Family Affair

*Hezzlie*

I’m standing in the library, staring up at the picture of a handsome man dressed in an expensive suit–with silver wolf cufflinks. Unlike the man Mom says is my father, the eyes on these are blue gemstones, but I’m not sure it matters.
What are the chances that more than one rich dude lives around here who happens to like fancy silver wolf cufflinks? Slim to none.
“That is the late, great Alpha King Charles Moonstryker,” Dean says, noticing the pair of us staring. “He died about five years ago.”
Mom inhales sharply. “Oh, that’s terrible. How did he die?”
Dean clears his throat. “It’s a long story.” He’s not going to tell us. “Why don’t we ask Smokey to fix us some sandwiches, and I’ll escort you ladies back to your room? I think we’ve probably seen enough of the house today.”
I think he’s right. I start to walk away, but Mom is trying to carry an armful of romance books. Dean takes them from her, glances at the first cover, and cracks up. “This is the sort of thing you like to read, Hez?”
I stare at the cover and see that it’s a bodice ripper. Glaring at my mother, I shake my head. “No, not really. I didn’t pick them out.”
Mom shrugs. “You’re getting older. I thought maybe….” She smiles up at Dean. “She’s always been such a good girl. She needs to learn a thing or two.”
The smile slips right off his face as he turns around, bright red, and I have the sudden urge to throw an elbow at my own mother but choose not to. I also bite back on the declaration that I don’t want to end up like her. That would be rude. My mother is a wonderful person, who, it turns out, made some bad choices. Choices that resulted in me.
I think about the picture on the wall. Charles. Could that be… my father?
We stop by the kitchen, and Dean asks Smokey to fix Mom and I some sandwiches and send them up. She is kind to us and asks us what we would like. I don’t care. I can’t think about food while I’m trying to figure out this mystery. I wonder if there are other pictures of Charles in the house elsewhere. Perhaps one of them will jog Mom’s memory, and she’ll recognize the man she slept with all those years ago.
We arrive back at my room, and Dean sets the books down. He doesn’t think they’re funny anymore. Since he’s gotten a better understanding that my mom is trying to fix us up, he seems like he just wants to get out of here.
As soon as he’s gone–after a lingering hug from my mother–I turn toward her. “Well?”
“Well… he’s cute! I think the two of you could get along really well. Did you notice he has dimples when he smiles?”
“No, Mother!” I scold. “I’m not talking about your obvious attempts to fix me up with Dean. I mean what about Charles? Does he look familiar to you?”
“Oh, that.” She sinks into the chair she normally sits in and looks out the window. “I don’t know, honey. It was such a long time ago, and I was so drunk.”
I can tell she’s embarrassed to talk about it, but it’s important to me. I can’t help but feel like the whole reason I’m here has something to do with him–with my father. It can’t be a coincidence that these two kingdoms I’ve never heard of and my mom has only visited once in her life suddenly come back into play when I start dreaming about wolves.
And the man in the portrait, as well as my father, clearly have a liking for the creatures.
“What if they are the same person?” I sink into the chair next to her, trying to force my brain to keep up with my mouth, but per the usual, my thoughts are way behind what’s coming from between my lips. “What if that’s why they brought me here, Mom? Because Charles Moonstryker is my father?”
She shakes her head. “Why wouldn’t they just tell you that?”
“Because they don’t want me taking all the money?” I guess. “If he’s my father, then I’d be entitled to some of his money, maybe, and they think they can just throw a half a million dollars at you, and we’ll both go away.”
She lets out a sigh that sounds too much like a whimper for me to be comfortable. I decide maybe I should let the whole conversation go, but then I realize she’s crying.
Placing a hand on her shoulder, I tell her, “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No, it’s not your fault. All those years, I thought I should try to find him so that we could at least get some child support, but I had no idea where to look. I didn’t even know the name of the town we traveled to. And… I was afraid.” She lifts her head, and her dark eyes meet mine.
“Afraid?” For a moment, I think she might tell me the guy actually was a werewolf or something. That’s ridiculous, but I can see genuine fear in her eyes as her head rocks back and forth slowly.
“I was afraid he’d find a way to take you from me.”
I understand completely. He was rich and powerful, and she was anything but. If he’d wanted me, he could’ve claimed me. What would she have done?
“It’s okay, Mom. It’s over now. He’s gone.” I pat her shoulder, but the brevity of what I’m saying sets in. If Charles Moonstryker really is my father, then my dad has passed away.
Secretly, I’ve always hoped he’d appear one day, that he really would be rich and powerful, and he’d rescue us from this awful life we’ve been living. That can’t happen if he’s dead.
But then, maybe that is what happened. I need to talk to someone who will actually answer my questions. Dean is not the person for that. I doubt Dr. Bolton will either.
A light knock on the door precedes Wilma coming in carrying a tray from the kitchen. She sets in on the table, and an idea pops into my head. “The house sure is beautiful,” I remark in a tone that sounds so suspicious, Mom is wiping her eyes and looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“It sure is,” she replies, proudly. “The Moonstryker family has always been very particular about keeping things tidy and luxurious.”
“Have you worked here long?” I ask.
“Oh, yes. Since the late Mr. Moonstryker was a boy, Goddess rest his soul.”
I arch an eyebrow. Did she say “Goddess”? What Goddess?
Mom doesn’t seem to notice it. Maybe she thinks she said goodness, but that doesn’t make sense either.
“What about the lady of the house?” Mom asks. “Where is she?”
“She keeps to herself these days.” Wilma answers quickly. “She hasn’t been feeling well since the war. Since… her husband died. Since… Mara.” She shakes her head and begins to back away. “Anyway, enjoy your lunch, dear.”
“Wait,” I say, standing. I know she’s upset, and I know she’ll probably get in trouble if anyone knows she’s told us what Dean refused to, but I have to ask one more question. I don’t know who Mara is. I don’t know anything about a war, and I certainly haven't seen this lady of the house who apparently keeps to herself, but another thought has leaped into my mind, and I have to know the answer.
She pauses, hesitantly, her eyes flickering to the door a few more times.
“Did Charles Moonstryker have any kids?” I ask.
Her eyebrows nearly touch. “Why, yes. Of course he did. There’s Alpha King Rowan, and—”
The door opens and Dr. Bolton rushes in like he’s trying to put out a fire. “That’ll be all, Wilma.”
She drops her head and pads quickly to the door, and I pray to God, because that’s who I usually pray to, that she’s not going to be in trouble.
Judging by the look in Dr. Bolton’s eyes, one of us will be.
Just before he asks my mother to leave, another thought flashes into my mind.
If I am the daughter of Charles Moonstryker… Rowan is my… brother.