Taking the Beta Male

"We live in a world created by beta males. And females too, for that matter. Have you ever noticed what happens when some self-proclaimed strongman takes over a country? It all goes to shit in a hurry. And I'm not talking about the obvious monsters like Hitler and Stalin and Mao. Look at people like Santa Ana in Mexico, or Chavez in Venezuela, or half the big-city mayors here in America. Some big loud idiot convinces a bunch of rubes that he can fix everything through sheer force of personality, then explodes in a great big steaming pile of fail.

"Meanwhile, the 'beta males,' as you call us, were inventing writing, and medicine, and democracy, and the internet, and other awesome stuff, like plumbing and deodorant and central heating. To say nothing of what women did. As far as I can tell, if things were left to these alphas of yours, women would be barefoot, pregnant, and illiterate. And the rest of us would be their slaves. You've got just as much brains and more artistic skill than anyone else I've met in my life, but you're sitting here all mopey and sad because some asshole kicked you out of his he-man club. Well, screw him. Screw him sideways. Forgive me if I think our way is better. At least we pretend talent is the most important thing, rather than whether you were born with a pair of balls and a dick."

She rocked back in her chair, taken by surprise by this passionate speech. It seemed the mild-mannered vet, who always seemed so calm, had some fire inside him after all.

Too bad none of that passion is directed somewhere else.

Where should it be directed, Laura? At you? And what would you do if it was? You don't even like him. Or do you? And even if you do, do you think he likes you, after all your bitching?

She bit back a defense of her pack's ways, saying only, "You gave us disco, too."

He grinned at her with another mercurial change in his mood. "Well, every system has its drawbacks. I never said the world was perfect. Besides," he said, removing the steaks from the grill, "I kind of like disco, sometimes."

"Yes. I know. It's a good thing you do. Otherwise I'd be tempted to think you were perfect."

He opened his mouth, then closed it slowly. His eyes, for the rest of the evening, strayed to her often. As did hers to him. But neither gave voice to the bond which was growing between them.

*****

For the next several days, they lived in state of uneasy cooperation. Despite her oft-stated comments to the contrary, Laura made no move to find a place of her own, though she halfheartedly looked through the internet at listings for apartments in town, using Cal's laptop, which he was happy to let her borrow. And since Calvin adamantly refused to accept money for her lodging, she borrowed his truck one afternoon and came back with enough food to feed the two of them for a month. Cal, for his part, treated her with careful courtesy, and did not push at her self-imposed barriers. She sometimes went with him when he traveled to the outlying ranches in the area on his veterinary rounds. She had not shifted to her wolf form since the day she was injured, but something in the wild open spaces seemed to ease her.

It was Thursday evening, and Laura had been staying with him for a week, when the call came. It was from his parents' number, but to his surprise, it was his brother Craig's voice that he heard.

"Cal, can you come up here? We've got...we've got a problem. Something crazy. And we need your advice."

He sat up straight in his recliner. He had never heard that edge of barely-restrained panic in Craig's voice. Not even when Drusilla was having cold feet about the wedding. "What is it?"

"Not on the phone. I can't explain. Shit, it doesn't make any goddamned sense. Can you just come up here quick?" The tone was almost pleading.

"Sure," he said, completely mystified. Craig cut the call immediately, and he stared at his phone in consternation.

"What was that about?" Laura asked from her seat on the couch. She had been slowly working her way through his bookshelves, and was currently reading a collection of Sherlock Holmes stories.

"It was my brother," he replied, pulling on his leather jacket and hunting for his keys. Without looking at him, Laura pointed to where they lay on a side table, and he nodded his thanks. "He says something crazy happened up at the ranch, and he needs my advice. Which is dumb. Anything Craig and my dad and Denton can't handle...well, I sure won't be able to." He paused. "Do you want to come with? You could see where I grew up and meet my family."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Why, Cal," she drawled, her voice low and sultry, though her eyes danced with suppressed amusement. "Are you introducing me to the family, now? Isn't that moving things along a little quickly? We haven't even gone out on a date yet."

He cursed his fair skin, which showed his blush so easily. "Give me a break," he growled. "Do you want to come along or not?"

She stood, stretching languidly. He tried to keep his eyes away from her chest as her back arched, but being an adult male, and one without girlfriend at that, some things were just too much to ask. Luckily, Laura didn't seem to mind. In fact, over the past few days, she seemed to be actively courting his attention. How much of that was honest attraction he didn't dare question. However, she hadn't made any snotty remarks about 'beta males' since their conversation on Friday night, which had made him cautiously optimistic.

Get real, he told himself. She's just being polite. She's made it clear in dozen different ways that she's not interested in you.

"Why not?" she replied at last. "Things are really dull when you're not around." She plucked up his denim jacket and followed him out to the truck.

The drive up to his father's place was mostly silent. The weather had turned the day before, and it was a cold, raw evening, with random spatters of rain falling from a slate-gray sky. He was surprised to see his father, Craig, and Denton all waiting for him when he pulled into the well-ordered dooryard.

"Cal," his father said. A tall, rawboned man with sandy hair going gray at the temples, he was responsible for over two thousand acres of land and a dozen full-time employees. He was approaching fifty, but could still put in fourteen hours' work in the saddle. His grip on his hand was strong, but there was a strange look in his eyes.

"Dad. What's going on?"

"I'll have Craig show you, first." His eyes flicked to Laura. "Who's this?"

"Laura Hudson, this is my father, Larry Smith. Dad, Laura's been staying with me for about a week. She was attacked by some of those squatters up on Lupe Mountain."

"Those assholes. Yeah, Lisa Reed told your mom about that." One corner of his mouth twitched. "She said this one was a lot better looking than most of the strays you dragged home with you." He nodded politely at Laura. "Ma'am."

"Sir." The nod was returned with respect.

"Come on, Cal," his brother said. "It's going to be dark soon. The sooner we take a look at this, the sooner you can tell me what you think." He set off at a brisk pace, the rest of them trailing behind.

Craig led the group about half a mile to the west, steadfastly refusing to answer any of Calvin's questions. He stopped at a paddock under the slopes of the foothills. The ground was muddy with the recent rain, and his nose caught the unmistakable odor of cow manure.

"You remember how we use this spot for pregnant heifers?" his brother asked.

He nodded. It was always best to have a new mother somewhere you could find them. First-time mothers, especially cows, could be strange, giving birth in the most amazingly inconvenient spots, sometimes hiding their calves as well.

"Well, Lou Jackson warned us that there might be a pack of rogue wolves making trouble. Which doesn't make any damn sense," he fumed. "It's not like it's been a hard winter. There should be plenty of game for them up in the mountains without them having to come down into the valley.

"Anyway, we had to put a couple heifers in here this morning. I came out a few hours ago to see if they had calved yet.

"Now. Look at this." He pointed to the area near the gate. "What footprints do you see?"

Cal knelt down and looked carefully. "One set of bootprints."

"Which are mine," his brother said. He raised his boot so Calvin could match the pattern.

"And one set of wolfprints." He looked up at his older brother. "So?"

"I had a shotgun with me. So when I came up here on Bandit and saw a wolf nosing around, I decided to put a load of birdshot into its ass. Wolves are smart. I hoped if I scared one off, the rest would get the message.

"Instead..." He swallowed, and pointed to where flattened grass showed a body had been dragged away.

"You killed a wolf? With birdshot?" Beside him, Calvin felt Laura tense.

"No." He shot a look at his brother, his face strange.

"Not a wolf."

*****

The boy was no more than nineteen years old. He was lying a few dozen yards away, bound hand and foot. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a soundless snarl as the five of them approached.

A week, Laura thought, her mind spinning in dismay. Below that, there was a feeling of almost comical rage. Graham, and Rolf before him, kept the pack hidden for over thirty years. And that colossal fuck-up Tate manages to reveal us in a fucking week!

"So I shoot a wolf, and when I turn my back for five seconds, I find a naked boy with a bunch of holes in his butt." He shot a level look at his brother. "It doesn't take genius to figure out something mighty strange is going on. Especially when someone puts together some of the rumors that have been flying around the area about your guest, Cal. About how you took a wounded wolf home, and have a woman no one in town has ever seen staying with you the next day."

"So is this why you've dragged me up here?"

His father spoke up for the first time. "We need to decide what to do. I'm not in favor of killing anything that doesn't need killing. You know that, son.

"But this..." He pulled off his hat and ran a forearm across his forehead. His face was pale in the dim light. "This ain't natural."

"You just think it isn't natural," Laura said suddenly. "You don't know anything about him. Or me."

"No," Larry Smith said steadily. His eyes were very direct, and Laura suddenly saw where Calvin got his immense store of calm. "I don't. But I think right now I need to know."

"God damn it," she muttered. Her lips tightened as she looked around the circle of men. "Can I at least ask you to turn your backs?"

Calvin nodded immediately. The other three also agreed, though more slowly. When they were facing away from her, she stripped with well-practiced efficiency, and shifted.

Giving a sharp bark, she let the Smiths and their foreman know it was safe to see her.

"Holy fuck..." Craig's voice was awestruck. His hand reached forward, as if he was going to try to pet her. With a low growl, she warned him away, and he jumped back hastily.

"Careful." Calvin sounded amused. "She's not tame, you know." She yipped her agreement and moved closer to him. His hand reached down to fondle her ears, and she butted her head against his thigh.

"She seems to like you." Denton's voice was almost accusing.

Cal shrugged and looked into her eyes. "Do you want to shift back now, since you've proved your point?" She yipped and moved back to her clothes.

When she had shifted back and hastily redressed, she stalked over to the boy lying on the ground. His eyes were blazing with fury at her betrayal as she squatted down beside him.

"Lowell. You complete and utter fool," she said, her voice icy with disdain. "What were you doing here? Are you such a completely fucking incompetent hunter that you need to go after a pregnant cow? In May?"

"It's a test. The alpha says that males who wish to be full members of the pack must show their skill in the hunt."

"By going after a pregnant cow? He's fucking insane. Has he ever seen what an enraged mother can do to one of us? They can stomp us into a bloody fucking hole in the ground, is all. They only outweigh us twenty to one, you jackass."

He sneered up at her. "You're not part of the pack anymore, bitch. No one cares what you think. Just wait until Tate hears about what you've done. He'll come down here and kill you himself."

She slapped his face, hard. "Get something straight, boy," she said to his astonished expression. "I'm not afraid of Tate. Or you. Or anyone else up there."

She held out a hand behind her. "Knife." She felt a worn haft press into her palm. She spun it in her fingers, the wickedly sharp blade flickering in the dim light. Kneeling, she pressed the tip to the underside of Lowell's chin, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"You listen to me," she breathed, so softly only the two of them could hear. "You tell Tate he can play his sick little games up on the mountain. I don't give a shit. If the rest of you are too fucking scared of him to take him down, that's none of my concern.

"But the valley is mine. Larkspur and the ranches and the farms and all the rest. If I catch wind that he's betraying our people by putting them at risk, I'll come up there and put him down like the animal he is.

"You tell Tate that. All of it. Do you hear me?" When no answer was forthcoming, she dug the knife in. A drop of blood rose from Lowell's skin. "I said, do you hear me?" she growled.

"Yes! Fine! I hear you, crazy bitch! Not my problem if you've got a death wish."

"Good." She bent down and sliced the ropes.

"Now run along, little doggy."

*****

"You took a big risk tonight," Calvin said on the drive back to his house.

After the scene at the paddock, they had all gone back to the ranch house, where Laura had met Calvin's mother, a slim woman with dark hair and steely gray eyes who reminded her unnervingly of her son. Also present were Craig's wife Drusilla, an attractive woman of about thirty, and their two sons, aged six and three. Drusilla was also about five months pregnant, and glowing radiantly. "A girl, this time," she had confessed to Laura happily, the liquid vowels of her Latina accent flowing musically. "I need one, around this mob of men."

The boys seemed to dote on their town-dwelling uncle, arguing for the privilege of sitting in his lap. He had settled the conflict by setting one on each leg, his strong arms curled around them protectively as they peppered him with questions about what he and their father had been doing. He deflected them casually, asking them about what they had been up to since he had seen them last. This won a series of rambling stories about new kittens, the crocuses they had helped their mother plant in the back yard, which were now blooming (and which necessitated a quick trip outside to admire them) and the earth-shattering new that Luke, the oldest son, was going to be getting a saddle pony for his birthday in a few weeks and would be learning how to ride.

She had looked at Cal, and felt her heart fill with tenderness. This was where he truly belonged, safe in the bosom of his family. Why had she drawn him into her world, with its danger, threats, and violence, none of which he was prepared for?

"I know," she replied at last. She flexed her left hand experimentally.

"How is that, by the way?" he asked, his eyes on her wrist.

"A little sore. But I can do what I need to do."

Silence filled the cab of the truck, broken only by the hum of the tires on the road. "Will they keep their promise?" she asked after a while.

He gave her a quick smile. She smiled back nervously, trying to disguise the way her stomach flipped in response. "Our family knows how to keep its mouth shut. You're safe for now. They're not going to tell anyone.

"The question is, what are you going to do? Forgive me if I get something wrong here, but didn't you just tell the alpha of the pack to stay the hell away from a couple hundred square miles of what he considers his territory?"

"Yep." She sat back in the seat, smiling smugly.

"And this is the same guy who kicked the crap out of you about a week ago."

"Right again."

"But you don't seem scared."

"I'm not."

Even in the dim light, she could see the way his hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Are you going to give me a straight answer or not?"

She laughed suddenly, and put a hand on his arm. "All right." She took a deep breath, then blew it out, searching for the right words.

"If all Tate had done was beat the shit out of me and throw me out of the pack, no one would care. He's the alpha, and he can run his pack however he pleases. But what he's done threatens every pack in the country. Hell, it effects every shifter in the entire world. What he did, needlessly exposing us to discovery, strikes at the heart of us all. It is unforgivable.

"So when we get home, I'm going to send an e-mail out. And in a couple days, some very angry members of other packs are going to be visiting Tate."

"Oh." Calvin was quiet for a few minutes, obviously chewing over what she had said. At last he sighed and shook his head. "Shifter politics. God save me.

"But you know, you have a great laugh, Laura.

"A man could fall in love."

*****

It being too late to make supper, the task of which typically fell to Calvin ("Sorry, Laura, but until I get to know you a little better, you're not allowed in the kitchen. You might serve me raw gopher," he had said with a mischievous grin), they had picked up some Chinese take-out from a hole in the wall on McKinley Street.

"Best Chinese restaurant in town," Calvin commented, taking a huge forkful of pepper smelt.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Cal, this town has only about nine thousand people. How many Chinese restaurants are there?"

"Now that you mention it," he said, after a long moment for rumination. "One."

She giggled, then broke into a full-throated laugh, as she threw a wadded-up napkin at him. "You're awful!"

"That's what my mother says. 'Calvin Horace Smith'," she says, "'I must have dropped you on your head when you were a baby, then forgot all about it.'"

"I can believe it," she replied, then blinked. "Your middle name is Horace?"

He grinned at her. "Isn't it the worst? Unfortunately, it's a family tradition. It's our way of honoring our glorious military forebears."

"Really?" She perked up. Did Cal have a heroic branch or two in his family tree?

"Yep," he said. "Horace Charles Smith. He served in Company B of the One Hundred and Fifty-Fifth Illinois Volunteer Infantry in the Civil War."

"Cool. What battles did he fight in?"

"None." Calvin smiled at her crestfallen expression. "He was mustered in in the fall of 1864. Family folklore says he served as a substitute for a rich guy in Decatur who didn't much feel like being drafted. You could do that during the Civil War. Pay some guy to take your place.

"So Horace Smith served as a substitute, guarded a bunch of railroad lines in Tennessee during the last six months of the war, and was mustered out in the spring of 1865 as a bucktail private. He took his bonus money and moved out west with his wife as soon as the war was over. He was nearly forty at the time, but he put in a claim under the Homestead Act just a few miles from here, raised cows, sired three sons and four daughters, five of whom lived, and lived to be ninety-four years old. I'm his-" he ticked off the generations on his fingers, "-great-great-great-grandson."

She let her lips curve in a smile. "I thought I was going to get a story about how Horace single-handedly fought off a rebel bayonet charge, or something."