The Alpha's Little Fairy

Chapter 9

[A/N: Not even going to bother with the usual thing, but I am going to say I'm proud I've churned out four chapters in two days. A big thanks to @ilovewerewolves2525 and @hellomynameis1999. On with the story!

Dedicated to my BFF @pinksparkleninja because I'm sure she thinks I've dropped off the face of the Earth and this is my way of apologizing for not writing anything else but this story... I'll write ORH (Previously HODCMS), I swear!]

“So, Brucie is it?” asked Evan’s mother in her usual kind and perky tone. I nodded. “Brucie, tell us about yourself! Where are you from? What’s it like there? How are you enjoying River’s Bend, Maine? How is your family? Why did you come here? Have you got any siblings? Are your grandparents still alive? Are you in a relationship?” she managed to ask all in one breath. At the last one, I could have sworn I heard a soft snarl, but that must have only been my imagination. After all, my head was still spinning from her million questions.

“Si ergo quiescere posset dicere aliquid, nihil respondit,” I muttered while pushing around some sort of salad on my plate, earning disapproving looks from both my parents I didn’t even have to see to know where there.

 “What did you say, dear?”

I cleared my throat, looking up from my salad to observe Mrs. Foster smiling, poorly masking her obvious confusion. “Oh, I was just wondering what languages you speak. English most definitely, but perhaps also French, Spanish, Italian, German, Garrulitas? I do not think you speak Russian, Hebrew, Hawiian, Latin, Chinese, Japanese, or Confuto.”

My parents disapproving looks gained complimenting unimpressed frowns. “Sunt noster graciosus exercituum. Quantum ad aliquid, Brucie!” my father admonished, my mother nodding along in agreement. “Quia non est non esse leges non fit in luco. Vis maior aderat alloqui? Dabis per vos iuvare, dui non minus in virtutibus nostris. Idque spero tua ex te, quam. Nomen habes Lakespur adjuvaret.”

“Argutat esurit, dum ego non potero manducare,” I complained, receiving two identical sets of pursued lips, but I could not bring myself to care less. I really am that hungry! The last food I had to eat was this morning – a small snack instead of a filling breakfast – in the Grove.

Mrs. Foster just chuckled nervously, acting as if our entire conversation had never happened. “Why did y’all move here then?” she asked, smoothly changing the subject.

“We thought a change of scenery might be nice,” explained my mother. “A few generations ago our family lived here, so we thought we might come back.”

“Really?” exclaimed Evan’s mother, shocked. “This is a small town and we probably knew them. What was their name?”

I could almost feel everyone’s ears perk in suspense for my mother’s reply. “Warren. Warren Breene and his wife, Suzette.”

I swear the shock in the air was tangible. I was tempted to try touching it, but I decided to just continue pushing around my lettuce so as not to make a spectacle of myself.

“The old Beta? Are you sure?” asked Mrs. Foster, her eyes wide and eyebrows nearly in her hairline. “You must be mistaken. There’s no way the shifter gene could have skipped a Beta’s family. It’s impossible!”

“Muta flava!” my mother muttered, causing me to smirk. It is not only me. “Sed nescio familiæ meæ. Simplex sigillum veri.” Clearing her throat, she spoke louder and clearer – in English. “Yes, I am positive my father’s name was Warren Breene and I am 100 percent sure I am not a Were of any kind. Neither is my daughter nor my husband for that matter as well.”

The rest of the table returned to eating their salad, but Mrs. Foster continued staring at my mother. I could see her trying to analyze us, to figure out how her universal laws were broken.