The Alpha is a heavyset man in his early forties, face weather-beaten and forearms crisscrossed with scars.
Tonight, he's wearing a dressing gown and track pants. Somehow, despite that, he still looks dangerous, his eyes blacker than they have any right to be under the buzzing fluorescent lights.
"Welcome home," the Alpha rumbles. "Ed tells me you've had an interesting night."
You glance at Ed.
He smiles sheepishly and holds up his phone. Huh. So that was what he was doing in the car.
"Interesting night," Marco tries out the phrase. "Yeah. I guess you could say that. If, by interesting, you mean fucking shit. No disrespect or anything, Alpha, but getting jumped by a stray was not on my to-do list tonight."
"Where's the stray now?" the Alpha asks.
"We took her to the edge of town and told her to start walking.
"Will she come back?" the Alpha presses.
Marco hesitates. "Honestly, boss? I don't think so. She was kinda out of it by the end."
"Moon mad," Vicky agrees.
"Stop saying that," Ed mutters. "Jesus Christ. You sound like Dad."
Vicky's lips thin.
"The truth is," Ed presses on, ignoring his sister and addressing the Alpha, "we have no idea how sane she is. Sure, she seemed really freaked out, but keeping things in perspective, she had just been chased down by a bunch of werewolves so..." he shrugs. "Maybe she isn't 'moon mad'. Maybe she is totally fine, not dangerous at all."
"What happened to your head, Gideon Mercer?" the Alpha asks.
Ed flinches.
You reach up to touch your forehead. The blood there is dried and scabby, but the wound itself still stings when your fingers bump against it.