Chapter 57

Sarah POV

I found Zane walking towards his daughters in the play area, and, grateful for the warning, I joined him to walk into what was quickly becoming a scene.

The foam tower had been knocked down, and Chloe was standing protectively between Grace and three older children. One of them, a boy around eleven or twelve years old, was staring scornfully at Chloe, who had her fists on her hips.

“You take that back!” Chloe demanded.

“It’s the truth, so I won’t,” the boy said.

“What’s the truth?” I asked, stepping into the little crowd. “Something nasty about humans, I’m guessing?”

The boy looked surprised by my directness, but then he got his sneer back on. “You’re the nasty one, a human chasing after our alpha.”

“Your alpha?” Zane asked, his tone dry.

“You belong to the pack, and she’s got no business being in your bed. Everyone is sickened by the idea of it. It’s an insult to your legacy.”

“You’ve got some fancy words for a pup,” Zane said. “But it’s easy to quote other people, isn’t it, especially when they’re being unkind?”

His parents, no doubt, I thought.

“You’re a beta,” I told the boy. “You’re driven to protect the good of the pack. I’m surprised you can’t see how spreading rumors and attacking your own is harming the same pack you claim as your own.”

“What would you know about it?”

“I know that my personal dealings with Alpha Zane are completely above board and appropriate. I know you’re causing embarrassment for yourself and pain to my goddess-daughters.”

I looked to his companions. “You two are alphas, and as alphas you should rely on your own judgments, not just believe something someone else says because it makes for a good story.”

“Well said,” Mrs. Peacock (I really needed to learn her name) said from beside me, and I realized we’d drawn in several adults. Fortunately, no one looked angry, though there were a few embarrassed faces I guessed belonged to the children’s parents.

My heart hurt a bit, though, at this latest reminder of my place in Zane’s life. I really had no business entertaining any ideas of a relationship with him, but it was difficult to remember that when we were dancing.

“You talk of legacy,” I continued, looking back at the beta. “One of the greatest legacies of werewolf society is its reliance on fairness and its commitment to justice. Is it fair or just to make accusations without evidence?”

The boys looked uncertain now.

“I’d like you all to think about what’s happening here,” I continued. “I’m a human reminding werewolf pups about their own culture. I was watching you all play, and things were going so well, but you chose to make things ugly and unpleasant.”

“She’s telling you to apologize, Ivan,” one of the men standing nearby said.

Ivan looked mulish, but responded, “Yes, sir.”

The man, doubtlessly Ivan’s father, looked at him pointedly.

“I’m sorry,” Ivan muttered.

Movement caught my attention, and I turned to see Grace had stepped forward.

“I don’t know why you’re making everyone so mad,” she told Ivan in a soft but clear voice. “Sarah has been so great. She’s taking care of us, and she’s learning to ride a horse, and she doesn’t yell or make us feel bad. She lets us sleep in her bed, and she treats me just like Chloe, even though she doesn’t know me as much. We love her, and we don’t like that you’re trying to make her feel bad.”

Tears spilled out of my eyes as I went down on my knees to hold her, my heart bursting with so much love and gratitude I thought I might faint.

Small hands touched my back, and then Chloe’s arms were around me as well.

When I could finally look up again, I saw Zane had gathered the children and their parents into a small group. Onlookers who weren’t directly involved were looking at me and the girls, some with approval and some with puzzlement.

“That was lovely,” the woman with the peacock mask said, smiling down at the three of us.

“Thank you,” I said. “And please tell me your name. I’m afraid I’ve been calling you Mrs. Peacock in my head.”

She laughed. “It’s Joyce Lockwind, my dear. But I think I like Mrs. Peacock better.”

The conversation with Zane drew our attention when one of the fathers got a little loud.

“They’re just children. They didn’t mean any real harm.”

“They were acting against the pack and causing distress to my daughters,” Zane said. “I won’t be pressing charges or demanding compensation, but you will be receiving a letter from my councilor reminding you of your duties for alpha and beta children.”

The father looked like he wanted to object, but his wife (I’m assuming) stepped forward slightly. “As you wish, Alpha Zane. Perhaps we’ve been lax in Douglas’s training.”

“He’s old enough for it,” Zane said, looking over at the alpha boy in question, who looked like he was hoping for a large hole to open up in the floor. I stood up, holding onto the girls’ hands, and traded looks with Joyce.

The band, which had been playing a soft waltz, abruptly went silent.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Rob called from the stage. “To thank you all for your generosity for tonight’s auction, I have a final surprise!”

“Oh please, not a magician or something,” Joyce muttered, and we smothered giggles.

Rob gestured to the side of the stage, and a beautiful, exotic-looking human woman walked on stage in a belly dancer’s outfit, jingles and veils hanging from her waist and around her neck. She even had bells on her feet.

Slightly behind her were two beta males holding three curved swords each. At a nod from Rob, the band began to play a wild Arabian tune. The two men shouted something that sounded like, “Mashaal!” and took positions on either side of the woman.

After a nod to each other, the men began to juggle the swords, and then at a nod from the one on the left, they began throwing the swords back and forth in front of and behind her.

“Mommy, look at that!” Chloe gasped.

I had to agree with her. It was a thrilling display from all three performers. The woman actually bent forward and backward in and out of the knives’ paths.

Rob’s voice took on a deep and theatrical tone as he spoke into his microphone. “Yes, we’re watching what many call the oldest of human dance styles, the belly dance, which dates back to the time of Alexander the Great (356–323 B.C.)

“Some swear the origins of this dance are to encourage fertility in the rituals of ancient Greece and Egypt, but I prefer the historical accounts that it was used in prayer to draw the attention of the gods. And who can blame those gods, am I right?”

A few people laughed. The rest were riveted on the dancing and ignoring him.

“While it’s obvious why the movements are called belly dancing, the term is a translation of the French danse du ventre, a term that originates with the painting, The Dance of the Almeh, by Jean-Léon Gérôme.”

A photo of the painting, which was a little risqué for the pups, I thought, was projected on the wall above the band. A series of increasingly exotic and erotic paintings followed, and Zane began to frown. A few of the parents looked uncomfortable as well, though the majority were eating it up.

The painting photos stopped before things got truly objectionable, and images of flames took their place. The music rose to a fever pitch, then crescendoed with a wail as she tossed her hair a final time and a last knife was thrown almost directly at her head.

She caught the knife by the blade, and blight red blood ran down her arm. I met Zane’s eyes in horror.