Page 4 of Deep Love

Chapter Two

Mason

“For fuck’s sake, guys.” I tripped over the empty beer cans and bottles littering the floor of the Ferguson packhouse. Every weekend the state of this place grew worse. I’d been a member of this pack since birth because my mother was a Ferguson, but sometimes I wish I’d been raised by the Harrister pack, my father’s pack, in New York. I loved Moon Valley, Vermont and most aspects of my werewolf existence, but watching nearly all my pack get shitfaced on a regular basis was getting so old.

And it took a massive amount of alcohol or drugs to bring werewolves down like this. That meant these fools were tossing back ridiculous quantities.

“Loosen up, Mason.” My cousin, Gary, lounged on a leather couch. “We’ll clean it up once we’re feet on our stable.” He paused, his mouth turning down in a frown. “I mean stable on our feet.”

My other cousin, Scott, laughed. “Whenever that might be. We hit it hard last night, bro.”

“Clearly.” I waved my arms around at the absolute mess. “You guys have to cut back. Seriously. This level of partying doesn’t move us forward as a pack.”

“Oh, here he goes,” Gary groaned. “Mason’s Future of the Ferguson speech, part nine thousand.” He rolled his eyes then draped his arm over this forehead. “Dude, you need to party more and worry less.”

“How can I when I’m the only one worrying about this pack?” I bent and picked up several cans and headed for the kitchen to get the recycling bin and some trash bags. “You all complain about how successful the Sinclaire pack is, but do you honestly think they got to be top dogs by consuming large amounts of beer and then taking an entire day to recover?”

I’d been watching Archer Sinclaire closely. That wolf led his pack like a true leader, like someone who actually understood what it meant to be a werewolf trying to make the most of a human-dominated world. His wolves had good jobs, responded to threats in timely manners, recovered when their Alpha had been killed, and were well respected in the community. I wanted that for the Ferguson pack, but that wasn’t going to happen when my family acted like eternal college students at a never-ending frat party.

I proceeded to clean up the packhouse mess alone then found my sister, Sylvie, in the office, a scowl on her face as she stared at the laptop in front of her.

“Hey.” I sat in the chair opposite the desk where she sat. “You see those slobs out there?” I arrowed a thumb to where Gary and Scott and basically three-fourths of the pack were sleeping off massive hangovers.

“I did.” Sylvie rubbed her eyes. “I keep waiting for them to grow the fuck up, but it never happens.”

“We will never be a pack of any substance if they don’t shape up.” I dug my fingers into my temples, trying to alleviate the headache that had started the moment I’d set foot in the packhouse. Werewolves didn’t typically get headaches so that was a clear indication of how annoyed I was with my pack mates.

Sylvie waved a hand at the laptop screen. “Ferguson Construction isn’t going to last much longer if they don’t shape up either. They are working at a snail’s pace. I mean, a pack of wolves ought to be able to run circles around humans, but these guys are too sloshed most of the time to even show up to work at build sites.” She shook her head. “How can I actively pursue getting them more contracts when they are doing shit jobs on the contracts we currently have?”

I leaned my elbows on my knees. “When did this pack become such a disgrace?”

Sylvie shrugged. “It’s been a shitshow ever since I can remember. Our last Alpha way back when screwed us by not having any heirs. The fact that no Alpha has risen to the surface in the absence of a direct heir doesn’t help us any either.” She eyed me with a purposeful stare.

I instantly put up my hands. “I’m not the Alpha, Sylvie. We’ve discussed this. No one listens to me in this pack. How can I possibly take charge of it?”

“But if you declared yourself Alpha, the rest of the beasts would have to listen to you.”

This wasn’t the first time I’d had—or avoided—this conversation with my sister. I wasn’t an Alpha. Our father hadn’t been an Alpha nor had our mother. I was a regular, run-of-the-mill werewolf, destined to contribute to the pack, but definitely not lead it.

That didn’t stop me from wanting better for the Ferguson pack though.

“I’m not a leader, Sylvie.” I leaned back in my chair.

“You’re the guy with all the great ideas,” she said. “That sounds like a leader to me, and a hell of a lot better than what we’ve currently got, which is absolutely nothing. We have no direction, no ambition, no shot at being anything more than a loose collection of wolves who get wasted together.”

My hands tightened on the armrests of my seat. “There’s no reason we can’t be like the Sinclaire pack.”

Sylvie barked out a laugh. “You aim too high, brother. I’d settle for a pack that didn’t stumble around the packhouse in the middle of the goddamn day when most of them are supposed to be out building shit.”

I glanced to the clock on the wall behind Sylvie. “Speaking of where one is supposed to be, I have to go to work.”

“See?” Sylvie called after me as I made my way to the door. “You’re a responsible wolf who fulfills his commitments.” She flashed me a smile when I glared back at her over my shoulder. “Sounds like Alpha material to me.”

I waved a dismissive hand and continued on my way back to the main area of the packhouse where loud snoring echoed off the damn walls. Grumbling to myself, I left the slumbering idiots and climbed into my pickup truck. I spent a few seconds staring out the windshield at the packhouse and imagining taking charge of the pack.

Jerks like Gary and Scott would never respond to my leadership, despite what Sylvie believed. The pack was full of Garys and Scotts too, so I’d be fighting a losing battle in trying to become Alpha and establish some organization to the floundering werewolves. I kept hoping one of the them would step up as they actually sported the last name Ferguson, but they were all more interested in where they were getting their next drinks or drugs than where the pack was headed. I had no idea how to make them see their behaviors would eventually destroy the pack.

Maybe they just didn’t care. Perhaps I didn’t either. Being a member of this pack had never brought me anything worthwhile. These wolves wouldn’t have my back if I needed them. They could barely take care of themselves, never mind look after the pack at large. Possibly the time for me to strike out on my own had come, though the idea of being a rogue wolf not tied to any pack was not attractive. Rogue wolves rarely lasted long. Despite werewolves having extended lifespans, rogue wolves often found themselves in trouble without the backing of a real pack. Most often, they ended up dead long before their time should have been up.