Kelly Meade - Black Rook

The first six chords of “Black Sheep Son” played through his mind. He’d written the song in high school, and it was the first original tune performed by his college band once they started making a name for themselves doing covers. Remembering his music kept him calm and focused.

“What was the fight about?” Father asked.

“The usual. Two teenage boys posturing over a girl, even though she’s made it clear her interest is elsewhere.”

In a town as small as Cornerstone, dating was often more difficult than a novice guitarist learning barre chords. Its two-room school educated fewer than fifty children at any given time, and you were lucky to have a handful of friends in your grade. Luckier still if one of them was of the opposite sex and interested in you—but that luck could be shattered by the color of your Wolf and the expectations that your color carried. As a Black Wolf, Rook had spent his teenage years in a firm, frustrated state of “look, don’t touch.” College had been another kind of nightmare. But this fight wasn’t about him.

“Who hit first?” Father asked.

“They moved at the same time. I saw it coming before they could actually strike each other, and I got in between. Technically, there wasn’t a fight, so I didn’t see a reason to bother you, especially on an auction day.”

“Run business doesn’t stop for auction day, son.”

“I know that, but I made the call.” Rook’s ability to stand up for himself had improved dramatically in the three months since he graduated college, but his father still intimidated him. As did the role of Alpha and everything it entailed—a role that Rook, as a Black Wolf, had a right to claim one day. Becoming Alpha was looking less and less likely with each decision his father and brother questioned.

Rook moved to the other side of the desk to stand opposite his father. The bustle of auction day continued below them, the noise a muffled rumble on the other side of the glass. A flash of black hair caught his attention as it bobbed through the crowd. The angle gave him only a cursory view of a slim female body, pale arms, and the back of a green t-shirt. Her hair was so black it actually glinted with blue highlights. His skin prickled with impossible interest, and he watched her, hoping she’d turn around—

“Rook?”

He snapped his head around. “I’m sorry, what?”

Father glanced out the window, then shook his head. “It sounds as though you handled the situation well, and you may have been right that it wasn’t something I needed to hear about.”

“But?” There was always a but.

“Bishop brought it up so that I could make that judgment call.”

“Bishop brought it up because he doesn’t trust my judgment and never has. He didn’t trust that I handled the fight or my assessment that it wasn’t worth bringing to you.”

“It isn’t about trust, son.”

“Then what is it about? You both keep telling me to take initiative. So I make a call, he questions it, and then he comes to you so that I have to explain myself.”

“It’s how we learn.” Father unfolded his arms and tucked his hands into his trouser pockets—in all his life, Rook had never seen his father wear jeans. “It’s how Bishop and I discover what you know and what you can do. There’s no written exam for this kind of work, Rook. You learn it on the job, just as I did.”

Rook frowned, not wanting to concede the argument, but his father had a good point. As the oldest son, Bishop was traditionally first in line to inherit the role of Alpha, despite being born a common Gray Wolf. As the third son, Rook had surprised everyone by being a Black Wolf—stronger, faster, fiercer, and typically the firstborn of a Black Wolf like their father. And as the Black son of the Alpha, he could one day claim the role of Alpha without physically challenging his elder brother for it.

Therein lay the friction.

Bishop had been training to take over as Alpha his entire life, working hard to overcome the handicap of being Gray. He’d been ten years old when Rook was born, and fourteen the first time Rook shifted and revealed his Black Wolf. His kid brother had innocently changed Bishop’s future, and he’d been punishing Rook for it ever since. Nothing Rook did was ever good enough—not even his music.

“I know you’re frustrated,” Father said, and the sympathy in his voice surprised Rook. “Right now it feels like we don’t trust you, but that’s only because you’re still learning. One day no one will go behind your back to bring matters to me, because everyone will know that your word is mine. Just like they know this with Bishop.”

Rook nodded. He understood all of that; it had been drilled into his head for years. And Rook knew he still had a long way to go to prove himself worthy of voicing the Alpha’s word. He also knew he didn’t possess an overabundance of patience, which fueled his daily frustration.

Footsteps creaked up the stairs, alerting them both to the interruption before a fist ever landed on wood. After two sharp knocks, the office door swung open. Knight came inside, his favorite Stetson in his hands instead of on his head. “Minor problem,” he said.

“What sort of problem?” Father asked.

Knight stepped further into the room, boot heels snapping on the wood. Rook resisted rolling his eyes at his middle brother’s choice of footwear. Knight only wore them on auction day, as a running joke about wearing a disguise for their human customers. Women liked it, though, and even if they didn’t come to buy at the auction, they spent their money at the concession stand while hanging around and hoping to flirt with him.

“There’s a young lady downstairs who’s giving off the strangest scent. It’s human, but there’s also an undercurrent of something else, almost loup. And she’s extremely agitated. Her pulse is all over the place.”

Having a human woman running around the auction house on sale day wasn’t uncommon, but a human scent mixed with loup was. “Half-breed?” Rook asked.

While run loup were forbidden from marrying humans without special dispensation from their run Alpha, some rogue loup lived with and married humans anyway, producing run-less half-breed children. Despite being born sterile and often without the ability to shift into beast form, half-breeds were the biggest threat to loup garou secrecy because of their mixed biology. They weren’t welcome in sanctuary towns like Cornerstone, and most were smart enough to stay away.

“I don’t think so,” Knight replied. “I’ve smelled half-breeds, and I was able to get close to her. Speak with her. Her scent was different. That and the agitation . . . Bishop is escorting her upstairs.”

Rook glanced out at the auction floor in time to see Bishop and the black-haired woman disappear beneath them, heading for the stairs. He moved around to the other side of the desk and stood next to Knight, while Father arranged himself behind the desk. Knight elbowed him in the ribs, then nodded at their father. He knew why Rook had been summoned. Rook rolled his eyes; he’d tell his brother all about it later. Only three years younger than Knight, Rook and he had always been close, often putting them both at odds with the much older Bishop.

Until it came to run matters. Then all three McQueen brothers came together as a solid, immoveable force.

Two sets of footsteps ascended the stairs at a steady clip. The scuff of the first was lighter than the clump of the second, and a waft of something sweet, floral, and decidedly female trickled into the office. The scent put all of Rook’s senses on high alert. Once again, awareness prickled across his skin.

And then the onyx-haired woman stepped into the room. She met Rook’s eyes immediately and froze in place, and he stared right back, his heart beating a bit faster. She was beautiful, with long lashes, eyebrows the same black as her hair, and flawless pale skin with no trace of makeup. And younger than he’d originally thought, guessing her to be around his age. She came up to Bishop’s shoulder, which would put her at about Rook’s chin. She was exquisite—a china doll come to life, cursed with a blank stare instead of a smile.