My mom is a small alpha, but a bit terrifying when she’s upset. When she married Dad, she decided that his children were her children and never looked back. So, she isn’t looking at this as her husband’s kid against her kid. She sees it as a childish fight between two of her children who need a stern talking to and a hug to make up.
Dad spots me and stiffens slightly before sending me a small wave in greeting. He isn’t cold exactly, but he’s definitely more awkward than I remember. Maybe Ember is right, and he’s trying, but doesn’t know how to interact with omegas. Being from a family filled with alphas, I’m sure it’s taken some getting used to when it comes to his only omega child.
“Sunshine,” Mom says briskly, pulling me into a firm hug. “You look thinner than yesterday. Did you eat this morning? Honey, doesn’t Sunshine look thinner today?”
“He looks fine, love,” Dad says, sounding tired.
When mom turns to Ember, her entire demeanor changes. She softens and gets a dreamy look in her eye that I don’t recognize.
“Ember,” she says, cupping his face. “So good to see you again, sweetheart.”
“You too, Mrs. Graves,” Ember returns respectfully.
“Oh, please,” Mom giggles like a preteen with her first crush. “Call me Emily.”
“Emily,” Ember repeats with a nod.
“You can call me Mr. Graves,” Dad says, clearing his throat and holding his hand out to Ember.
“Seriously, Asher. You should be nicer to your son-in-law,” Mom says, smacking Dad’s chest playfully.
“The dead should not be disturbed!”
Mom turns at the sound of Chad’s yelling, her eyes taking on a psychopathic gleam. She’s marching across the street before I can stop her, stopping behind Chad as he yells more ridiculousness into his megaphone.
We follow behind her at a slower pace to make sure she doesn’t commit murder while surrounded by witnesses with cameras.
“Chadwick Michael Graves. What ARE you doing?” Mom asks in a shrill voice only dogs can hear, causing the entire protest to grind to a startling halt.
Chad pauses mid-speech, slowly lowering the megaphone and turning to face my mom like a victim in a horror movie who knows the monster is right behind them. His face blanches, and he wavers in place when he sees our small group.
“Mrs. Emily? Dad? What are you guys doing here?” he asks, his voice trembling in alarm.
“We came to have a nice visit with your brother to meet his new mate. When did you start this? What are you thinking? Why are you trying to ruin his business?” Mom asks, tapping her foot and fisting her hands on her hips.
“Did he tell you that?” Chad glares at me over Mom’s shoulder. “Why do you always take his side?” he asks, stomping his foot like a child having a fit. I can’t believe he’s three years older than me.
“No…” Mom says slowly, as if she’s speaking to someone particularly dimwitted. “We met sweet Ember’s parent last night, and they told us all about it. Imagine how we felt learningabout this from two people who are basically strangers. Why on Earth are you doing this?”
Chad’s eyes flick between Mom and Dad, trying to think of a way out of this. I’m glad to see that things haven’t changed much since our childhood. Chad has always avoided taking responsibility for his actions.
“Sunshine is using the undead for profit…”
“He’s running a funeral home,” my mom interrupts, “which, as a necromancer, involves raisings for will readings. You know this.”
“He’s disturbing the dead! Using them for financial gain!”
Mom purses her lips in disappointment, and Chad winces slightly.
“He isn’t raising the dead to work as slave labor. He’s raising them to give closure to them and their families. Those are two very different things,” Mom explains like she’s speaking to a five-year-old who just asked where babies come from.
Chad sputters obnoxiously, obviously trying to think of better excuses for his impromptu picket party, but Dad cuts him off with a low growl.
“Chadwick,” he says, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “Even if you thought Sunshine was doing something as morally wrong as using the undead for slave labor, why wouldn’t you come to us? You know we would never stand for the dead to be used in such a way. That would besmirch our name even more than this protest already has. Why didn’t you just ask for our help?”
“He doesn’t give a fuck about undead slave labor. He wants the business for himself. He told Sunshine as much theday he showed up with a bunch of undead people holding picket signs.” Ember rolls his eyes and scoffs at Dad’s naivety.
Dad’s face turns deep red with fury, and his eyes glow green with his necromancer magic.
