I still had one more sibling to check in on.
Christopher VanMarche had been the last of my siblings to move out of the large estate that had been the home of our family for generations upon generations. But unlike Penelope, who’d gone halfway across the world to chase her dreams, and Jack, who’d gotten his own penthouse deep in the city to thoroughly enjoy the nightlife, Chris had gotten a sensible brownstone halfway between the city and the countryside. I’d been mystified by the distance at first, since he was always right up our father’s ass, but I figured it was just his way of having a little more personal freedom considering he’d never be the alpha of our pack. No, that was Luther’s destiny.
Granted, Chris acted as if he could somehow become the eldest out of sheer will or with good behavior, but whatever. Christopher didn’t always make the most sense, but he had a brilliant head for numbers and business, so he more than proved himself as a perfectly adequate second son with handling the financials.
It never seemed quite enough for him, though.
“Here’s the docket you requested,” I said, walking into his office. Although I didn’t visit often, I was quite familiar with the small staff he had at his brownstone. He had a maid who came in every other day; a personal assistant, who I was pretty sure was barricaded in a closet-sized office, answering email after email and deleted scan after scan; and two security guards. They were a pair of twins from a wolf pack in Russia, and both had wolf forms with pure white coats. Even after years, I still couldn’t tell them apart in either form. In my head, they were Ja and Da, and which one was which changed just about every time I saw them.
“Good, you can put it on my desk,” Chris said, not even looking up at me. Which was very Christopher of him. Great with numbers, not the best with social niceties.
“Working on something pressing?” I asked, trying to engage with him. Although my brother could be a bit prickly around the edges, it didn’t mean that I wanted nothing to do with him. Sometimes, he was just better in small doses.
“Yes. Quite pressing.”
“I see. I’ll leave you to it. Is this something for today’s meeting?”
Chris looked up at me for the first time since I entered. His stormy green eyes held little patience. “No. I have a meeting of my own that I’m preparing for.”
“Oh, wh?—”
“Nothing a middle child need concern themselves about. Drive safely.”
The complete disregard piqued my temper, but I reminded myself that Chris was just being Chris, and repeated a calming mantra in my head.
Peace.
Control.
Serenity.
Well, I supposed that was that.
Once, a long time ago, I might have been miffed by the dismissal. Back then, I had been so desperate to prove myself as a worthwhile son despite being the middle child that it would have crushed me. I’d swung between being full of teenage rage and angst, wondering why I couldn’t have been born a little earlier.
Thankfully, I’d outgrown that. I knew what I was for my family and what I could do. And if I did ever feel my composure begin to slip, I focused until I was back to being perfectly collected and composed.
So far, it was working for me.
I had needed to use it far more during puberty, which had been one hell of a ride, but still, it was a nice trick to have in my back pocket.
“You have a good day now, Chris.”
“Mmm.”
Right, whatever he was working on had his full attention. Perfectly fine by me.
I saw myself out, making sure to say goodbye to the maid before she closed the door behind me. Then I drove back home. To the VanMarche estate.
I understood why each of my siblings wanted to get away from it—well, except Chris—but our sprawling manor and its quartz was the only home I’d ever known. Since I often acted as a liaison between our family and all the members of our pack scattered across the East Coast, it was far more convenient for me to stick close to our alpha and alpha-to-be. Besides, it wasn’t like I had a mate to live with, or ambitions outside of our pack to chase.
Also, I liked how much of my mother I could still see in the place: the drive where she’d taught Luther, Chris, and me to ride a bike; the gardens she had once tended to so lovingly; her craft room on the second floor of the east wing. I couldn’t imagine living in a place where I didn’t get to see, touch, or smell those things anymore. Maybe that made me a mama’s boy, but I didn’t particularly care.
Thinking of my mother always made me a bit contemplative, and I was very much in my head by the time I pulled into the garage and parked my car with our dozen or so other vehicles. While my family was quite well off, none of us had ever really been motorheads, so we had a much more modest collection compared to the Chelsington, Chevalier, or DelMartino families.The Chevaliers, McElroys, and my own family made up the triad of the most powerful packs along the East Coast.
We VanMarches were ostentatious in other ways, mostly food and our estate, but I liked to think that was more subtle.
Once I was inside, I hung my keys on the rack our mother had made. It was a kitschy little thing made of clay and acrylic paint, but I loved it dearly.