It was three days later, and I was searching the files we had cleared to an attic space. There had been a pile of birth records and marriage licenses that some kid scanned in and bagged like he was taught. I hope I would have had enough sense to think, hey, don't let this go in the regular dump! if I had scanned it.

But that's asking a lot out of a 12-year old-boy who is trying to stay focused on scanning papers next to 3 girls who are flirting with him out of boredom. This is the consequence of having children do work that adults should have kept up with for 20 years.

I had them working on the stacks near the windows, so that way we could assess the damage done to the windowsill by ignoring it for that long. Thankfully this was a dry environment otherwise the documents would be full of mold. As it was, this was paperwork from the beginning of Maverick/Loki's reign.

Mrs. Longfish had brought in a contact list full of those expelled who managed to move into surrounding packs. While most had regained their paperwork, the rush of being violently removed from their homes often left the younger ones without proof of who they were. Older documentation would be filed with the state, but everything thereafter was spotty. We had kids born at home who didn't have their social security numbers issued to them. That's paperwork that's normally started at a hospital or with a traveling doctor. Too many shifter moms have their babies at home, to this day. They used to force women to stay in their beds—werewolf moms can't stay still like that. Too much energy and squatting was actually the natural birthing position for both werewolves and humans.

Fixing these things would cost a ton of money. Thankfully Nathan's dad had released the accounts to his son. Despite the neglect of everything else, the finances were solid.

I mean, stacked.

It turns out that Maverick is, well, a maverick. He was playing around as a day trader long before it was cool. His money came from a ton off of tech stocks and much later, the earlier cryptocurrency over the past 20 years. It's to the point where he looked like he had some insider trading going on. It's amazing to watch the different iterations of the concept of "intuitive" in these wolves.

Hell, the man built his own algorithm that bought and sold stocks while he was incarcerated, and that made damn near a million, in what, a month?

Anyway, boxes of papers. I finally found the one I needed at the bottom of a pile of 10. I whimpered as I sat down on another half-formed pile. That stack was way too far overhead. I was stuck there, chewing on my lip as I contemplated doing something stupid.

"Don't worry. I've got it." Speak of the devil and he will appear. But why the former Alpha was up in the attic with me...alone?

"Thanks, I guess...I need the base box." I decided I'd wait until he got the box for me before I started in on him. He rearranged the stack by pulling up to 3 at a time. An old table was set up in this space for moments like this. In no time, I had the relevant bag opened and was sorting through it, comparing names to Mrs. Longfish's list.

About halfway through the sort, I felt something cold hit my skin near my mark. There were no tingles, as if it were my mate. There was no pain, like when Tyler assaulted me.

I stared back up at my father-in-law, and like a light switch flipped, I was enraged. No one has a right to be that intimate with me, without my permission!

Fast on the heels of that thought came the burning and pain I expected from the damn thing. "Get the fuck off me, man!"

Maverick pulled his hand back but sat down on the edge of the table. His eyes gleamed, crinkling a little from his self-satisfied smirk.

I was fighting to keep my breathing even. Lord, I hate my uncle and his wife but those good-for-nothings made me hyper-aware of some of my behaviors.

And I wasn't about to give this bastard the satisfaction of responding in the one way men want you to.

When a woman is enraged, she starts breathing harder. Her eyes dilate, her nostrils flare, and especially if she's pregnant or wearing a corset, her chest heaves, attempting to bring in more oxygen. You can sometimes look like you're about to orgasm from being incensed.

Fuck that. With someone else's 10 ft pole. Preferably with a spiked mace on the end.

"I am sorry to upset you...daughter." Dimples flashed on the edge of his beard. It didn't move me, but I wanted to see that beard, that smile on Nathan's face...in a safe place, where I could possess it. Not on...an old moron. "I had a theory I wanted to test before I brought it up with anyone."

Damn my curiosity. I shouldn't ask, but I will. I need to know what exact tale I'd be telling my mate. Not to lie, but to frame this in as peaceful a light as possible. I'd rather put a foot up his backside at the moment, but hell, I'd want something a bit more solid than being a creep—if he had it. "What the hell type test crosses all over the barrier of family? I'd like to keep my meal in my stomach."

"You're not my family, dear."

"No shit, Sherlock, but my baby is, so knock it off."

"I thought you wanted to know what it is I'm testing."

I knew that tone, I heard it every damn day. Just the barest hint of power, not quite a command, which forces you against your will, but one that could persuade you to change your mind.

And I wasn't turned off by it...

But I wasn't turned on either. "Knock it off, old man."

What a blessed relief to not throw up.

"It's nothing horrible. You're special to the Goddess, just like your mother. That means you control that mark, not the bond."

I had to shake my head at that, as I turned back to the stack I was working on. If he was going to tease me, I had work to do. Teasing wouldn't wear me down, not the way he was going about it, at least.

He placed his hand on mine—while I was trying to write. My immediate response was to pull it out from under his, but he wouldn't budge, "You're blessed with Her very own seduction. That's exactly why we fought over your mother in my generation, and why you're in for the fight of your life outside of my son's care."

"I'm well aware that males chase after me, Mr. Hall." I am. I've not been blind to it, and some of the interest has been increasing. Most of it I've not been writing about because it was stupid shit. Catcalls, guys nervously asking if I would consider going on a date with them—that was back before Nathan and I made it clear that we were an item. I didn't want to date my mate, why the fuck would I go after them? Now? The pregnancy had them boys scared, until Ol' Joe's damn fool son. And I'm aware that older males don't care if you're pregnant, as much.

"You don't get it, girl. You haven't peaked, and probably won't for a few years yet. You could use a little more protection in your life."

That insinuation. Ugh. His son is enough for me. His son can protect me, but I'm not a pushover, myself, not for blindly giving in, at least. Not even here and now, alone in the corner of an attic room. "What. Trade a little security to make you and your son Brothers of the Hole?! Get the fuck away from me with that shit."

He smirked at that, hand still on mine, "Come with me."

A command, better wielded than my mate can. I almost clenched out of habit—but that is not what he said. I wouldn't follow him anywhere, although I was sweating bullets to stay in my seat. "No."

"Now."

"Let Go OF ME!" I started calmly, but it was a shriek of rage by the end. The power dipped and crashed.

His hand slipped off mine, almost involuntarily. Then he stepped back. "Good. Good. You have more of that in you than your mother ever did."

My head was pounding. "Fuuuck." I dropped my face to my hands to hold it up, while I waited for the throbbing to subside. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Testing your mettle. You've done better than I expected, but remember, your mother was pregnant, too."

With that, he walked out, finally leaving me alone with my pain. I could see it, pushing the bare edge of my resolve. The fact that my mark could be touched by anyone as long as I accepted it scared me. What it didn't trigger was intrigue. It caused me to dig in harder and fight back, as much as I dared. Early on, with Nathaniel, I was hoping it was a case of any guy would do, to distract me from not being with him and his many casualties. Now? I had too much to protect to be chasing off after other guys. I never expected to be so naturally inclined to being easy, universal. It disgusted me. I hated it from the start, but back then? It was a rebellion in which I poured all my self-loathing. Now?

What the hell am I going to do with myself?!

I had to wonder if Maverick set it up this way to trigger a fight from my freaking out about being touched. Did he know that it would harden my resolve, making me far stronger than I'd normally be? Was he trying to undermine his son for a chance at me? Conniving or strengthening?

I don't know which direction scares me more.

How in the hell can I salvage this? Can I stop them from fighting again? Hell, I want to beat the piss out of the man, myself.

We needed allies for whatever was coming for us, but what would his aid cost me?

~~~

Nathaniel made it to dinner, brooding. It worried me, after what I'd been through.

Now, this was a typical pack meal like we've been having. Alpha and entourage at the head table, the older Omegas running around serving everyone... Of course, our table held his and Stephen's father, and our guests, as well.

This includes Aunt Ruth—she's at least 120, past the expiration of European wolves, except we can't find anything in the paperwork on whether she is a 1st generation human or just an old were that didn't go down in a fight. These meals include one of those old-school ear trumpets. How the hell she find one? Who knows? Maybe she crawls around the attic spaces like I do, arthritic knees and all. But she's whipping that thing around, nearly hitting whomever she sits next to. Protocol be damned, we rotate folks so that no one is stuck by her side.

And we can't put her with the younger ones, even if they all sat at tables headed by this generation's various couples. The younger ones would have their knuckles rapped by her knife. We've seen it happen a few times. She's the definition of an old harridan. She'd do it to the older ones, too, if she were fast enough.

Anyway: brooding Nate, heart attack me. He stood halfway through the meal, not giving shit one about interrupting everyone's eating. The hall shifted to silence, rapidly. "I intend for this to be the last generation with traditional Omegas. We live in the 21st century in a free nation. We cannot continue to avoid integrating into human society, only hiding back the barest of who we are from them. If everything about us is a secret, we will be caught out faster. As it is, our town's barrier between werewolves and humans is thin. For now, I want everyone to write down something you would willingly do for our current omegas, along with your name. It can be anything you can think of. Drop it into the suggestion box that Mrs. Longfish has tacked to the doors when you're done. That is all."

I had to be looking at him a bit bug-eyed because he leaned over and murmured to me, "What? Now that I have my hands on the finances, there's no reason to be stingy in their care."

He never once told me he was getting rid of the lower caste system. Never. I mean, I'm all for that going extinct. It's a part of the abuses of a pack. But we have so much going on right now that I couldn't quite wrap my head around the decision. Might as well disband the whole pack, while at it.

~~~

We read through the offers with Mrs. Longfish, and it was quite a few sweet things by the younger kids. The older adults and many of those my age offered to take over various chores for a break. It looked like we needed to organize a weekend off here and there for them—if they agreed, of course.

"Make love to any of them, all of them, whichever of them want it.

~ Aldane"

I happened to be the one who read that one out loud. "Um...ok, I guess that needs to go to the bottom of the..."

"No!" Mrs. Longfish snatched it out of my hand and reread it a few times. "I assume he's 17, yes?"

"Are you..." Nathaniel's eyes crossed for a second. "Are you interested in him, Ma'am?"

The normally prim woman had the grace to blush, at least. "No, no. As I'm here for instruction and advisement, I cannot in good conscience violate Nevada laws on teachers. If I cease having a role, here? I'd probably ask for stud services, preferably through IVF, since it's not about attraction..."

To say my jaw dropped would be a rather dry commentary on what adorned my hearing. It took me a second. "I'm missing something, here."

My mate was the one who spoke up. "Omegas are less likely to find their mates because they have the least right to travel. Packs that at least pity them will have a stud service of some sort. We haven't had one in...hell, this is part of why I wanted to get rid of the position. "

"That doesn't tell me why his offering this is so important."

"He's of Gamma stock. You don't get a were that big without them being a Gamma, and he's got a decade of growth left. Most of the rest of your males will quit growing long before he does." Mrs. Longfish mused.

I thought back over all the years observing these guys, trying to pinpoint how different Aldane was from the rest—and I mean beyond skin deep. He had girls all over him, he took his turn at their stupid bets...and then it clicked. "Oh. My. Gawd. He likes grown women as short as he can get them. And he wants them tough and tiny."

He was always after short chicks, but was awkward with them, like he was afraid of breaking the girl. You'd have to be setting out to intentionally harm an Omega. They're pretty tough little women—at least the genetic ones. Should see some of ours: scarred and look like they're sizing you up for your casket whenever you mess up their work. There's a reason why I can't get comfortable with them. They make me look positively soft.

But they were his type.