Chapter 45

The children loved Charles from the moment he walked into the play yard, towering above Ms. Beale as she called out an introduction to them. There was no noise as every single child stopped and stared.

It seemed there was something inside us as children that are naturally drawn to Alphas, complete with the desire to please and be near them. It made me wonder about my own attraction and if it was as deeply rooted as that.

And why not? I was just as much werewolf as any other.

What was more surprising to me, however, was his reaction to them. It was like watching him revert twenty years into a kid himself, but still managing to martial them like little troops.

It wasn't long before he had them all playing one enormous game, with even the most shy child having a role that made them feel important and seen. The youngest rode on his shoulders as he dodged and played like a delighted puppy with the kids.

Ms. Beale and I stood back and marveled, and at times I pretended not to notice her wipe away a subtle tear.

"This is exactly what they need," she said to me. "To see adult authority figures having fun, treating them like they are important."

She turned to me and grasped my hand. "Thank you for this, Elena. And thank you for everything else you're trying to achieve for us."

I feel my own eyes sting with tears. "It's my past, and it's the least I can do to thank the people like you who raised me."

"Elena!" came Charles' commanding but laughing boom. "A little help!"

He was being swarmed by giggling children whose arms wrapped around his legs. I waded into the pack and begin to tickle and chase until they ran screaming away, chasing something else on the other side of the yard.

Charles was left panting, a small werewolf boy still clinging to his back.

There was a click to our right and we look. Matilda was smiling behind a camera.

"Permission to continue?" she asked, grinning. Charles nodded and she disappeared behind the lens again. "Good, because that swarm made for some excellent pictures."

I watched her, trying my best not to smile widely at her and reveal that I knew the secret about her adoption.

"Hey you," Charles said, turning the boy toward me and speaking over his shoulder. "Elena's going to let you down now, okay? I have to help her with snacks."

The little boy nodded and held out his arms to me. I grabbed him and he transferred his wrapped legs to my waist. It was like having a hot water bottle clinging to my torso.

"Come one now," Ms. Beale said, peeling him off me. "Look there's an empty swing. Go play!"

He dropped to the ground and scampered off. I looked after him, smiling, then look up to find Charles' eyes on me.

They are laughing, warm, and ... something else. Was it tenderness?

"Snack time?" Charles asked, and Ms. Beale nodded. "I've heard about this."

"Oh, that's Mrs. Addison's place," I said. I explained to Ms. Beale that Mrs. Addison was constantly trying to beat her own record of getting them all through in a minute and a half.

Ms. Beale laughed. "That sounds like her. But I bet with your Alpha to help, one could do it."

My Alpha, she'd said. I look at Charles shyly, but he was watching Matilda lay on the ground and photograph some children climbing on a play set.

Ms. Beale, however, noticed my shy look. She gave me a wink and gestureds for us to follow her into the adjoining kitchen.

She handed around knives and we began slicing apples into thin slivers.

"Like this," she said, holding up a finished cracker-based sandwich of apple and cheddar cheese. Charles took one and popped it into his mouth.

"Delicious," he said with difficulty. "It sticks to the roof of your mouth though." He smacked and frowned, while Ms. Beale smiled.

"Exactly. Takes the kids a long time to eat. If they're occupied for more than thirty seconds, we count it as a win."

Charles managed to get it down, and recovered some of his more masterly poise, looking seriously at Ms. Beale.

"I know you have challenges on multiple fronts, Ms. Beale. Elena has filled me in. But what would you say were the top three problems?"

Ms. Beale nodded and was silent for a moment, thoughtfully slicing the apple. Finally, she spoke.

"You're correct in that there are a lot of things, but the top three are pretty apparent and affect the quality of life for the children."

"The first is the supply chain. These apples are donated from the local grocers, ones they couldn't use because they're misshapen or damaged in some way. It's also why we are slicing them so thin, to make them last. We ask for more, but we barely get enough food to feed the kids and if we didn't have these donations..." She shook her head.

Charles and I both looked at the box of apples.

"The second is the lack of care to the facility. For two weeks we didn't have hot water and it wasn't until I started yelling on the steps outside city hall with a sign that a plumber showed up."

Charles' eyebrows went up. "Did we report on that?"

"I think they rushed me inside before one of Rafe Media's reporters showed up."

Charles nodded. "I'm sure Elena won't mind if you contact us before hand next time you need help."

I nodded in agreement. "We can be sure someone gets at least a photo," I said.

Ms. Beale smiled. "Just having that option is such a relief. Thank you."

We sliced and slathered peanut butter in silence for a moment while Ms. Beale regained her composure.

"Third," she continued, "Is the lack of care about the children's wellbeing. I am cheating a little, as I'm adding a few issues into this one."

"Like the lack of security?" I asked.

She nodded. "In the past we would fingerprint everyone who wanted to walk in the door and check them against a database to see if there are any criminal offenders or people with records of child harm."

Charles rumbled deep in his chest, and I see Ms. Beale look up in surprise. She glanced at me, uneasily and I smile. Hearing an Alpha growl could be unsettling, even for the most secure of adults.

She proceeded more cautiously, as if worried she might upset Charles further. "I've even seen evidence of abuse on some of the children coming in from other places."

Charles's intense blue eyes snapped up to hers and she cleared her throat, looking away under his gaze.

"Like what?" he asked.

"Bruising in places one shouldn't have them. Instinctive cringing when an adult raises an arm, things like that."

My heart clenched.

Charles seems to grow, standing up straight and looking at Ms. Beale. He suddenly seemed enormous in the small kitchen. Ms. Beale shuffled and tried to focus on her peanut butter, but even she had stopped moving.

"Is it possible to trace back to find where these children might have received this treatment?" he demanded.

I leaned across Charles, reaching for the bowl of peanut butter. As I did, I paused a little and squeezed his hand, hoping my scent would reach him as I move.

He took a deep breath and his eyes lost some of their intensity.

He looked at me and there's that look again. Was it tenderness? Worry?

I looked back, my heart clenching again, but this time not for the children.

Was he worried this was my past as well? Was he actually beginning to care that deeply about me?