She and Hers

11 - Crones

Sam

No walk of shame is more embarrassing than one conducted in front of your young, 20-something daughter - especially when that daughter is an alpha-blood female with excellent hearing.

Despite my years of training in silent entry, Hanna is awake and waiting for me, the biggest shit-eating grin splitting her face as soon as I step inside our apartment. My wolf swaggers inside. He's not interested in hiding our recent activities. He's made progress with all three potential mates and is standing tall and bursting with pride.

"And where have you been all night, young man?" Hanna tries to hide her glee and fails miserably. It isn't until I'm about six feet away from where she's sitting at the kitchen table that her smile drops. Eyes wide, she blurts out, "Woah, Dad, really? Cort Draek is... wow. You ok?" Worry darkens her expression.

"I'm good," I say gruffly. "Good." I stalk past her and head right into the bathroom, determined to have this conversation when I'm not so... disheveled.

I shower quickly, sharing my wolf's disappointment as I wash off the scents of our three soon-to-be mates. I don't need to reek of sex and lust, though. Not if I'm going to have a serious discussion with Hanna about our futures here in New York.

When I'm clean and dressed with my dirty clothes stuffed deep into our hamper, I emerge from my room to see Hanna still at the table, coffee and breakfast ready to go.

"So," she says brightly, "hard night?"

I stop short, groaning and shaking my head at her awful pun. Her grin widens, becoming diabolical, as she goes on. "I didn't sleep well, did you? It was really... hot... last night."

"Those are terrible and not funny," I deadpan, sitting down and pulling the plate toward me. My stomach growls as my wolf licks his chops. I had a workout... and now I'm the one with the bad innuendos.

Hanna pouts, "I had better jokes prepared. Mostly about how you're too large to be a witch's familiar. I wasn't ready for Cort Draek to be all over you like white on rice."

"I think that may be racist," I point out.

She frowns. "True. I like brown rice more, anyway. It's healthier."

"I do not want to know about your rice preferences." I point my fork at her. "You shouldn't be enjoying any rice for another few years, anyway."

"I'm twenty-two, Dad," Hanna says wryly. Then, the mischevious grin comes back into play. "Unless you think my new stepmommy will apply witchy dating rules to me?"

I groan, then nod, smirking. "She will. Twenty-five is the age of consent in witch covens. Ha." I stab a sausage and bite into it triumphantly.

Hanna returns my smirk. "Her daughter, Miranda, mated a whole wolf pack at my age."

"A year younger, actually," I grumble as I see the fallacy in my argument. "Do as I say," I tell her.

"Not as I do," she finishes the saying. We eat in companiable silence for a bit until she can't take it any more. "So, don't screw a dragon's brains out? That's your fatherly advice for today?"

I let my forehead thunk against the table. "Teens years are the worst, they said." I mutter against the cheap linoleum, relishing the cool feeling on my skin. "It'll get better, they said." I lift my head and scowl at my pup. "Your pup will become your best friend, they said."

Hanna laughs at my expense for a few minutes, until she sobers and gifts me her true, genuine smile. "I'm happy for you, Dad."

Another minute or two passes before I quietly say, "when this is settled, we need to discuss finding a pack for you."