.
So he’d let her scream at him, get out whatever lingering old hurts plagued her, and then he’d make sure she heard him.
He could do this.
He had to.
The evening class had run long again.
Zola never minded. Friday night was reserved for her private class, the class made up of girls and women who walked among the supernatural denizens of New Orleans as daughters, sisters and wives. Some had powers of their own, like Sheila, a gangly, sweet-faced wolf on the cusp of womanhood, all arms and legs and uncertain strength. Some were psychics and some were spell casters, witches and priestesses who twisted magic and read minds.
Some were human, and they were the most vulnerable of all.
The soft murmur of feminine voices drifted through the dojo as the last few students lingered in the warmth of the building, catching up on the latest gossip or making plans to meet later in the week. February had brought an unseasonable cold snap, the kind of chill that settled in Zola’s bones and made her long for the unforgiving deserts of her childhood.
The floor creaked behind her, and Zola looked up from rearranging a stack of punching targets to catch sight of Sheila’s reflection. The teenager had a jacket zipped up to her chin and a knitted hat pulled low over wild corkscrew curls, leaving just her pale face uncovered. “Zola?”
She looked worried, and Zola tensed. “Yes, Sheila? There is a problem?” Even after all these years, English didn’t come naturally. The words tumbled out in an order that always made others laugh, but she’d spoken too many languages in too many countries to worry now.