Page 18 of Black Moon

“That sounds fine, but you’d better get on. I have work to do.”

Even though she was walking away, something in my chest eased at the thought that I’d finally gotten one member of this pack—well, other than Skip, who obviously had his own intentions—to understand I didn’t mean them any harm.

Every journalist dreamed of telling stories that’d change the world, but if I could get to the bottom of what made omegas here different, this one actually might.

9

Linden

“Idon’t think that reporter omega knew Skip would try to use him to weasel his way into pack alphahood,” Juniper announced as she cut slices of pie at the dinner table.

The last thing in the world I wanted to even think about, let alone discuss, was Skip and his ambitions. It had gone around my head so many times that it was all just rehashing arguments I’d already had with myself.

If everyone I knew and trusted hadn’t given such visceral, unhappy responses to the notion of Skip replacing my father, I’d have said he could have the position, and more power to him. If it had been an alpha I knew and trusted, I wouldn’t have hesitated to usher them into pack alphahood.

Aspen hadn’t called—not that I expected him to. For all I knew, my brother was dead. There was no reason to assume that our father’s death would bring him rushing back home.

As much as I didn’t want to be the alpha, no one qualified seemed to want the job.

“What does he think Skip wants from him, then?” I asked.

I didn’t expect her to have an answer, but she sent me a self-satisfied smirk as she set an enormous piece of pie in front of me.

“He’s doing a story for his newspaper about how we’re dealing with the Condition.” She set a plate of pie in front of Rowan, and then one at her own place, and plopped back into her seat. “I was all ready to hate him, but he seems like a decent guy. Like all he wants is to figure out what’s giving the rural omegas an edge in treatment over city omegas. I mean, he said we were doing about the best, and he didn’t seem to be trying to bullshit me. I’d wonder about it too if I were a city omega.”

That was an excellent point, but it didn’t seem to tie into Skip’s motives. Skip, by all accounts, had been acting as though he had gotten a new omega to join the pack. The Morgan clan in particular had taken offense to that, because it seemed to them as though he was trying to replace Brook instead of rescue him.

I couldn’t blame them. It had to be grating that Skip was going on with life like nothing was wrong, while Brook was still in the hands of people who had kidnapped him.

If Skip thought you could replace people, he was in for a rude awakening.

On the other hand, bringing in a young omega reporter who was looking into the Condition was an excellent idea. It worked with the notion that Skip was an alpha for the future, unlike staid old me, who was stuck in the past, dressed like everyone’s grandfather, and talked most regularly to the wolves who showed up for Chadwick Grille’s early bird special.

Whether it was Skip’s intention, and whether it was part of his attempt to curry favor with the pack, it wasn’t a bad idea. Getting more information out about the Condition could only help werewolves as a species, and it was high time I took a step back and thought about that.

I’d spent too much of my life focused on the spot right in front of my nose. I needed to look at the bigger picture.

“You’re right. I mean, everyone’s right about that.” Juniper cocked her head at me curiously, so I forged forward. “We’ve been too complacent about things. All werewolves everywhere are struggling with this. It’s been twenty years, and we’re no closer to a cure than we were at the beginning. People have been dying. For years. And Dad and all the pack elders just kept treating it like something that would eventually go away on its own.”

“So the rest of us did too,” Rowan agreed. “And maybe we’re better off than some packs, but we’re not fine.”

“No kidding,” Juniper agreed. “I mean, what’s Skye going to do? He’s like five-foot-three. He barely comes up to most alpha’s chests. They’d break him in half. And of course, he likes ’em big and butch. Kid’s got no sense of self-preservation.”

I disagreed, though not about the men. I had no idea who Skye was interested in.

But he’d never been more excited than in going through the endless—and to me, mind-numbing—rigamarole of putting together a blog about his physical upkeep. I’d have picked the first template that popped up on the screen and moved on, whereas he’d spent all afternoon making a space he was comfortable in.

Even I had to admit the finished effect was soothing.

Then, he’d broken out his notebook and started typing down every tiny detail about what he ate, when, and why. I’d always known he was detail-oriented, but when he’d started making comparative nutrition tables for vegetables, my eyes had crossed and I’d gone out to get us lunch.

Organic chicken on whole wheat with mustard, no mayo, spinach instead of some other, less nutritious lettuce...Frankly, Skye was a dedicated young man, and if I had to put as much mental effort into my diet as he did, I’d have been a lot less cheerful about it.

“There should be a better way,” Rowan mumbled into his pie. “Not that we shouldn’t stop the Condition, but we’re too dependent on omegas. That’s too much responsibility for any group of people. It’s not fair.”

The table went quiet for a moment, and we all pretended interest in our pie. No one, least of all Rowan, wanted to comment on how his boyfriend, Cliff, was an alpha struggling with control. Finding a cure for the Condition wouldn’t help them. A beta and an omega in a mating relationship were usually fine, but there was something in alpha weres that needed the soothing presence of a satisfied omega. We’d have to find something entirely outside the box to keep my little brother happy in life.

Another problem I’d been ignoring because it was inconvenient. I didn’t know that it had an answer, but everyone, including Rowan and Cliff, had been dancing around it for years.

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