I had gotten dressed quickly, throwing on some warm clothes carelessly, save to make sure they covered the disturbingly old-looking wounds on my neck. I also ran a brush through my hair, but only because in catching my reflection in my wardrobe mirror, I realized that the wan, disheveled look might attract unwanted attention. I a quick note for Cara on the kitchen table, informing her of where I'd be that night, but neither Rafe nor I had spoken as I got ready and that silence had followed us into his car. It made me a little uncomfortable, and more than a little sad since this oppressive lack of conversation was such a rude contrast to our companionable quiet of times before Cassian. Then again, I was also glad to not have to talk about anything difficult.
I'd almost come to expect we would spend the rest of the ride unspeaking when he cleared his throat and glanced at me.
"There are a couple of things you should probably know before you meet everyone."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," he said. "About us. Werewolves. How we live."
"Go on," I encouraged. I was intensely interested, even if the thrilling edge had been taken off my curiosity from my knowledge about some of the other denizens of this secret world.
He didn't respond immediately, frowning at the road as he composed his thoughts. "How much do you know about regular wolves?"
"Not a lot. Just some basic stuff." At his look, I expanded, "Like, they live in packs. They hunt together. And they follow an alpha, their leader. That's about all I could tell you off the top of my head though."
Rafe was nodding. "That's right. We work pretty much the same way. We all live together, or close. Except in smallish family groups instead of a giant commune or whatever. Most of us actually
are
related somehow, except for the odd loner we adopted, or members of other packs who've joined ours."
"Other packs?"
"Yeah." He glanced at me again, I guess assessing my reaction. "We don't have a newsletter or anything, but there are packs of different sizes pretty much all over. Mostly in more rural parts since we need room to run when we change."
This kept getting more and more interesting. It was, I thought, a conversation we should have had a while ago, when he'd first revealed himself. Or once I'd mellowed out from the shock at least.
"You mean when you shape-shift?"
I caught a hint of amusement at the eagerness of my tone. "We don't call it that, but yeah. Like you saw when I, uh, showed you a while back, we can change at will -well, once we get old enough to be able to control ourselves. Except on the full moon. Then it happens whether we want to or not. And I think you can probably imagine why it wouldn't be such a hot idea for a bunch of big-ass wolves to be running around all over downtown."
"Makes sense." I acknowledged, trying to picture it.
"Anyway," he said, then paused a while. As the silence stretched out, I studied him, waiting for more, until he cleared his throat again and began slowly.
"Every pack has an alpha, like with wolves. The alpha's the leader, or, I dunno. The family patriarch, kind of. He -or she, I guess, since I have heard of the occasional lady alpha- watches out for the pack. He's the final say in big decisions, keeps the peace within the pack families, oversees things when it comes to interacting with outside packs. He doesn't just rule over everything like a mob boss or whatever. But it's his responsibility to look out for the well-being of the pack, and to make the decisions that will take care of everybody the best way possible, and people respect that and do what he says.
"My dad was the last alpha," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the road. "He took care of the pack for thirty years, and because of him we were bigger and happier than we'd ever been."
He paused again then said, "When he died five years ago, that changed."
My eyes widened and my heart twinged sympathetically. I was all-too familiar with the loss of a parent. "I'm so sorry, Rafe."
He shrugged. "It happens."
"What... do you mind if I ask what happened? He couldn't have been very old."
"He wasn't."
"Oh. Okay." I felt guilty for prying into an obviously still-painful subject and lowered my eyes to fiddle with the zipper on my jacket.
"Truth is, Selene, we still don't know exactly what happened." The sudden surge of his voice made me jump. "We found him face-down in the river beaten all to hell. Now, I guess it's possible that he could have gotten that way from falling down the gulley and from washing down the river a ways... But you can understand why we didn't want the human police looking too closely at things, so we just reported it as an accident.
"Oh, my god."
His hand tightened on the steering wheel and he shook his head angrily. "It's just, my dad was a careful guy. I couldn't ever see him taking a spill like that. But if he
was
murdered, then who does that leave for suspects? Who'd be able to take out a fifty-five year-old werewolf at pretty much the peak of his strength? Who'd want to? Everybody in the pack loved him."
I was speechless, watching him with wide eyes.
"Anyway," He said again, "When he died, the pack kind of fell apart. Some bad things were said. Family groups who'd been with us for two or more generations moved away, and of course the loners who'd joined us for the safety of our numbers were some of the first to bail. For a while it was just my family and a few others left."