Blake Mactire was a werewolf, and not a happy one.
He sat at the bright airport bar, steadily working his way through yet another pint of dark beer, the bitterness of the brew matching his mood. He hated traveling, especially by air. He wasn't in control, there were too many people and not enough space. He swallowed a growl at the indignities required by government security measures and the pettiness of the airlines. It had been years since he'd been subjected to the trials of air travel, and with any luck he wouldn't see the inside of an airplane again. At least for a decade or two. If it had been anyone but his younger brother, he could have happily sent any number of his pack as witness. Or he could have taken his time driving across the country and paid his respects after the fact.
If he was being honest with himself, his brother played almost a larger part in his unhappiness than the traveling. Jealousy was not something Blake had much experience with, and he wasn't particularly excited to be dealing with it now. He was happy that things had worked out for Finn, truly. Finn's business was modeled off of Blake's organization, and was proving to be almost as lucrative. With the money and jobs, Finn's pack had grown and thrived. They were a happy, healthy pack, and loved Finn as their Alpha. Up to that point, Blake and Finn were on fairly even footing. Successful, beloved, and strong leaders.
Yet Blake was missing something Finn now had: a mate. That was were biting jealousy entered the equation. He so desperately wanted a woman to call his own, one that completed his soul in a way that no other could. He had secretly wished that he would have found his elusive mate amongst the women of his brother's pack, but he wasn't one of the lucky ones. He was beginning to fear that he would live out the balance of his days utterly alone.
A quick check of the time told Blake the plane would soon be boarding and this travel nightmare would soon be other. He welcomed the distractions running his pack and businesses would offer. Desperate to be home, to lose himself in his work, he finished his drink and signaled to his traveling companions who had kept a discreet distance and a watchful eye. No one wanted to bother the Alpha with a bad mood. Together, they made their way to the gate.
"Anything to report, Jack?" Blake inquired, mildly curious as to the phone call his second in command had just taken.
"Connor says that everything's safe as houses back home. Things have been quiet, and he has had no real problems. Jesse will be meeting us in Minneapolis with one of the Suburbans." Jack answered.
Blake only nodded, frowning slightly.
After a moment, "Something's off," he breathed the words. It would take the enhanced hearing of his companions to hear the words over the din caused by hundreds of travelers. His words had the three others looking around, analyzing everything they could see, hear, and smell. Everything seemed to be the organized chaos that was normal for all airports. People sitting on every flat surface, leaning against walls, and setting up tiny, temporary territories. There was bickering over outlets and space, screaming children, a cacophony of conversations and tinny music coming from dozens of headphones. People were standing in lines at the fast food places and bathrooms, there were bored announcements over the speakers that everyone was largely ignoring, and the almost incessant beeping of golf carts lugging around disabled passengers. A miasma of feelings, anger and despair and excitement and a thousand others besides, clouded the air making it difficult to identify what feelings came from which travelers.
For several long minutes they tried to identify what was bothering Blake at a subconscious level, but everything seemed normal.
"Boss, I have nothing," Tristan finally admitted, and Ryan shook his head in agreement.
Blake's eyes narrowed as he scented the air deeply once again. Instinct told him that something wasn't quite right, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
"It's not dangerous," he mused in those same, barely audible tones, "at least not to us, but it has my wolf pacing. He wants out."
Jack, second in command and in charge of security, watched Blake carefully. He was usually the first to put things together, which made him invaluable to his Alpha. Today was no exception. He watched as Blake's eyes kept coming back to rest on the worn woman with two small children in tow. Blake's wolf was agitated, but none of the others were. There was really only one conclusion. "Oh, fuck" Jack said. His wolf chuffing with amusement in the back of his mind.
"Looks like she could use a hand." Jack said, indicating the woman who had captivated his Alpha's interest. "Why don't you you offer your assistance to that lovely mother, and I'll, ahh, take care of some things with the gate agent." Jack's voice was full of amusement he did nothing to suppress.
Blake gave him a cutting look, taking several long minutes to process what Jack wasn't saying. "You think that woman is my mate?" He asked in horrified wonder.
"Only one way to find out!" he said with a cheery wink, walking over to the gate agent.
Blake continued to watch the woman for several moments longer, nearly growling in dismay. She was not much to look at, and not his type at all. Curly blonde hair was more or less frizzing in any direction it wanted, largely ignoring the knot at the nape of her neck she was using to try and coral the stands. Her face looked faded, pale and drawn, as if the life had been wrung from her. From where he stood, he couldn't be certain, but was fairly confident she wore no makeup. Fine lines framed her eyes and creased her forehead. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth as she studied the wailing toddler she held awkwardly on her lap. Desperation shining in her eyes that sparkled with unshed tears. Although she was sitting, Blake could tell she was a tiny thing, probably not much over five feet and almost anorexically thin. She was dressed for comfort, in yoga pants and a tee-shirt that almost seemed almost too large on her small frame.
"She needs help with that baby, or this flight is going to suck," Ryan prompted gently. He could understand Blake's discomfiture. Life had used this woman roughly, and a strong breeze may just knock her over. Not what a werewolf would expect in a mate, especially someone as strong an alpha as Blake. Ryan studied the woman as well, silently wondering if it was only the Alpha's protective instincts that drew him to the woman. All Alphas were almost maniacal about protecting the weaker members of the pack, and Blake was no exception. If ever there was someone in need of protecting, it was this woman.
As Blake slowly walked over to the woman, his inner wolf let him know he was doing the right thing by settling down somewhat. Tristan turned to Ryan, saying, "I hope for his sake that she's not really his mate. Maybe he's just feeling protective? She looks like somebody should be protecting her."
Although Tristan's words echoed Ryan's earlier thoughts, he looked sharply at the other werewolf. "Only a fool would say that sort of thing out loud."
Carly Whelehan was having the worst day yet, in a month that had been nothing but abject misery.
Almost exactly a month earlier, she had received a phone call that had created this whole mess. It was the Seattle Police Department, letting her know that her sister and brother-in-law were in a terrible accident and asking how quickly she could get make it out? Both had died of injuries by the time she had reached Seattle, early the next morning. The children had been in the car as well, and had survived the head on collision with only minor injuries. In Jenny and Sam's will, Carly had been named guardian to the nephews. Suddenly she found herself drowning in the intricacies of the legal system. After a month of lawyers, meetings, and horrors best forgotten, she found herself finally on the way back home... with her nephews in tow.
The month in Seattle had taken a toll on her, in all possible ways. She was devastated by her sister's death, the last remaining connection to family. But for the children, she was alone in the world. Jenny was the outgoing one, and Carly had always been content to stay in her sister's shadow. Even after Jenny had moved away, Carly never felt the need for other people in her life. She had her sister, and she was content. Transitioning from doting auntie to parent, especially under the sudden circumstances, was harrowing. She had to stay strong for the boys, especially Jason. Caleb was too young to understand what was going on. Grief, worry, and loneliness were her constant companions, effectively killing her appetite. Getting up, dressed, and making it through the day took tremendous effort, and she no longer cared what she looked like. She probably looked frightful, but she just couldn't find it within her to care anymore. All she had now were the boys, and weren't they a handful?
Eight year old Jason sat next to her, head buried in a video game. She knew she should limit his time on the device, and she would, eventually. But he had turned sullen and angry with the death of his parents, and she would much rather deal with the excessive gaming at another point in time. Right now, it was how he was coping. He lost himself in his games. He refused to speak. Someone at the hospital had said it was "a manifestation of his anxiety" and said that he would begin speaking again when he felt comfortable doing so. Therapy was clearly going to need to play a major role in their future. All that could wait until they reached home. Besides, she had her hands full with six-month-old Caleb.
"Please, baby," she begged softly. "I've fed you and changed you. You won't look at your toys or take your passie. What do you need? Just tell me what you need. Why can't you use your words?"
There was a snort, somewhere off to her left. "I don't think they understand logic at that age, but I'm fairly confident words will come in the next few months. Although it may take years before the words make sense on their own," the man said softly, amusement tinging the words.
Carly was suddenly very aware of her surroundings. She looked up at the giant of a man looming over her. For a moment, she could hardly breathe as she took him in. His dark hair was cut military short, and she had a sudden insane desire to run her fingers through the strands. His wide lips were quirked in an almost smile, but his blue eyes looked almost angry. He had wide shoulders, narrow waist, and long legs. She wanted to know how those hard planes would look out of his dress shirt and trousers. She blushed slightly, as she realized she was mentally undressing him. She watched his hands. They looked strong and confident, with dozens of tiny scars that said he was used to hard work. Somewhere in the back of her mind she also noticed they were devoid of a ring, but that hardly meant anything.
"All babies should be born able to speak," she finally responded wryly, looking back at his face. "It would make life so much easier."
"Easier, maybe. But then there's no joy in finally figuring out what they want," he said.
Holding out a hand, he introduced himself. As she shook the offered hand, she couldn't help but notice the strength and calluses... or the warm tingle spreading from that point of contact. Her body was aware of the close proximity to the powerful man, as he sat next to her and turned his attention to the screaming baby in her lap.
"How old is he?" Blake asked.
"Just about six months. I have no idea what's wrong with him." Carly sounded resigned.
