Caleb must not have paid attention to the surroundings with the news he had for the king because much had changed. The gravel roads had been replaced with cobblestones. He walked down the castle steps, saluting the knights.

  He peered at the library briefly as he sprinted behind the building into an alleyway. Caleb kicked tiny stones, balled up paper and steered to avoid pieces of chewed gum. Youthful chuckles echoed through the enclosed space, he looked behind him to find their source.

  His eyes met two little snaggletooth pups, their heads leaning out from the opening, toothy grins on their faces. They turned to each other and started whispering. “Is he new around here, Sal? He doesn't know this alley is a bad place to be?”

  “Well it ain't night time yet…so he might be safe.”

  “Hey, mister,” the nervous Sal said, her voice soft and cracking. “This way isn't safe."

  “How come?” He keeps his tone friendly.

  “This is where the king dumps his dead,” she squeaked, looking this way and that before running to him. The top of her head, the same height as his knees. She latched onto his fingers and pulled him out into the street, out of the alley in a hurry.

  “Haven't your mama told you 'bout how dangerous the king’s become?” Caleb couldn't hold back his smile. This adorable pup was telling him how scary the king was. “You best hide in fear or you’ll be next. Mama says the king kills us Alphas for sport. Don't go telling nobody I told you otherwise. The king eats our hearts and imprisons us in his belly. That's how Uncle Bow-leg died.” She shook her head, her face solemn. “Mama says he had it coming for a long time. But Mama ain’t like Uncle Bow-leg no way.”

  “But…” the timid boy clinging to his outspoken friend’s shirt spoke up. “We know the king killed him. I can tell you that.”

  “He ate his heart because he ain't got none. And he ain't done searching.”

  Caleb grumbled and walked back into the alleyway, his face upturned. They followed him down three more alleys. Wherever he turned their small pitter-pattering feet followed him. They sprinkled him with salt and tales of their heartless king.

  When they entered the final alley, he had enough.

  The ever familiar fire hydrant seemed to pull him forward, he was almost home.

  Just one more block.

  Once he turned around this last corner and made sure to be careful around the clutter of carriage in the upcoming road. He’d get to open the door and see his mom. She’d probably look weak and forlorn at him but eventually she would at least cup his cheek and smile.

  His heartbeat elevated and straightened his tie, in preparation of his homecoming appearance.

  Brushing his hands through his hair, he raised his hand and finally acknowledged the jabbering pups. “Do you two follow strangers home often?”

  When they nodded, he continued, “And do you know what the king looks like?”

  “Uh…no.” They exchanged looks, eyes widening as they slowly turned their gaze toward him.

  With tears in her eyes, Sal slid back a few paces, pulling on her buddy’s arm and bringing her back too.

  “He has blue eyes and brown hair and a slightly overgrown beard." Caleb scrubbed his own in false contemplation. “A—” Before he could finish, their panting breaths as their scuttling feet booked it around the nearest corner.

  “Mommy!”

  “Mama!”

  He cackled at their screeching cries. Really takes you back to the old days, being young and fearless.

  ***

  “Welcome home, young master,” Brockley said, his frame held the white door open as he ushered Caleb inside with a tight smile on his face.

  “Brock!” He clapped the butler’s hand and pulled his prudently stiff body into an even more rigid hug. “How are you? How’s…Charlotte? Did she have the babe? Was it a boy or a girl?”

  Brock replied, “I’m fine, my wife’s fine as well. Thank you for asking. She had the baby safely. Her name is Vivianne and she’s eight, she works with her mother now. She was recently recommended to become the baroness’s daughter's personal maid. I have much to be proud of.” His grin reflected the pride of a father, causing Caleb to feel a twinge of jealousy. What would it be like to have a family and live a stable life? To be a father? He shook his head and crossed the threshold.

  Brock pat him on his shoulder and said, “Seven years is a long time.”

  “I’m here to see Mom,” Caleb told him.

  Baked ginger snaps and jam filled his nostrils, he licked his lips. “Is Aava done baking? I left enough space for a meal or two,” Caleb said, patting his belly.

  The grand piano that he remembered in front of the fireplace was missing. Their family painting on the fireplace’s mantle now had snow globes of all colours but more notably, yellow and blue. His mother’s least favorite colours. She kept them out of her paintings and wore every color of dress, except those. Her aged bear rug had switched positions as well, he spotted its familiar brown shape pushed under the fridge.

  Servants passed him with jittery smiles and brief bows. The ladder that had always stayed in the yard was now in their living room, resting against the bookshelves. He spun in a circle, taking in all the changes. It wasn’t anything he grew up seeing. Everything seemed old but new. Refurbished somehow. Every room they passed or entered were painted white and its “refreshing” shade was out to blind him. He missed the wood, mostly for its earthy smell and its hardened surface. He still liked the sound his footsteps made as he walked but he’d only wished the floors weren’t painted. He wished nothing had changed. What was Father thinking? From as much as Caleb heard his mother wasn’t stable enough to make these changes on her own. So Father had to be the one responsible for ruining the house in this way.

  Caleb frowned, confused.

  He was done looking at the new furnishing, he was already tired of seeing it all.

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  “This way.”

  Brock led him through the kitchen, the dining room, before leading them into his least favourite room in the house.

  His mother’s painting room.

  He cast the black sheer curtains away from his face. Dust motes floated around and tickled his nose until he quietly sneezed in his elbow. This room hadn’t been renovated or touched. It felt out of place with the rest of the house, but to him, it was the only place in this house he recognized as home. The pine scent brought him so much peace and comfort. This was how his home was supposed to smell. He imagined his mother posing atop a stool in front of the room where the chalkboard clung to the wall while his sister and him giggled behind easels at the goofy faces she made. The memory brought a smile to his face.

  “It’s been a while since she’s entered this room,” Brock stopped short when he noticed Caleb wasn’t following anymore.

  “It’s gotten that bad?”

  “I’m afraid it has. Master is trying his best to call in the best physicians he could find. He’s even issued help from the royal physician.” Brock shook his head. “How desperate he must be.”

  Caleb shuddered. The room was now giving him the creeps. He always hated lingering here. He marched out, pulling the door closed behind him. In the hall, Brock climbed the winding staircase, looking back occasionally to check if Caleb was keeping up. Had his parents moved rooms as well?

  Caleb grabbed the banister and followed after him, taking careful steps. He remembered the look on Brock’s face when he'd opened the door and saw Caleb. How bad had it gotten?

  Trodding down the long hallways, he stressed over what he was about to face. Finally, when they reached the master bedchamber, Caleb pressed his ear to his parent’s door; it discomforted him that there was no movement inside. He looked to his side where Brock should have been, only to find the space empty. He was summoning up some sense of courage when something rang in his head. It came from the pack bond, it wasn't words but a metaphysical warning.

  Taking a calming breath, he braved opening the door. As soon as he did, a snarling wolf came springing at him.

  Caught off-guard, Caleb moved out the way at the last second, his mother’s claws dragged along his waist. The smell of his blood filled the space bringing a wolfish grin to her lips, her fangs winking at him. The scent seemed to spur her on even further.

  He raised his palms, placing one foot behind him, he shifted his stance and braced himself for her next attack.

  A growl rumbled from her chest as she threw herself at him again. He yelped, her fangs embedding into his shoulder. Fuck. Her fangs sank deeper bringing a whimper from him. He didn’t know it had gotten this bad. He didn’t think she could get her lucidity back.

  Without any other choice, he tore himself away, dodged her oncoming assaults as a stretching feeling came over his muscles, his face, everywhere on his body. The change was overcoming him, but he fought it with all his might.

  No, not now.

  From her incensed growl, his mother’s patience was thinning.

  He bowed his head. Fighting his mother was pointless.

  At that, she released him and retreated to the canopy bed. No fur in sight either.

  A numbing sensation spread over his wound, he looked down at his hand, relieved to see they were still hands and not paws.

  She advanced at him. Sunlight revealed her clouded irises, the sight unnerved him—something off about the colour.

  His mother crashed into him while he was distracted.

  He lowered his head under her neck, feeling the guttural sounds she made.

  When he moved, she followed him, put her head atop his, her threatening breath heated his neck and along his back. Minutes passed like this until she calmed, retracting her fangs and allowing him to move about the room.

  The she-wolf sauntered under comforters piled in a corner, her tangle of hair rising until she locked eyes with Caleb, glaring and clutching the sheets to her.

  He rushed through the open bathroom door, fetched his mother some clothes and ran back out.

  She was in the same spot as before, her head whipped toward him and her glare returned.

  “Mom?” Her gaze fell to his mouth, watching like a silent hawk. She continued staring at him, he swore her eyes were less glazed so he kept talking.

  “I’m home now and like I promised, I came back. I’m sorry it took so long,” he murmured, crouched and waddled toward her at a measured pace.

  Bam!

  He jerked around at the sound to see his father—the burly man he was, his thin lips forever in a straight line—deflated his spirit a smidgen.

  “Get away from her!” His father’s shout made Caleb curl into himself. “You don’t need to waste your time checking on us. Your mother is being taken care of. I have everything under control here.”

  Caleb made an exaggerated gesture toward his mom and asked, “That’s what you call doing okay? Is she even aware of what’s happening right now? She attacked me before I could fully open the door. For all we know she doesn’t even know I’m her son. Do you even care that she attacked Soph?”

  “What’s happened to Sophia?”

  “Ask her yourself.”

  “You’re one to talk, boy. Where have you been all these years? You don’t know how long Sophia cried when you left, let alone how much more she did once your mother completely lapsed into… into this state,” he said, “Who knows? You could have saved your mother from going mad had you stayed. You know full well how your mother feels about family. But no, you do your best to appease and pacify your king. Even abandon your duties to this family for seven whole years!”

  “Oh, what a hypocrite you are, Father. You served under King John. You of all people should understand my responsibilities. Is this not the person you raised me to become? A proper dog for the next king. Except you didn’t expect the next king would be a hybrid. The king comes first, those were your favorite words when I was young. I grew up with a father who was constantly putting the needs of a nation above family concerns. It was only after King John died that brought your attention back to us—”

  “My king was murdered,” his father outcried.

  “Even now you’re consumed with ‘pack business’. Such a surprise that now the gracious Grand Alpha Alexander has time to spare for his wife.”

  Caleb’s bottom lip trembled.

  His father raised his hand to strike Caleb, but his mother stood in front of her son, wearing the clothes he had given her.

  “Even in this state, she defends you, she tries to protect a disobedient pup like you.” His father placed his hand on his mother’s cheek in a soothing gesture. “I won’t harm the boy, my love.”

  For a long moment, she kept a dark stare aimed at his father. A fearsome growl resounding, it came from his mother’s protruding chest. Her bloodshot eyes wide, she jerked forward and got in his father’s face. The sound was mostly indiscernible, even still, the word move! came to mind. His father pulled away from her snapping teeth and shifted his gaze to the wall before moving out of her way. Determination shone in his mother’s eyes as she yanked Caleb into the hall.

  She stuck her head out the door, looked at him then down the end of the hall and finally toward the staircase before slamming the door in his face. He stood there, dumbfounded. Whose side was she on? His? His father’s? Had she been protecting him? Or was he the one in the wrong?

  Caleb dove deeper into his thoughts as he made his way toward the stairs. His father wasn’t entirely wrong and he had vowed to himself long ago that he wouldn’t turn out like his father. He wouldn’t lose sight of the ones he loved. He didn’t know how fast or slow the lunacy progressed or how much worse it could become. He wanted his mom back to normal and there was only one way he could see that happening. He pulled the crumpled pages from his jacket. He unfolded it and tried to comprehend what was written.

  “Seriously?” His sister’s voice rang in his head. “Did you make this? Is that why we haven't seen you for years? You've been helping the queen make this to cure Mom?” Those ridiculous questions made him feel bad that they weren’t true. Why hadn’t he been doing that instead of babysitting? The king came first, that was why. He shook his head. Not anymore. Not this time.