Chapter 28

Marcus drums his fingers on his knee, resisting the urge to also tap his foot. My god, he's not in the mood for this tonight. He doesn't know why his mother insists on hosting so many of these society fundraisers in their private ballroom; in fact, it seems insensitive to do so right now, given his father's poor health.

This one is for some charity or another – Marcus believes it's for underprivileged werewolf youths in northern Scotland. Wolves went extinct in that country in the 1800s, if Marcus recalls correctly, and the werewolf population there was greatly affected.

It's difficult, even today, for werewolves to exist in countries where the common wolf population has declined or been eradicated altogether. Werewolf families who don't have the luxury of hiding behind the protection and secrecy of wealth have long depended on natural wolf populations to shield them from the notice of humans.

When the wolves go, so do the protections. And out come the guns and the pitchforks.

It saddens Marcus. You'd think things would be different now, since werewolves are formally out and acknowledged in the world, but they're not. Not everywhere, at least. There's still a great deal of fear and prejudice, and werewolves all over the globe still suffer for it.

That's why it's the duty of more fortunate families – those whose connections, money, and other forms of privilege offer them greater protections – to assist the less fortunate of their kind. They're a small species, and they have to look out for each other.

But do they have to look out for each other right here, in the Alpha's mansion? It's the last place Marcus wants to be, and he's fairly certain his father feels the same. The Alpha is nearly falling asleep into his coffee over at the head table.

At first, Marcus had thought that his mother decided to host the fundraiser here so that his father could more easily slip off to bed unnoticed before the end of the evening. But no, she's sat right there next to him, with a vice grip on his arm to hold him in place.

Marcus is going to have to talk to her. She refuses to see how ill his father truly is; she wants him to go on as if he's still a wolf of 30. It's not sustainable anymore, not with his health. His mother's idea of propriety and social duty is going to have to take a backseat to his father's well-being.

He'll have to talk to her about that this week. He's not looking forward to the conversation – Luna Jeanette is a stubborn woman who rarely listens to anyone except herself. She might listen to her son, however. Marcus has to at least try.

He's sitting at one of the rounded tables draped in lacy white cloth that his mother favors for these types of events. Champagne flute, water goblet, white wine goblet, red wine goblet, six types of forks and three types of spoons – it's a wonder there's any room on the table for the actual food.

Marcus sometimes wonders what would happen if he took his mother to a diner and ordered her a cheeseburger. He suspected she might keel over dead on the spot.

Tonight's dinner wasn't bad; Marcus isn't averse to fancy food, far from it. It's just that he gets a little tired of how showy it can be, particularly when combined with dozens of rounds of small talk with dozens of people that he's supposed to be persuading to fork over large sums of money.

It's tiring, it's Sunday evening, and Marcus wants nothing more than to slip upstairs to his suite and go to bed. He glances at his watch – another half an hour, and he can probably escape. In fact, he can leave the table now and make an appearance at the bar for a whisky, and then sidle out a side door. Perfect.

He's just about to rise from the table and head to the bar when his glorious plan is shattered by an unwelcome visitor – Darlene, Nicole's stepmother. Following in her wake, bobbing along like ducklings, are Becki, Brody, and Paul.

Marcus bites back a groan and gives Darlene a tight smile as he rises to greet her.

"Darlene," he says, extending a hand. "How lovely to see you this evening. And you, Paul. Becki, Brody." He nods politely, hoping he won't have to entertain them long.

"Marcus, darling!" Darlene oozes, ignoring his hand to grip his shoulders and give him obnoxiously loud air kisses instead. "So good to see you here. Such a good cause; we wouldn't have missed it."

As if Darlene (or any of her family) cares about underprivileged werewolf children, Marcus scoffs to himself. Outwardly, he keeps his face as pleasant as he can manage.

"Indeed," he says. "My mother certainly knows how to plan an event."

"Oh, she does!" Darlene says, squeezing his arm so tightly that it's almost painful. Her long red nails dig into his blazer sleeve. "Jeanette throws the most elegant parties, as I've always said. We're so glad to be on such cozy terms with her these days!"

Marcus nods again with another tight smile. My god, the woman has an iron grip. He wonders how long it's going to be before he can get to the bar to grab that whisky. He's feeling a need for it now.

"But of course we've all just become so close recently." Darlene goes on. "You remember my daughter Becki, of course. She's becoming positively snug with your darling little sister, Daisy. Charles introduced the two of them, and they get on like a house on fire!"

Becki grins at him, her unnaturally white teeth flashing in sharp contrast against her spray tan.

"Oh, your sister is just a doll, Marcus," she simpers. "We're practically BFFs now."

"How lovely," Marcus says. "I'm glad you're having a nice time, and it was good to see you all. Now, if you'll excuse–"

"And of course, Charles has done so much for the family in general!" Darlene barrels on loudly, as if Marcus hadn't spoken. "Paul's risen straight to the top in the firm, not that he doesn't deserve it, poor man, he's been overlooked for so long.

"And Yale has finally seen reason and accepted our dear Brody into their fold. He'll be joining Paul's firm in no time."

"And I'm still considering my options," Becki says, blinking at Marcus. "I took a few years off before going to college on purpose, of course, to gain some experience, but I think I'm finally ready."

"That's nice," Marcus says. "I do wish you all the best. Now, if–"

"But of course, it's so difficult to know where to go," Becki says. "I wouldn't want to go anywhere that takes me too far from New York, naturally. It'd be so difficult to be away from my family, and away from any other…opportunities that might arise." She looks Marcus up and down, not even trying to be subtle.

Marcus is fed up, and his temper slips a little.

"I'm very pleased for you all, of course," he says. "Although I'm sure it's been very difficult, having to carry on with all these new responsibilities so soon after your family's tragedy."

Darlene blinks at him. "Tragedy, darling? Whatever do you mean?"

"Nicole's death," Marcus says. His tone is flat, and he doesn't bother lowering his voice. A few nearby people turn round to stare. Darlene flushes with embarrassment. Paul stares at his shoes. Brody blinks stupidly, and Becki can't conceal the look of distaste on her face.

"Oh, of–of course," Darlene stammers, trying to recover. "It's been a horrible time, just horrible, but as they say, life must go on, so we –"

"I was sorry to miss the memorial," Marcus cuts in. "When was it, again? I didn't read about it in the paper, so I must apologize for my absence."

Silence. Darlene's face is almost purple now, and Paul almost looks ashamed.

"Indeed," Marcus says. "Well, I remain deeply sorry for your loss, of course. Congratulations on your good fortunes, and now if you will excuse me, I'm needed elsewhere."

He stalks off without a backward glance.