Part Eleven: The Curiosity of the Concerned
Grantaire sips at his newest drink, relaxing back into his seat. The tavern that Joly chose for their meal is quiet, as out of the way as anywhere can be near the university, and there aren't very many humans around. It's relaxing, not having the massive input of smells and sounds and sights that go with any crowd of people, and Grantaire closes his eyes for a moment and just breathes. The tavern smells of alcohol, of food, of meat and vegetables that aren't always at their freshest, and, of course, of humans. Humans seemed to be immune to their own scent, never noticing how strong it was and how easily it spread over everything.
He doesn't mind, though. He likes the scent of students, he's finding. He likes the scent of ink and paper, food and drink, joy and energy and camaraderie that seems to accompany them.
Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad thing to be a student, after all.
He's considering challenging one of the humans sharing the tavern with him to a game of dominoes when the first wolf comes in.
The wolf is female, mid-ranked, somewhere around Musichetta or Bossuet's strength. He freezes when he walks into the bar, just a brief tightening of all his muscles, and Grantaire knows that the wolf has scented him even before the other wolf sees him. His light brown eyes widen in surprise, and Grantaire suspects that this new wolf recognizes Enjolras' lingering scent. Leaning toward the other wolf, Grantaire draws a deep breath of his own.
The new wolf is a pack wolf, but not Enjolras' or Badeau's pack. He's too old to really belong to either pack—or at least Grantaire's impression of either pack, young wolves with new alphas—in his late thirties or early forties. He's mated, to a male that's much higher ranked than him, possibly the alpha of this new pack. He's nervous, shaking his shaggy brown hair away from his eyes, keeping his chin up and in a position of dominance. Grantaire bows his head, not wanting to make the situation worse if it's not needed.
Grantaire thinks about running. He thinks about raising his glass in toast to the other wolf. He's not sure which would look worse for Enjolras' pack, so instead he just stays where he is.
After a moment the female turns away from him, settling down with quiet dignity at a table on the far side of the room.
Run or stay. Run or stay.
After a few second's consideration and another drink, Grantaire decides to stay. He's enjoying himself here, and apparently the other wolf doesn't mind sharing the area with him. It's what neutral ground means, after all. Maybe the other wolf will even be interested in playing a game with him, and he can get to know more about the pack politics in the area. Maybe—
The alpha glides into the café as though he owns it, raising his hand in greeting to the human taking orders, nodding to the few other humans in the cafe. He is older than the female, somewhere in his forties, and his light brown hair has threads of grey wending through it. His eyes are a dirty blue, light around the edges, dark at the iris, and they flick between Grantaire and the female wolf with a knowing smile.
Grantaire spares a quick glance for the female, whose shoulders have relaxed in a way that may be imperceptible to the humans but that speaks volumes to him. The wolf's alpha is here. His mate is here. Everything is right with the world again.
It doesn't hurt that Grantaire can smell the same pack-bonds and mate-bonds on the alpha that he did on the female, of course.
Grantaire stares at the alpha as the male moves toward him, calling out an order to the humans and calmly sitting down at the table next to Grantaire.
"Hello, stray." The strange alpha's voice is low, thrumming with certainty and power as he stares at Grantaire. "So tell me. What new… curiosity has Enjolras brought to my domain?"
Remembering belatedly to lower his head, Grantaire tries not to panic. Just because things went badly with Badeau doesn't mean things are going to go badly here. All he has to do is stay calm and not do anything stupid.
Sighing as he realizes exactly how little control he has over the situation, Grantaire takes another drink before answering. Pushing panic aside leaves room for the frustration and shame that the alpha's greeting had prompted to rise to the fore. "I really wish people wouldn't keep calling me stray. I am aware of my status as stray, I promise. It doesn't need to be brought up every time I meet someone as though it were a title. My name is Grantaire."
Both of the alpha's eyebrows raise, just slightly, and Grantaire ducks his head. Well, that was not the best way he could have started this conversation. Exactly how much has he had to drink already? Hopefully submitting now will at least mitigate the effects his words might have had.
The alpha eventually laughs, a soft, bemused sound. "Well then, Grantaire. It's nice to meet you. My question still stands, though. What oddity do you possess that has drawn Enjolras to you?"
"I don't submit as I should, as my scent says, and I mean no offense by it. Enjolras' pack has kindly allowed me to stay with them for a few days, anyway." Grantaire chances a glance up at this alpha, trying to stifle the frustration starting to build in his chest. Why does his status matter to this alpha? This wolf won't ever have anything to do with him if Enjolras accepts him… or if Enjolras doesn't, really, though Grantaire doesn't want to think on that. "Yes, I intend to join Enjolras' pack. Would you care to know anything else?"
The alpha smiles, an expression that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I would like to know exactly what the pup sees in you to lead him to claim you as one of his. My name is Armand, by the way."
"Oh." Grantaire blinks, taking another glance at the alpha, trying to keep his posture submissive since apparently his words have decided not to be. "You're the one he fought when he first came to Paris."
"I am." Armand inclines his head, and the expression on his face is thoughtful, distant. "I've been following his actions very closely ever since. We all have, of course. How could we not and call ourselves proper alphas? But I have a… special interest in the young one, I believe."
The silence stretches, and Grantaire stares down worriedly at his drink. What's he supposed to say? What does this alpha want from him? Eventually he allows his tongue to move again, though he keeps it on a firmer leash, his tone tentative. "Because he… changed your territory?"
"Partly." Armand shrugs. "He took away one of the things I had built that I rather enjoyed, that being my dominance over the university, but he left me my pack and our home. Overall, when the lines of pack territories were redrawn, I didn't end up losing very much."
"I'm glad for you." There's truth to the words, and Grantaire risks a glance up at the alpha, his frustration burning out. He's never had an adult home. He can't imagine the terror and horror of losing a home, especially not if he was the one who was supposed to be responsible for keeping it safe. It's no wonder Armand wants to keep track of Enjolras. "It must have been a very trying time for a pack as… well-established as yours seems to be."
"You have a kind way of saying old." This time the smile reaches Armand's eyes. "It's always so interesting to look at the young wolves and see how differently you experience the world."
"I didn't say old. As someone who's approaching his twenty-fourth year and still doesn't have a permanent pack, that word has a bit of a negative connotation for me." Grantaire shrugs. "I meant well-established. This was your place. It was your home. Given your age, I'm guessing that you had pups. It would have been a very trying time for any pack in that situation."
"It would have been. It was." Armand's eyes dart away as he makes the admission, the only sign of unease that he's given. "But it gave me insights that I haven't forgotten, as well as a fascination with this new creature in our midst."
"New creature?" Grantaire keeps his tone cool, because otherwise he will snarl. At least creature is less of an affront than monster, he supposes, but do these other alphas have to keep insulting his alpha—the man he wants to be his alpha—to his face? "I suppose by that you mean Enjolras?"
"You take creature to be an insult." Armand smiles at the human who brings over his food. He takes a sip from his drink before continuing. "I mean it as a simple statement. He is not human. He is not a proper wolf. He is something new, something different, and creature is an appropriate enough word for that."
"Why do you say he isn't a proper wolf?" Grantaire can hear the sulkiness in his own voice, but he can't hide it very well. At least Armand claims he's not trying to insult Enjolras. That's at least a step up from Badeau.
"Has anyone told you the full story of what happened when he came to Paris?" The words are murmured to Armand's drink, the older wolf's tone pensive, considering. "Have you heard the whole of that tale—at least as much as anyone other than myself or him could know?"
"He fought you." Grantaire shrugs. "He won."
"He approached me." Armand tilts his glass, allowing the liquid inside to slide over until it pools at the lip of the glass but doesn't quite spill over. "He told me that he intended to attend the university. He told me that he required a law degree. He was quite polite about it, though he kept his head up and looked me in the eye the whole time.
"Can you imagine it? Can you picture him? He looks young now, younger than his years; he looked like a half-grown cub then, still more gangly than muscled, and with only one wolf following him. Only Combeferre, and while Combeferre is impressive, I could defeat him."
Grantaire draws a breath, his mind automatically analyzing and assessing this alpha against Enjolras' beta. Armand is higher-ranked, he thinks, though not by much. It wouldn't need to be by much, though. An alpha with pack-bonds to draw on pitted against an evenly-matched opponent without pack bonds would quickly turn the fight into a bloodbath.
"Enjolras…" Armand breathes the name, tilting his glass to the other side. "Enjolras is unbelievable. Literally unbelievable. I thought there was something wrong with his scent or with my interpretation of it. I didn't think anyone could possibly be as strong as he is, not without more wolves to draw on. I thought that here, on my territory, with my pack of seven adults and two generations of pups to draw on, I was undefeatable.
"I told him no." The corner's of Armand's lips turn up into a grin, and his gaze catches Grantaire's for a moment before Grantaire remembers to lower his eyes. "I heard his request, and I told him no. I didn't want a wolf like him in my university. I didn't want the potential challenge later. I didn't want the trouble that I sensed from him."
Silence stretches again, a silence that Grantaire eventually, reluctantly, fills. "Is that when you fought?"
"No." Armand takes a quick drink. "He considered my answer for a few moments. Then he asked me again. Can you imagine the audacity? The tenacity? I was floored. All I could do was stare at him. He just stared back, such calm blue eyes, not repeating the request, awaiting my answer. I laughed at him, Grantaire. I laughed at him, and I told him no. Then I turned to walk away."
Grantaire doesn't let the silence stretch quite as long this time. "And then he attacked you?"
Shaking his head, Armand sets his glass down carefully, levelly. "No. He touched my shoulder, just a brief touch, and when I turned to look at the mad young thing who clearly didn't understand his position, he asked me one more time. I'll never forget that time. He lowered his head, just a bit, and he lowered his voice, rather than raising it. 'Please.' It was akin to his begging me, Grantaire, but he didn't seem bothered by it. 'I will do what I have to in order to attend university. Say yes and let us end this.'
"And I said no." Armand closes his eyes, drawing a slow, shuddering breath. "I told him no, and then, after he'd given me more than fair warning, he attacked me. And I saw him, Grantaire. I saw him more clearly and more cleanly than any wolf ever will. Do you have any idea what it's like when alphas fight?"
Grantaire refuses to answer that question. Any answer he gives is only going to give offense, so he simply raises his eyebrows and gestures at himself. If there's another wolf as low-ranked as he is, Grantaire's never heard of him. Perhaps a dog would let him be its alpha. Otherwise, there's not much chance of his having an alpha battle.
"With alphas with packs, it's not simply a matter of your magic against his. It's not simply a dominance contest, where magic or physical strength are all that matter. It's not like intra-pack battles. It's a matter of will, of determination, of magic, of physical strength, of your pack's allegiance, of experience. You're trying to take from your opponent everything that makes him alpha. You're trying to break his mind, his will, to find the doorway to reach into his soul and grab his pack-bonds, seize the ties he's made to his wolves, because those ties are his power. Those ties are his life. They are the thing he will draw on, wield against you, use to strengthen himself. I had been alpha of my pack for twenty years, Grantaire. My wolves were mine, and content. And he…" Armand's eyes open. "He ripped them from me within the space of a minute. His surety, his certainty, his wielding of his power, it was like no eighteen year old wolf has ever been. He didn't hesitate. He didn't wonder. He didn't waste time calling on or protecting Combeferre. He simply attacked, as he had warned, and took what he needed. He will always take what he needs, Grantaire. He will always do whatever is necessary to advance his goals, and his goals are not what an alpha should have."
"His wolves seem happy enough." It's a safe comment, and the only thing Grantaire trusts himself to say. He's caught between jealousy of Armand, for knowing and understanding Enjolras far more than he likely ever will, and a strange sort of… fear isn't quite the right word, or distaste, but there's something about the way this wolf speaks of Enjolras that Grantaire doesn't like.
"Oh, they are." Armand smiles, his true smile, his eyes dancing. "They love him. He's chosen them very wisely, finding those who will assist him, those who believe as he do. Because that's what he does, Grantaire. He works toward his goal. He works, single-mindedly, towards the elimination of the thing that he is. He is the alpha of alphas, and yet he talks about equality, and he means it. He will see the humans freed. He will see wolves treated as equal citizens in human society. And he will see all wolves have standing within our society, dominant or submissive, strong or weak."
Armand's eyes pin Grantaire in place, the force of his gaze and his focused attention enough to make the hairs on Grantaire's arms attempt to stand on end. After a failed attempt, Grantaire manages to make his tongue move well enough to form a sentence. "I'm afraid I'm still failing to see how this is a bad thing."
"It isn't. I never said it was. I said he's fascinating, and I mean it." Armand's shoulders tense again, his fingers toying over the edge of his glass as his eyes stare at something that only he can see. "I saw all of his mind, Grantaire. I saw what he is, and I saw what he isn't. Where is his drive to dominate? Where is his drive to protect? As I said, he didn't hesitate for an instant when I was aiming to rip Combeferre from him. Where are his doubts, his insecurities? Black night, where is his drive to mate, to reproduce? His pack has gone three falls without producing a single pup, Grantaire. Why do you think that is?"
Grantaire blinks. He doesn't think Armand's right about the lack of a protective instinct or a dominance drive. He doesn't know how he knows, but watching Enjolras interact with his wolves, with Combeferre and Courfeyrac… he doesn't think that much is missing.
But then there's the other matter that Armand brought up. Three falls without cubs. That's quite a lot of self-control on their part. Also, not something he really wants to think about right now. He needs to either be more drunk or less drunk to contemplate what that means. Mildly drunk just won't do. "Their alpha isn't mated."
"That shouldn't interfere with instincts for the rest of them." Armand's expression is that of a teacher speaking with a dull but well-meaning student. "Unless he's doing it intentionally. What kind of alpha would do that, though? What kind of alpha would be able to, and would want to? Besides which, it would be easy enough for him to find a mate if he wished, Grantaire."
Grantaire is certain it would be. He also does not want to be having this conversation. Looking for anything or anyone to catch his attention other than the alpha at his side, Grantaire allows his eyes to wander across the café. They catch on the female wolf, sitting ramrod straight in his chair, eyes fixed unblinkingly on his alpha and mate. The expression on the wolf's face is sad, infinitely sad, and his eyes refuse to meet Grantaire's.
Armand seems to recover himself after a moment, the tension draining from his shoulders. A self-deprecating smile graces his face briefly and then is gone. "My apologies if I've upset or worried you, Grantaire. They are rhetorical questions. I merely meant to emphasize how different Enjolras is from others who have come before. Which brings me back to my main question: what does he want with you?"
"I'm actually fairly certain he doesn't want me." Grantaire drains his drink and gestures for another. "But the others in his pack have been kind, and he says they'll put it to a vote. I may be gone and no longer of note in a few days."
"Anything that pup does is of note." Tapping his finger against the table, Armand purses his lips. "An alpha doesn't accept a wolf he doesn't want. The tension of sharing the thoughts and feelings of someone you dislike would be… unpleasant. But he isn't like most alphas. Would he truly do it? Or is there something more to his plans? Does he see something in you that I don't?"
"If he does, he hasn't enlightened me."
Armand watches Grantaire for what feels like several minutes, his bicolor eyes seeming to take in every motion and expression and wrinkle in Grantaire's clothing. Grantaire isn't certain exactly what conclusion the alpha eventually reaches, but finally Armand stands. Leaning over the table, he claps Grantaire on the shoulder. "I look forward to seeing what he does with you, Grantaire, submissive who doesn't submit. I look forward to seeing where in his machinations you fit. And when you tell him I talked to you, tell him that I am glad that he's still a glorious creature, that he hasn't become just another boring alpha."
Grantaire nods, slowly, feeling as though he's facing down a cobra that could strike at any moment.
Armand straightens, his voice falling to a soft whisper. "Because the day he becomes like the rest of us, Grantaire, is the day I'll have to think of a way to kill him. No one with that much power should be like we are."
Without another word Armand walks away, giving another smile to the shop-keep as he pays and leaves. His mate follows after him, though the female wolf spares a look for Grantaire before leaving.
It's a difficult look to read. He sees pain in there, and fear, and hesitancy. What must it be like, to have his mate and alpha so fixated on this young wolf? What did Enjolras do to their pack, defeating their alpha so easily, even if he did what he could to repair the damage?
What did he do to their alpha? How much has Armand changed since his brush with his creature, the wolf that he doesn't want to be mortal?
Frowning at the liquid still remaining in his glass, Grantaire downs it in one burning swallow.
Questions always seemed easier to answer after a drink or two.
XXX
The second alpha comes with his beta and gamma in tow.
Grantaire blinks at the three wolves, squinting up at them as they stand in the light in front of him.
The alpha is female. Grantaire knows that the female is alpha because his scent is the primary one in the pack-scent on all three of the wolves. Nodding to himself, he draws another deep breath. This alpha is less dominant than Combeferre, more dominant than Bahorel, and the two male wolves with her are also right around Bahorel's strength. The alpha is mated to the gamma; the beta is mated to a lower-ranked male wolf that Grantaire's fairly certain isn't present. Craning his head to glance around the café, he nods in satisfaction. The missing mate definitely isn't present.
The alpha frowns at him uncertainly. "You're Grantaire? You're the new wolf that Enjolras' pack is considering?"
"I'm Grantaire." Smiling up at the female, he tries to look non-threatening. It shouldn't be too hard, since he's so submissive. Right. Submit. He should submit. Dipping his head, he studies the floor for a moment. "Enjolras' pack is being nice to me right now. Is that all you want to know?"
The alpha gestures for his wolves to move to the other side of the cafe before sitting down in the seat next to the one where Armand had sat, to Grantaire's right. Interesting, that even when they're not in the same building the alphas don't want to share a seat. Though it would be harder to share a seat if they were in the same building. That would probably start a fight.
He really doesn't want to start a fight. Fighting with Badeau was bad enough. "I'm not trying to cause trouble. I promise."
The alpha blinks at him again. "I believe you, Grantaire."
Sighing in relief, he nods before pausing and considering the alpha's words. "How do you know my name?"
"Word of what happened between Badeau and you has gone around fairly quickly." The female smiles, an expression that's far gentler and fonder than Grantaire had expected. "Some of my younger wolves are attending the university. They brought me news of you yesterday, and of Armand's activities today."
"Oh." Forcing his vision to focus, Grantaire nods. This female is older than he is, he supposes, perhaps in his early thirties. Nodding to himself, Grantaire carefully sets his drink down and then allows his eyes to fix on his lap. Keep his eyes down. Keep his head down. Act submissive. Don't give offense. Maybe he can use the fact that apparently all the alphas in the area want to talk to him to his advantage. "Do your wolves like being able to attend the university?"
The alpha's smile grows more wistful. "None of the young ones are terribly dominant. Armand almost certainly would have let them attend even before Enjolras… changed things."
"Oh. I mean, good. That's good." He really shouldn't pick his drink up again. So why is it in his hands? "You and he got along pretty well then?"
"Well enough. As well as neighboring packs should." The female shrugs. "Not all of us are like Badeau, thank the White Lady. Nothing would ever get done if we were. So long as a wolf wasn't likely to challenge him or cause trouble, Armand would tolerate their presence at the university during their classes. He really does believe in education. Even if it would be hard to be a lawyer who has to have a particular night free each month so that he can turn into a large wolf and try very hard not to howl at the moon."
"It's a lot more fun when we can howl." Grantaire finds that his drink is near empty again, and carefully sets it back on the table. "In my opinion, at least, though I know most of us can't."
"None of us can. None of us have been able to for the last three centuries, not really, not in any honesty. Howl too often, even in the country, and you get blamed for every dead animal. Then it becomes every dead child. Then you have a witch-hunt on your hands, and we just can't take the kind of bloodbaths that we have in the past. Our species wouldn't survive it." The alpha's hazel eyes rise slowly, his expression troubled. "My name is Geroux, by the way."
"You already know my name." Grantaire forces himself not to meet the alpha's eyes for too long. "And what pack I'm associated with—or not, as the case may be. What else did you want to ask?"
Geroux's lips turn up in a bemused smile. "I was hoping for a few more specifics on what your potential relationship to Enjolras' pack will be."
"As a member, I hope." Giving his own best smile, Grantaire raises his glass in a silent toast and drains it dry. "I would very much like to be a part of a pack, Geroux. And they have been terribly kind to me."
Geroux leans back, just slightly, his head held high.
After a moment Grantaire remembers to lower his own head and eyes. "Sorry. That's why I don't have a pack, you see. I don't do that right. I don't submit right."
"And Enjolras is fine with that?" Geroux's index finger scratches against the tabletop, his eyes drawn together as he considers. "I've only been with you for five minutes, Grantaire, and it's already making my wolf nervous."
"Sorry." Grantaire mumbles the word to his drink. "Like I said, they're being kind to me. Though it's all right with Enjolras. I submit to him like I should."
That might not have been the right thing to say. The female's eyes narrow even as his hands stop all movement. "Really?"
"Really." Shrugging his shoulders, Grantaire offers a conspiratorial smile. "I've never submitted properly to anyone before—not to Badeau, not to you, not to Armand, not to any of the others. Not to Combeferre or Courfeyrac, and I'd rather like to behave properly with Courfeyrac. He's been very kind to me. And with Bahorel and Jehan, too, since they've also been quite kind. And Joly. Well, to all of them, because they've all been very kind. But I am me, and I can only be a proper wolf when I'm with Enjolras."
"You are very drunk, aren't you?" There's puzzlement in Geroux's voice.
Right. Most wolves tried not to drink too much. Drinking made it harder to have control. "Just a little bit. I promise, I've been more drunk before, and I've never done anything stupid to give away the Pack."
"Why are they interested in you?" The bemusement is still in Geroux's voice. "Are you just someone they're taking in out of…"
"Go ahead and say it. Someone they're taking in out of pity." Grantaire gestures for another glass, though he suddenly doesn't feel quite so much like drinking. "Perhaps. Probably. I know I likely won't be much use to him, though if he accepts me I will try. But no, I don't know of any grand plots he might be planning involving me."
"I find it difficult to imagine any, either." There's a strange combination of relief and dismay in the alpha's voice. "Are you certain that you're not going to cause too much stress for that pack?"
Grantaire shrugs. "They haven't seemed too bothered by me yet. I think it helps that I respond to Enjolras properly. And everyone else… they're very kind people, Geroux. Kinder than I ever hoped to find. Maybe kinder than I deserve. So I don't understand why everyone seems to hate them so much."
"I don't hate them." Geroux's hand covers his, the alpha's fingers warm and gentle. "He scares me, sometimes. That whole pack does, but him especially, more than the darkest tale of the black night. I'm supposed to protect my people, Grantaire. I'm supposed to keep them safe. How am I supposed to do that when there's someone like him trying to change everything?"
"Not all change is bad." Grantaire's eyes are fixed on the table. That's all right, though. That's a good place for them to be, a safe place that can't get him in trouble. "For some of us, change is the only way that we might have a chance at staying alive."
"Change is frightening when it's not in your control, though. Especially when some of us are designed to have control—to make control, to keep it, to give stability to everyone else." The female wolf speaks gently, still, his hand kind on top of Grantaire's. "I will keep my wolves safe, Grantaire. If I have to kill you or him or his whole pack to do so, I will. I'd prefer to just run you off, but if I must—"
"You don't." Raising his eyes to meet the alpha's, Grantaire tries to make his sincerity and certainty obvious. "I'm no threat to you. I'm not going to change anything for him or them. All that's going to happen is that I'll have a chance at being happy. Is that really so bad?"
Geroux stiffens again, though he keeps his hand on Grantaire's and meets his eyes evenly. "That's not bad. But if you're going to destabilize his pack—"
"How?" Grantaire raises one eyebrow, reaching for his empty drink. "Just what am I going to do that's going to change things so much?"
"He… could be interested in you as a mate." There's doubt and hesitancy in Geroux's voice even as the female speaks.
"No." Shaking his head, Grantaire smiles. "No. Just… look at me. Smell me again. You can't imagine why he'd want me in his pack. Why in the name of the merciful Lady would he even think of taking me as a mate?"
Geroux shrugs, though the female's cheeks redden slightly. "Some alphas enjoy having a very submissive mate. The power imbalance… excites them. Where he's the most dominant wolf I've ever seen and you're the most submissive…"
"I couldn't even imagine something like that." Shaking his head, Grantaire smiles ruefully. "I just want to be with them. I won't ask for anything else, and I don't expect that he'll offer anything else. They'll continue to be them, and I'll just… go along with them, doing what I can to help."
Smiling slightly, Geroux pulls his hand back to his side. "I do suppose, having met you, that I find this more likely than you causing the end of our world as we know it."
"I think that's a compliment." Keeping his head low, Grantaire glances up at the alpha. "You all don't need to be so afraid of him, you know. He's not any kind of monster. He's a good alpha. He's kind. He's fair. And the rest of the pack is amazing. Maybe you should meet him and his people when you're not talking about alpha stuff. Maybe we could play cards or… or dominoes or something like that."
"You want us to sit and play dominoes with Enjolras." Geroux stares at him in open astonishment for a moment before laughing. "You want all the alphas of Paris to sit and play dominoes with Enjolras?"
"No." Grantaire grins. "I'd prefer if Badeau wasn't there. I don't think he'd be into the spirit of camaraderie that we'd be attempting to produce."
"Ah, stray…" Shaking his head, Geroux stands. After a moment's hesitation the female reaches into his pocket and flicks Grantaire a coin. "Buy yourself another drink. And try not to cause any trouble for us. Having met you, I'd find it much harder to drive you off. And I'd really prefer not to have to fight Enjolras, though I will find a way if he forces my hand."
"No fighting. Dominoes. We're going to play dominoes." Grantaire lifts one hand with his empty glass and the other with the coin, smiling contentedly as one of the humans fills a new glass and heads toward him. "It'll be fun."
Geroux just shakes his head, heading toward the door. A slight flick of his head summons the two wolves who had been with him from the other side of the café, and they leave together, all three seeming more relaxed when they're together than they had when they were apart.
Grantaire relaxes, as well, settling back in his chair and contemplating his newest drink. He'll just finish this last one and leave. He's already had far too much excitement for the day. At least no one has punched him yet. And he thinks things went rather well with Geroux. Maybe it'll even be a useful idea, having Enjolras sit down and talk with the other alphas in a situation where he's not doing something to antagonize them. Surely, if they got to know Enjolras like his pack does, like Grantaire has seen him, then—
Grantaire lifts his eyes slowly, his heart dropping as the scent of another high-ranked wolf assaults his nostrils.
Just how many alphas are in Paris, and why are they all choosing to come talk to him?
XXX
Enjolras straightens in his chair, the pen in his hand coming dangerously close to snapping as his fingers tighten around it, responding to an emotion he can't quite pin down but doesn't like.
Courfeyrac glances over at him, his eyes drawn together in concern.
Shaking his head, Enjolras gestures back at the professor currently lecturing at them. One of them needs to be focusing on the examples being given, and since this is the third time the feeling has assaulted him, Enjolras knows that's not going to be him right now.
Closing his eyes, Enjolras sorts through his pack-bonds in rapid succession. Courfeyrac's is the easiest to hold and read, since the other female is sitting right by him. He knows that Courfeyrac's fine, though, not the source of the distress that's been distracting him, so he gently shoves aside his reading of that pack-bond and moves on to the others.
Combeferre is also fine, listening avidly to someone lecture on lightning and electricity in a building not too far away, though he still notices the instant Enjolras touches the pack-bond. Sending a sense of calm along to his beta, Enjolras moves onward.
Bahorel is meeting with humans, and doesn't even notice Enjolras touching the bond. Monet is similarly engaged, though the female pauses and waits for him to send the all-clear before ignoring him entirely. Musichetta is too far away to read easily, but seems unharmed and unperturbed. Bossuet has a bruised shin, somehow, but seems largely content with the situation anyway. Feuilly is the furthest away and the hardest to read, but Enjolras concentrates until he's shoved away by the mildly exasperated artist. Not him, then. Joly is working; Jehan is reading aloud, and Enjolras tries very hard not to distract him while making sure that the poet is all right.
Which accounts for all of the pack, but not the feeling of dread and being severely overwhelmed that has been distracting Enjolras for the last few minutes.
The stray. It's the only explanation that's left, and as soon as Enjolras turns his mind toward the strange male he knows that he's right.
They don't have a proper pack-bond yet. Grantaire hasn't asked to be pack, and Enjolras hasn't bent his power on tying the submissive into the pack's magic. That doesn't matter, though. Grantaire wants to be pack. He wants it desperately, hungrily, like a drowning man wants dry land. Enjolras' pack magic, all his life overly eager to draw others to him, has already laid the preliminary strands of pack-bond between them, and without Grantaire's will to force them away the gossamer strands have stayed.
Touching the strands, Enjolras feels the sense of unease that had initially drawn his attention magnify a hundred fold.
Alphas.
It's a whimper in Grantaire's mind, a sense of power and overwhelming might bearing down on him that is like nothing Enjolras' ever felt before.
Stop.
It's a wish, a wistful, helpless wish for the powerful to leave him alone, to stop frightening him, though Grantaire knows there's nothing he can do to make the wish come true.
It's hard to read anything more. There's a muddled, disconnected sense to Grantaire's emotions that Enjolras attributes to the distance between them and the lack of a proper pack-bond.
Opening his eyes, Enjolras glances between the professor and the handful of notes he's taken today.
Courfeyrac is eyeing him again, questioning, uncertain.
Gathering up his books, Enjolras leans over to his gamma. "Take as many notes as you can. There's something I need to go deal with."
He doesn't say anything else before standing and slipping out of the class.
If his professor has a problem with his leaving, they can discuss things later. They most likely will discuss things later, when Enjolras reads through Courfeyrac's notes and decides what other questions need to be asked.
Right now, he has something much more important to deal with.
XXX
The third alpha settles into the seat at Grantaire's left, in the chair that neither Armand nor Geroux had used. Interesting, that. Grantaire wonders, briefly, what he would have done if there hadn't been a third chair at the table. Would he have traded out a chair? Or would that be too much acknowledgement that the other alphas had been here? Would—
"Give me one good reason not to kill you or drive you out of town."
Grantaire blinks up at the male alpha, eyes widening in surprise. "Because then I'd be dead. I don't really want to be dead."
The alpha stares back at him, dark brown eyes narrowed, eyebrows drawn together in a look that could be a threat or could be nervousness. His dark brown hair curls eagerly all over his head despite being cut short—shorter than their hair normally stopped growing at. "I don't… that's… are you drunk?"
Considering the empty glasses littering the table before him for a moment and the difficulty of keeping his thoughts focused on the important things in front of him, Grantaire comes to a quick decision. "Yes. Decidedly."
"But… I…" The alpha stares over at him, clearly at a loss and frustrated with that fact. Leaning closer to Grantaire, he lowers his voice. "You're considering joining Enjolras' pack, correct? You got into a brawl with Badeau yesterday in which Enjolras' wolves made rather brash threats?"
"Yes and yes and no." Smiling, Grantaire shrugs and finishes his drink. "I would very much like to join Enjolras' pack. There was a fight yesterday. Badeau started it, though. As for any threats that were made… they placed me under their protection. Would your wolves have stood for another alpha striking someone under your protection, or would they have used whatever means at their disposal to protect your interests?"
"The means at our disposal are rather different from the means that his wolves have at their disposal." The male leans back in his seat, still frowning. "A threat like that isn't something to be taken lightly by any of us. Did Enjolras punish his wolf for what he did?"
"I'm not sure I'm supposed to talk about how Enjolras deals with his wolves. It's his pack's business, not yours." Grantaire frowns at the other male. Taking a breath, he sorts through the scents on this strange alpha. He's strong, stronger than Geroux, somewhere around Badeau's level. Mated, definitely, to a relatively high-ranked female. There are eight or nine scents mixed in their pack-magic, a large number of adults for a wolf not much older than Grantaire to hold. And there is the scent of fear, just barely perceptible over the other scents.
This alpha is afraid.
This alpha is afraid of Enjolras, and somehow, by extension, Grantaire.
It's an impossible thing. No one should be afraid of him. He has no pack, no magic, no mate, no purpose, no nothing. To have an alpha sitting in front of him, worried…
Grantaire bows his head. He doesn't want this wolf to be afraid of him. He doesn't want him to be afraid of Enjolras, not when Enjolras wants what's best for everyone. "They didn't approve of what Bahorel did. He was dealt with, and I doubt that the situation will come up again."
The other male relaxes, just slightly. "Good."
"I'm Grantaire, by the way." Grantaire finds his eyes rising to meet the alpha's and hastily forces them back down to the table. "I'm submissive. I'm no danger. I might not even get to be a part of his pack, because I'm not very good at being part of anything larger than a drink, so you all really don't need to worry about me. And you really don't need to worry about him. He's trying to help us. He's trying to fix things. And you should play dominoes with him at some point. I think it would be a good idea, for all the alphas to get together and not talk about scary things like territory and the rights of humans and what we want to have happen politically. Dominoes aren't scary like all of that is. They're just little wooden pieces with numbers—"
"You're insane." The alpha stares at him, lips slightly parted, a look of dismay on his face.
"No." Grantaire hesitates. "I don't think so, at least. Just very drunk, like you said."
"Why would he possibly want a wolf like you?" The alpha tilts his head, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "You're not like Bahorel, are you? You don't have something… odd that you can do to us?"
"No. Not that I know of." Grantaire stares down into his empty glass, wishing that it wasn't quite so empty. "You're right. You're all right. I am useless. I am pointless. There's no way that he would want me, and it's foolish of me to want to join his pack. I'm sorry that I wanted to try."
There are tears starting to pool in his eyes, and Grantaire blinks them back with an effort. He can't do this anymore. Yesterday with Badeau was bad enough. To have three alphas approach him, in rapid succession, all of them with the same questions, the same assumptions, the same beliefs…
He may not submit like he should, but he knows what they are. He can still sense their power. He knows that they're dangerous. He's run from alphas and their packs for the last seven years of his life. He doesn't know how to sit and talk with them. He shouldn't be sitting and talking with them.
Maybe he shouldn't be here. Maybe they're all right. Maybe he's a danger to Enjolras and his pack. Maybe—
A low whimper rips itself from his throat before becoming a sigh of relief as yet another alpha walks into the room. There's no fear this time, though. There's simply a sense of all being right with the world as he bows his head and exposes his neck to the man that he desperately wants to be worthy of.
Enjolras is here.
Maybe now the nightmare can stop.
XXX
"Paquet." Enjolras greets the other alpha with a slight incline of his head—enough to show respect, not too much, not enough to show weakness. "What, exactly, are you doing with our guest?"
Paquet stands immediately, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side. His face flushes red as he looks between Grantaire's teary-eyed obeisance and Enjolras. "I swear, Enjolras, I wasn't doing anything to him. We were just talking."
Arching one eyebrow, Enjolras glances down at Grantaire's huddled form, half-sprawled on the table. The reek of alcohol in the room should at least explain to any curious humans why Grantaire's posture seems… abnormal for a man. "A talk that seems to have caused a great deal of distress."
"That wasn't my intention." Paquet stands perfectly still, though there's a slight tremor to his fingers that suggests he would rather be moving, circling, doing anything but standing and facing Enjolras directly. Their options are limited in human places, though.
"'s all right." Grantaire lifts his head, just slightly, though he stays in a submissive huddle. "I don't think he meant to upset me. At least not after the first sentence. It wasn't very nice to threaten to kill me."
Enjolras doesn't say anything. He just lifts both eyebrows and fixes the other alpha with a steady stare.
"It was a rhetorical question!" Paquet leans over the table toward Grantaire, giving his shoulder a slight shove. "You know that, right? It wasn't a threat. I just—"
"You meant it." Grantaire stares up at Paquet, meeting his eyes squarely, expression sullen and bleary-eyed. "You said give you a good reason for you not to kill me, and I think you meant it."
"I said kill or run off. There's a difference." Paquet's teeth are bared, his wolf rising more to the fore as Grantaire unconsciously challenges him. "And you were fine after that, might I add. The rest of the conversation has been… interesting, to say the least."
"He's under my protection. He's staying with my pack." Enjolras places a hand on Grantaire's other shoulder, trying not to wrinkle his nose in distaste at the overwhelming scent of alcohol currently surrounding the man. "You're aware of that, correct?"
Paquet leans back, feet shuffling but not actually moving, and Enjolras forces his gaze to move to the side. He isn't challenging Paquet. It's always harder, when there are only two alphas in the room, when it's clear who would be dominant and who submissive. He will see and treat this male as an equal, though. They are both wolves. They are both alphas, and Paquet treats fairly with his pack.
He will not allow this to degenerate into an alpha struggle. He's only had one in his life, and the cost of such conflicts is far too high for all parties involved.
Keeping his eyes fixed on the wall, Paquet still in his peripheral vision but not meeting his gaze in a challenge, Enjolras forces his body to relax. "What information were you trying to get from him?"
Paquet relaxes, just slightly, his own gaze traveling to the opposite wall. "What's this going to change?"
"Him?" Enjolras can hear the surprise in his own voice, and Grantaire flinches under his hand. "It will change my pack, I suppose. We'll have another wolf. That's all."
"You're not planning anything with him?" Paquet's suspicion is clear in his voice. "He doesn't have any powers we need to be wary of?"
"The only wolf I have with abilities that might be considered unique is Bahorel, and he has no intentions of using them on other wolves in the near future." Enjolras keeps his tone cool, controlled. He had been worried that Bahorel's threat would put the other alphas on edge. He had been right. Sometimes he doesn't like being right. "You know where my political interests currently lie. Human society has to change before more can be done about our own society. But my goals, short or long-term, currently have nothing to do with Grantaire. He is simply a wolf looking for a pack."
"And he just happened to choose yours." The scorn in Paquet's voice stings, just slightly, but Enjolras knows his wolves too well to let it truly bother him.
His people are happy. Nothing that anyone else says will change that. "He chose mine because we can tolerate his small aberration—his failure to submit properly in most situations—in a way that he has found no other packs willing or able to. He is spending some time watching us to ensure that he truly understands what he'll be getting into."
"That's really it?" Paquet's shoulders relax more, and he lifts his left hand to scratch absently, almost ashamedly, at his ear. "There's nothing more going on? You're not threatening Badeau or any of the rest of us?"
"No." Sorrow and disappointment rise in Enjolras, but he pushes them aside. He had thought Paquet understood him, even if he's less likely than Geroux or Bisset or Armand to side with Enjolras when all the alphas meet. "There is nothing more or less going on than a stray trying out a new pack. I make it a policy not to threaten strays that are experimenting with your pack. I would appreciate it if you would return the favor."
"I'm sorry, Grantaire." Paquet reaches over tentatively, glancing his fingers across Grantaire's hand before pulling back, his eyes darting to Enjolras as though he expects Enjolras to bite him. "I didn't mean any threat or harm."
"That's all right." Grantaire smiles up at the other alpha, though he leans against Enjolras. "You can't help being what you are, same as me, same as him. Think about the dominoes idea, though. I think it's a good idea."
Paquet flicks his gaze to meet Enjolras', just for a moment, and gives a stiff nod. "I thank you for your time and your patience, Enjolras, and wish you a good day."
"A pleasant day to you as well." Enjolras doesn't turn to watch the other alpha leave. He doesn't want to make the man more nervous or skittish than he already is. He can feel the instant Paquet walks out the door, though, the tension in the room immediately dropping by several notches. Even the few humans seem to notice, moving more freely, smiling more than they had while the two alphas spoke.
Grantaire looks up at him, eyes still tear-puffy. "I'm sorry if I caused trouble."
"It's all right, Grantaire." Enjolras squeezes the stray's arm. "It's not your fault that I have a reputation."
"It's not the one you deserve." Grantaire's starting to slur his words, though he glances up at Enjolras with bright sincerity. "I don't know why they're all so frightened of you. It's not right. You're amazing."
"You're very drunk." Helping Grantaire stand, Enjolras guides the stray toward the door. "We'll talk about this when you're sober, as well as about the drinking. Do try to remember who approached you and what you spoke about, if you can. It could be helpful to me."
"I'd like that." A hazy smile graces Grantaire's face, and Enjolras has to pull him up sharply into a standing position as the stray attempts to nuzzle against him. Grantaire doesn't seem to mind, though, continuing to smile as he follows Enjolras with the utmost trust. "I'd like to be useful to you. They kept saying I couldn't be, you know. I started to think maybe they were right."
"It's not something to discuss right now." Having a conversation with Grantaire at this point would be pointless. Enjolras' seen Bahorel, Bossuet, Joly and Courfeyrac drink enough times to recognize when someone is past the point of comprehension, even without the added input of the stray's muddled thoughts and emotions slipping through their almost-realized pack bond.
And that's a problem. Pausing mid-step, Enjolras frowns down at the ground, forcing his mind and soul away from Grantaire's. Grantaire hasn't asked for permission to be pack. The pack hasn't granted it. Enjolras' own instincts and power can't be allowed to have free reign, to take the stray's allegiance just because it's being silently offered.
Grantaire whimpers, a low, soft sound of distress, and pulls away from him. When the stray speaks, his voice is thick with pain and surprise. "I'm sorry. What did I do? Did I say—"
"No. Hush." Enjolras places an arm around Grantaire's shoulders, an awkward position given the stray's taller height that's made better by Grantaire's hunched posture. "It's all right. It wasn't censure. It's just not the proper time for that. When you ask and they say yes, then I'll let the pack-bond do what it will."
"Really?" Grantaire stares at him, lost, disheveled. "You'll really accept me?"
"Yes." Tugging on Grantaire's arm, Enjolras coerces the man into moving again. "I'll accept you."
"I'd like that." Grantaire stumbles, but he recovers quickly, staying at Enjolras' side.
"I know." Enjolras pauses, responding to a quick, questioning mental jab from Courfeyrac with a wave of reassurance and calm. When that's done he turns back to Grantaire. "I'll ask of you what I ask of all of them. I'll ask you to stand and possibly die with me."
Grantaire nods, expression solemn, eyes locked on the ground. "I'll do what I can. I can't promise I'll be worth anything close to the others, but I'll do what I can."
Enjolras nods. "I'm sure you will."
It's all he'd ask of Grantaire. It's all he asks of any of the people who join him or the people he speaks to. If they will do what they can, he will do everything within his power to fix their world.
After another minute or two Grantaire looks around them, eyes wide and puzzled. "Where are we going?"
"Home."
"Home." Grantaire repeats the word, a soft, melancholic smile on his face. "I like the sound of that. I want to go home."
Enjolras can feel the hope, the relief, the joy in Grantaire's mind battling with despair, sorrow, an unwillingness to trust in anything. Tightening his arm around Grantaire's shoulder, he resists the urge to let the pack-bond snap into place between them, to salve Grantaire's pain.
He cannot police his pack's hearts and minds. He cannot take away their experiences, their losses, their agonies, not without invalidating their victories, their dreams, their desires.
All he can do is try to make their world a better place, and hope that it will be enough to protect them.
