Page 14 of In the Mouth of the Wolf

“I’m sorry,” she said, residual giggles escaping from her chest as she blotted the corners of her eyes. “Did you say you were purring? Like a cat?”

I placed my elbows on the table and folded my hands in front of my face, watching as her eyes focused on my forearms. What was it with females and forearms? Not that I would dare complain. If she liked them, I’d let her look at them as long as she wanted.

“You could say like a cat, if that helps you make sense of it. But purring is a behavior found in alphas. It’s a sound we make when we’re content, or when we want to comfort someone.”

She set the taco down and wiped her hands on a napkin. “I’ll bite - let’s say this whole ‘shifter’ thing is real. Why were you purring?”

I reached over, wiping a drop of salsa off her lip. “I am content. You were hungry and I fed you. Providing for you makes me happy.”

Her tongue dipped to where my finger had just been. Her nervousness enhanced her scent, and I closed my eyes as waves of pistachio and honey washed over me. What I wouldn’t give to lick that sweet perfume off her delicate skin.

“Why would providing for me make you happy?”

I smiled. “Because you’re an omega, and I instinctively want to take care of you.”

She straightened up, and I worried I might have said too much. Marlowe was engaged – did she really need another alpha coming onto her?

Instead of running away, she grabbed a chip and shoved it into her mouth, her mind working as she chewed. “What does that mean? I still don’t understand.”

I nearly purred again. She was curious, and I loved that she was asking questions. “Shifters are born in one of three biological classes. Alphas, who are typically male, make up about twenty percent of the population. We tend to be physically large and have a unique anatomical trait that makes it difficult for us to live outside of shifter communities. Betas represent the majority of us at seventy-five percent and are male and female. Visually, they are almost indistinguishable from humans these days but still retain some of our wilder instincts. Omegas like yourself are usually female, smaller in stature, and only come in at about five percent.”

I kept an eye on the other patrons at the restaurant. Out of the eight or so guests, two were alphas, three were betas, and the rest were humans. Shifters had settled pretty seamlessly into the Chippewa Valley a hundred and fifty years or so ago. The dense, isolated forests and cold temperatures suited our hot-blooded animal forms.

Even though we no longer ran through the wild, we still appreciated the weather. At least alphas and betas did. Omegas, physically, were much smaller, and would depend upon their packs to keep them warm during the long, dark, winter nights.

“Okay,” she said, “Aside from their rarity, why are omegas so…”

Her hands moved as she struggled to find the word.

“Coveted?” I suggested.

She nodded. “Sure, let’s say that. So, in this make-believe world of shifters, what makes omegas coveted?”

“Shifters have a natural inclination towards pack-forming, and the males are also aggressive to a fault. Having a pack ensures a system that can rein in deviant behavior that endangers our society. But historically, the heart of the pack, especially for alphas, was the omega – the one who balances the pack with her calm demeanor.”

She rolled her eyes. “So, omegas are just demure little sex toys that men can fuck their aggression out with before they go crazy and shoot up an office building?”

I coughed, a blush now creeping on my cheeks. “That’s one way to put it, I guess. We’re biologically wired to desire each other. From scent to sound, my body reacts to yours more than it does with beta females or human women. Imagine you’ve spent your whole life eating salads, and then suddenly someone places a steak in front of you. That’s kind of what it’s like for an alpha when they come near an omega.”

Marlowe gave me a calculating gaze. I hadn’t chased her off yet, which seemed to be a good sign. “But if there are so few omegas, does that mean most shifters just spend their lives eating salad?”

I needed to choose my words carefully. Our old customs were so different from the human ones she was raised in. So different from what shifters were even doing now. “Omegas typically choose a whole pack to bond and mate with.”

She went quiet, and I watched her intently as she absorbed all of the information. “You mean, one woman with several men? Aren’t there any problems with that? Jealousies, favoritism, that sort of thing?”

“Sometimes,” I admitted. “Although my pack and I have no experience with an omega, so I can’t give you any firsthand accounts. But generally speaking, we understand that should our pack be blessed with one, we will need to share. And there are several times a year when males are… thankful that they have packmates who can help.”

She had finished all of the chips and the rest of my tacos, and now started to pick at the errant shreds of lettuce that remained on the plate. “Are you still hungry?” I asked.

“No,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I just feel like I could really use a drink.”

I gave her a knowing nod. “I understand. Even if you don’t quite believe me yet, this day must have been very stressful for you. Have you given yourself time and space to grieve the death of your father?”

While she gathered her thoughts, I flagged down the waitress and ordered two frozen margaritas. Her eyes widened. “How did you know that’s what I wanted?”

I purred. “It was a lucky guess.”

We remained in comfortable silence until they arrived. She finally found the words after a few sips of her drink. “My dad was as good as dead the day he walked out on us. Grief isn’t quite the right word for what I’m feeling right now.”

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