The Human Alpha

Chapter Four. Wetwang.

Chapter Four. Wetwang.

Alpha Delicious Point of View.

Stomping my boots on the side of the stone pack house to get rid of the mud, I let out a long sigh. Ploughing the fields in the rain is not my idea of fun. But it has to be done, and even as the alpha of this pack, I have to pull my weight with the remedial work.

I have lived in the UK for over six years now, moving from The Shadow Moon Pack in South Carolina, in the good old US of A. Although in Wetwang, my pack is home now, I am still getting used to the way of the Brits, even though this was once my mother’s pack. I am a child of different cultures, living in a foreign land, yet I was American, born and bred.

Ah, my mom, she was the only child of my grandparents, the former alpha and Luna of the Wetwang pack in the East of Yorkshire. Born over 150 years ago, she was the sole heir to the throne, so to speak. She had long awaited her mate, but he never arrived, and when it became apparent that my grandparents would not produce any more pups, she vowed to marry her chosen mate, a werewolf with the rather 'spiffy' name of Fitzgerald Montague. Who, by all accounts, loved my mom with a passion that would rival even a true mate’s feelings. Imagine my grandparent's dismay, when she embarked on a trip to America, only to return with a mate, my father. More to the point, my African American father. Yeah, from all accounts, that went down like a lead balloon. However, true believers in the sanctity of the mate bond, my grandparents soon got over the colour of my pop’s skin and became activists for equal rights here in the UK.

What happened to Fitzgerald? Well, that is a mystery. He left Wetwang and was never seen again. There were many rumours around his disappearance, but the most likely truth, is, he went away and found his mate, then lived happily ever after. At least that is what my Mom hopes.

Back when my parents met, racism was at its height, people of colour were treated like slaves, in a world where segregation was a reality, not just a distant memory. Over the centuries, so much has changed, yet still, in some way, things remain the same in some areas of the world. South Carolina is one of those places. Although the slave trade has long gone, in some people’s eyes, but not all, my family are less than, us because of our African heritage.

My pops, is over two hundred years old, kidnapped from his home village in Nigeria, back when the slave trade was at its height. The crazy thing was, that Pops was an Alpha werewolf, he could have ripped the white men who saw him as a commodity apart, but he felt that he needed to protect the human men and women who were ripped from their homes and taken to the new world. It was not shackles that kept my Pops in that boat, but his love of people, those who were unable to defend themselves, his protective nature unable to leave them to their fate.

He worked on the plantations, the abuses he suffered are rarely spoken of. He believes that it is pointless to dwell on the negatives of his past, to offer forgiveness and to move forward. He told me and my brothers many times that words were just that, words, and to be secure in who we were, as to hate those who would attack us, would only fuel the injustice. People will learn, that it takes time, but they will move forward, to hate and seek revenge, will only prolong the agony for everyone. He is one of the wisest men I know. I miss his stories, about his life, it is not all about the abuse both he and Mom suffered over the years, being a mixed-race couple, in a highly prejudiced society. They were there, the day Martin Luther King had a dream and partied hard the day America saw its first black president. Things have changed, but racism still exists.

I am the second born child of two worlds that collided, to parents that were more than a little ‘out there’ with their name choices for their four sons. My eldest brother, Gift, is the heir apparent for the Shadow Moon pack, my youngest brothers, Prince, and Joyous were living their lives, helping Pops run the pack. Back in America, back home. In my 41 years on this earth, I have seen my fair share of prejudice, and racism, but I am secure in who I am not so easily offended by the odd derogatory statement, and racial slur.

Even though my Mom is originally a Yorkshire lass, (as she calls herself), over the years, that have span generations, she has become more like a southern belle, with pearls in her ears and around her neck, with those polite manners we are known for, in abundance. Long gone is the strange accent of her youth, replaced by a fully Southern American drawl. She even has the pearl-clutching technique down to a fine art when she is upset about something. You would never know she was English if you met her now.

It is her heritage that brought me here, to the UK, as Alpha of my grandparent’s pack, when they passed, hand in hand, the mate bond lasting 300 years of their 340-year lives. With nobody to take over, and to avoid any battle over this land, I was made Alpha, with the blessing of the King and Queen at the time, Chloe and Zander. So, I moved taking a seven-day trip out of New York to Southampton on The Queen Mary 2 and began my new life.

To say it has been interesting is a little bit of an understatement. I have fought alongside the King and Queen, in the great awakening, almost losing my life, but here I stand, fully healed, and working the large farm that takes up the majority of my pack’s lands. Wetwang is a tiny pack, in the grand scheme of things, we are neither rich, nor poor, but comfortable.

Since the great awakening, once again, racism exists, only this time, not so much to do with my skin colour, but because of what I am. A werewolf. The same old prejudices exist, mostly coming from a place of fear, and I know we can fight against it, to bring about understanding, against those of the Anti-Werewolf brigade, but it will take kindness, patience, and forgiveness, it is a long road ahead, but one my family have travelled before.

“Alpha, Old Stinker is at the gate. I think he is hungry,” Anna my beta tells me, rolling her eyes.

Old Stinker is the stuff of legends around these parts. For over a hundred years, the tails of the werewolf seen in the dark hours, who has been known to attack domestic animals, mainly dogs, have been spoken of. Most people put it down to overactive imaginations or old tales from the Newton Triangle. However, now that werewolves are proven to exist, the locals are restless when it comes to the old rogue.

I say rogue, but in reality, he is a lone wolf, not a danger to humans, just their pets when he fancies a snack. He prefers his own company, and I do not know his story, but it seems like life dealt him a hard blow and has gone slightly crazy. However, that said, he saved my ass during the war, and for that, he will always have a safe place here at the pack, whenever he wants it.

“Let him in,” I smile at my beta, her long blonde hair flowing in the breeze. She is a beautiful woman, and in some ways, I wish she were my mate, but she isn’t, and although the attraction is there, neither of us has crossed that line. Both of us believe in the mate bond. Plus, she is my second in command, and I really do not want to muddy the waters. So now, I view her like a sister I never had, because it is better that way.

The old wolf walks into the kitchen, his long straggled grey hair hangs below his shoulders now. Anna once gave him a haircut, and I think he was grateful, but it was hard to tell, as he normally just grunts at us.

“Hi, how are you?” I smile at him. I hate calling him ‘Old Stinker’ but his name much like the werewolf himself is a mystery. Plus, I get the feeling he kind of likes it.

He grunts at me, which I take to mean he is good, as Gillian our omega, grins at him.

“You are just in time Stinker, this beef stew is just ready,” she grins, ladling some of the meat, potatoes and Vegetables into a bowl for him.

Old Stinker grunts and gives what we all presume is a smile, as she places the food in front of him. He hungrily devours it, as Gillian’s mate Dave walks in.

“Ey up, Old Stinker lad. You made light work of that,” Dave chuckles.

“Get him another bowl,” I instruct Gillian, who nods her head and serves our resident rogue another bowl of stew.

My omega always makes far too much food. The pack was always small, but we suffered during the Great Awakening war, and so now we are tiny. The bones of our brothers and sisters buried in the back field, with a permanent shrine to honour their sacrifice.

“Dog,” Stinker randomly states.

“No, it is beef,” Anna informs him.

“Dog,” he insists.

I cannot help but wonder if he is attempting to communicate something about a dog, or that he wishes the meat was a dog rather than a cow. I really wish he would get over his obsession with snacking on the local pets. After all, it is a little like cannibalism, given we are part wolf, domestic dogs our descendants.

“Was Hungry. Sorry,” Stinker tells me, and I let out a long sigh. I guess the old rogue has eaten another pet pup, and now the locals are going to be up in arms.

Again.

I just hope that he did this during the night, under the cover of darkness, and the dog was a stray, so will not be missed. But, knowing my luck, it probably happened an hour ago, before he made his way here, and we now have a traumatised pet owner on our hands. I let out a long sigh, because it was only going to be a matter of time, before the human council members came knocking on my door, and once again I was going to have to offer them assurances that Stinker would not do this again, and we all know, that my words mean nothing, because, if he wants to snack on a Yorkshire Terrier or even a Bull Mastiff, nothing I say or do will stop him.

Not for the first time in my life, I wistfully sigh, wishing I had someone to share the load. Anna is great as my beta, but I really need a Luna, to help expand the pack, and deal with the humans when they come knocking. However, my mate is nowhere to be found, so I must,as they say here in Yorkshire, plod on, and plan what I am going to say to calm the masses, when they come knocking, which I guess will be sooner rather than later.