Breeder (The Ephemeral: Book 1)

Chapter 3

We reached the old two-story house at the end of Bellevue road, all wooden planks and peeling white paint.  Warm light illuminated the front porch and the rusted swing my mother used to frequent. Two pairs of work boots sat in the corner, crusted with mud.

Frost banged on the door with my grandpa's favorite lion head knocker, and a moment later, my father appeared at the threshold. The collared shirt and black dress pants told me he was hosting a gathering of some kind, and I could barely contain my surprise.  We rarely had company anymore, and if we did, we never dressed to impress.  Honestly, the man wore his ranch clothes so often, sometimes I forgot he owned professional attire.

His distracted gaze flitted between Frost and me, and his smile dwindled.  "Captain?"

Frost bowed his head in greeting. "Evening, Max.  I caught this one at the training grounds again.  She was hiding up in the attic this time, disrupting my class."

I opened my mouth to protest, but I thought better of it.  The last thing I needed was another demerit—I already had four this year, and the fifth required extra volunteer hours and two summer internships. The Council always pushed community service on the youth, like they were trying to wring out all our potential before we were shipped off to war or drafted for motherhood.

My father's eyes fell on me, narrowing. "Is this true, Alex?"

"Of course it's true!" Frost cut in. "She's absurd. Thinking she can fight alongside those boys.  It's not a place for a young lady. Not an honorable—"

"Forgive me, sir, but I was speaking to my daughter."

My lips twitched at my father's assertive tone, but the feeling died when I remembered I too was the recipient of his anger. I studied the wooden porch beneath me, fiddling with the straps of Nova's bean sack.  "...Pretty much."

"I see. Thank you for escorting Alexandria home, Captain.  I'll see to it she does not interfere with your teachings again."

I sauntered inside.  Full name—not good.

He closed the door with the grace of a man who could masterfully repress his fury.  I hardly recognized him with his clean-shaven chin and groomed hairline, but the disappointment on his face was an expression I knew all too well. "I thought you were at your music lesson," he said calmly.  "Did you cancel?"

I stared up at him, wincing at the depth of the grave I'd dug. A beat of silence passed, and then he sighed, realization pulling his features into an unsurprised grimace.  

"You've never once gone to your lessons, have you?"

I didn't reply.  He already knew the answer.

What he didn't know was that I'd bribed Leith into going along with my ruse for several weeks now.  But that was a detail I was happy to keep to myself.

He set his hands on my shoulders and spun me around. "We'll discuss this later.  We have company, and you're in dire need of a bath."

Awkwardly, I faced the guests sitting at our dining room table. Plastic smiles. Plastic eyes.  They sat stiff as hay bales, their chins too high, their clothes too ironed, and they carried an air of superiority much like their son.

"The Prices?" I murmured.  What in the world were Mason's parents doing here?  Were they lost?

My father didn't meet my eyes.  "We were just discussing...finances."

I frowned at him, then at the two weeds across the table.  Finances?  What could the city treasurer want with our ranch?  As far as I knew, we had no investments at this time, no reason to take out a loan.  But a dinner as formal as this one hinted at a serious business matter.

Or...perhaps a personal one, I realized, and it suddenly clicked.

"You've got to be kidding me." I whirled on my housemate, annoyed and exasperated.  "Not again, Dad."

"Alex," he warned, but I was already fuming.  All remorse had dissipated in a matter of seconds, replaced by hot-blooded betrayal.  "A marriage interview?  Really?" I hissed. "And to Mason of all people.  Does he know about this?"

He looked at me like I'd burned the world down. 

No, in other words. He doesn't know.

"I didn't think so.  He'd have a heart attack at the ripe old age of seventeen." 

Not that I'd mourn the evil piss-brain. 

"Ah, well, I think we should be going now.  It's getting late," the treasurer said, setting down his half-empty drink and shooting us a strained, apologetic smile.  He and his wife collected their belongings, eager to escape the tension.  They swiftly made their way to the door. "Thanks for dinner, Max. We'll be in touch."

My father glared pointedly at me before waving them off. "Always a pleasure. Tell your son I wish him the best of luck tomorrow."

The door shut with a fierce click, and I immediately threw my hands in the air.  "I can't believe you! I told you I'm not ready for marriage. I'm not even a legal adult."  It was a fact he liked to remind me of often, particularly when I protested his arbitrary rules and conditions. And yet here he was, trying to pair me off with a lifelong partner.   Apparently, I was mature enough for that.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his elite façade abandoned and replaced with the posture and presentation of an honest working man. "Please don't raise your voice.  If anyone has a right to yell, it's me."

I gaped at him.  It was like he wasn't even listening, like he didn't want to listen and had built some kind of impenetrable wall in his ear canals.  "I am not getting married.  Especially to Mason.  I hate Mason."

"First of all, you just acted very disrespectfully to the Price family.  They were here for your benefit, and you made a terrible impression. Secondly, you know the interviews are for financial and security reasons only—no one is getting married yet. Honestly, Al, this topic doesn't really concern you right now."

Indignation flared in my bones.  "It concerns me a lot."

He dropped his hand back to his side.   "Just...go to your room and we'll talk tomorrow, when you're ready to be reasonable."

"You're the one—"

"Alex!" he challenged irritably, a forest burning in hazel eyes. "You promised me you'd try.  You said you'd try to be a polite young woman, sociable.  You said you'd attend your classes, attend your music lessons.  Remember?"  He didn't wait for an answer. "We both know that on her own, a woman has limited prospects here in Belgate. Without a husband who can support you, support your family, this ranch—"

"It's my life, Dad.  I don't care about prospects." Prospects was just another word for chains.  "I want to fight.  Like Tom."

The name hit him like a poisoned dart. 

Alarm struck him in the heart, the numbing sorrow leeching into his blood and draining him of strength. Mentioning my brother was a way of wounding him, so I only reserved it for serious arguments. It wasn't like I wanted to hurt him. I just wanted him to understand.

"We've talked about this, Al.  Your obsession with the military needs to stop.  It's federal law.  It's life.  Life's not fair." He grabbed one of the dirty plates off the table, and I wondered if it would shatter in his grip.  He had strong hands, worn hands.  And yet they trembled.  "So start thinking before you act on your impulses.  Please.  And really think about what you're saying.  War is dangerous.  If what happened to Tom doesn't prove that, then I don't know what could."

I walked away, itching to slam a door and scream like a child.  But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. 

Gracefully, I shut the garden door behind me and stalked off toward the barn, trying my best to silence my stubborn, howling soul.