Mated To The Cajun Alpha

The lush moss-ridden town of Abita Springs, Louisiana sat in the distance as Sweeny and Momma drove over another hill closing in on the town.

It was tragic, really.

Momma lost her job at the bank after a meltdown over Karen stealing her hoagie—again—and she took her frustration out on Karen’s cactus that sat between them for five years.

Poor succulent.

Of course, Momma refused to apologize, so that explained the impromptu move south to Louisiana. Sweeny was by no means a Yankee, being from Missouri, but this, this looked like hillbilly Heaven.

“Look-a-there,” Momma said, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. “Home sweet home.”

Leaning forward, Sweeny took in the swampy bayou surrounding the highway, with mossy trees and a pink glow of the upcoming sunset. The population sign of three thousand would haunt her for weeks.

“No comment?” Momma asked.

Snatching her earbud from one ear, she gave her the look. “What was that saying again? If you don’t have anything nice to say …”

“Don’t be a killjoy, Dumplin’. This is a chance to start over, a chance to make new friends, have an amazing senior year. Meet you a good ole Cajun boy.”

Cajun boy. That seemed light-years away. She’d hit seventeen a couple of months before with her v-card intact and only a few boyfriends on her rap sheet.

It could be worse. She could have a ten-page rap sheet that hung over her like an umbrella with a leak. Momma glanced over at Sweeny and mimicked her furrowed brow.

“Boys got you in your feelings?”

Sweeny hid her smile. Momma tried too hard to stay current; in most cases, Sweeny Googled her new vocabulary. Despite them looking identical with dark eyes, chocolate hair and a petite frame, she held a dark complexion year-round where her mother compared to a marshmallow.

Momma said it came from her daddy, which Sweeny never met. Once she rummaged through Momma’s sock drawer, with a desperate need to see him, and found an old Polaroid with Patrick 2000 written on the back.

The tanned skin matched. He was taller than she imagined with unkempt hair and a lean frame. That need to meet him faded over the years. It became easy to ignore the empty spot at the dining table, even the absence forced upon her the night of the yearly Father-Daughter dance.

Momma turned today’s hits down and started reading street signs until they made it to Kutchenmatcher Rd.

Surprisingly, the sale of their house back in Missouri went fast and landed them enough money to buy a nicer home in Abita Springs due to the population—or lack thereof. The local bank took Momma on willingly, not caring about the hoagie incident, or maybe she got out of sharing that one.

The single-story brick home sat further back from the road than the neighboring houses, with a fenced in yard and a one-car garage. Momma’s excitement bared on her face as she parked and jumped out.

It was nicer than their house back home, which had a tin roof and screened-in porch. This one seemed suburban, with dark tiled roofing and white siding. Even the dark blue shutters looked freshly painted.

The humid Louisiana air sucked the breath from Sweeny. Being early August, the heat formed sweat on her hairline, trickling down her back and soaking into her T-shirt.

The temperature would take some getting used to, along with the population and the culture shock. Apparently, crawfish and swampy bayous were a thing here.

Hell if Sweeny knew what the big deal was about either of them.

Momma raced toward the porch like a child. This was part of her process after making a rash decision; she decided to make the best of everything. Once she decided to become an herbalist, spent all of her free time in the woods and came back with poison ivy, only to say it helped her immune system.

Sweeny grabbed her over-the-shoulder bag and phone, tossing her headphones around her neck and jogged toward Momma. She clutched Sweeny’s shoulders. “Let’s do this together,” she said.

She helped push open the door; the waft of cleaning product and days old candles blew through. The wood flooring glistened in the moonlight cast in from the bay doors, a nice sized kitchen sat to the left with an island Momma always wanted.

Momma sprinted past the living room with a fireplace, toward her master bedroom and bath with a Jacuzzi tub. “Wow,” she said, turning in circles in the middle of her bare space. “This is amazing.”

Sweeny agreed and walked toward her bedroom, taking in the nooks and crannies of the space. The second bedroom sat in the back corner of the house, with a bathroom across the narrowed hallway.

A set of sliding bay doors stood on the far wall instead of a window and opened up into the backyard.

Shuffling toward the closet, she imagined where everything would go once the movers arrived with the U-Haul.

She ran her palm over the light gray walls, her eyes searching their spacious backyard. Sweeny felt a brush of fingers slide against her neck and down her spine.

It must be the nerves settling, but oddly enough, it felt like she wasn’t alone in her room.

“Love it,” Momma said from the doorway. “Did you see the fireplace? There is a fenced-in backyard, too. We should get a dog.”

Sweeny laughed, slinging her bag toward the corner of the room. “We don’t need a dog.”

“For protection,” Momma said, lifting her chin.

“From what? Rabid hillbillies?”

She tsked under her breath. “Help me get the blowup mattress inside. We have a big day ahead of us.”

***

The movers pounded on the door at seven the next morning, which didn’t bother Sweeny since she hadn’t been to sleep. Momma insisted on them sleeping together on the blowup mattress in her room, not that they had another choice, since she packed the other mattress away in the U-Haul.

Despite Momma’s light snores and the eerie silence of the house, something else kept Sweeny awake. She couldn’t pinpoint the feeling; it was new, like needles tapping against the base of her skull.

She figured it was the start of a migraine from riding for days. Maybe some pain reliever would knock it out.

Or, maybe, it was her senior year sneaking up, and the classroom full of people she would walk into on her first day.

Groaning, Sweeny yanked the cover from her sweaty body, watching Momma shuffle toward the front door. Three burly men began bringing boxes and furniture into the living room moments later.

She took her time, taking a shower and changing clothes, with the small bag she brought in the night before.

Sweeny dressed and decided to help them grab some of her things that were toward the back of the U-Haul.

The street looked different in the early morning sunshine, with a few other suburban houses down the long lone road. Cyprus tress scattered throughout neighbor’s yards and at the edge of the woods surrounding them, their wispy leaves blowing in the humid wind.

A few neighbors stood on their porches in long robes, palms curled over their foreheads, watching them unload their lives into an unknown home.

Sweeny walked around the side of the house toward a tree that sat outside of her one-bedroom window. She noticed it the night before, the cherry blossoms hung in disarray on the branches, brightening up the small walkway toward the backyard.

“Pretty tree.”

Sweeny shrieked loudly and jumped back against the house. A girl stood behind her. She wore ripped jeans with some New Orleans Logo on a dingy T-shirt. She had natural beauty with no makeup, her bleached hair pulled back in dreads that hung down her back. With white skin, her bleached hair should have washed her out, but oddly enough, it suited her.

Especially with ice blue eyes.

“You must be the new neighbors. I’m Hattie.”

Slowly, Sweeny took her outstretched hand, noticing her numerous bracelets and rings. “I’m Sweeny.”

She grinned through assaults on her gum. “My mom is the real-estate agent that helped y’all buy the house. We knew you were coming, and now you’re here. You gonna be a senior?”

Sweeny glanced over at Momma who stood taking to the movers. Momma lifted a brow at her, which Sweeny returned with a shrug.

She needed friends, at least someone to show her around campus and talk her through any suicide attempts.

“Yeah, you?”

“Same,” she said.

“Hattie!”

Her mother yelled from the mailbox, waving her back toward their house.

“There is a big end of the summer mud-ride tonight, do you want to come?”

Sweeny couldn’t imagine anything less fun. Mud riding on the back of someone’s four-wheeler that she didn’t know? Mud stinging in her eyes and ruining her clothes.

Hattie grinned at Sweeny’s frown. “Don’t look too disgusted. All our classmates will be there, and you can meet some of them, so it won’t be weird on your first day.”

That was true.

Sweeny tucked her dark hair. “Okay, I have to ask Momma, but it should be fine.”

Hattie popped her gum. “Let’s go ask her.”

They walked over to Momma trying to pull an ottoman out of the truck. She wiped her forehead and glanced at Hattie with a huge grin. A typical mother would cringe at Hattie’s wild hair and dark hipster clothing, but not Momma.

It was one thing Sweeny loved about her. She never judged a book by its cover.

“Momma, this is Hattie. She lives across the road.”

“Hey there, Hattie. It’s nice to meet you.” They shook hands.

“Hattie invited me to a mud-ride tonight.”

Momma’s smile never faltered. “That sounds like fun. Do you want to go?”

“Sure,” Sweeny said with a shaky voice.

Want to go wasn’t her first choice, but Hattie made a good point about meeting people before the first day.

“Then go,” her mother said, waving them off. “When is it?”

“It starts around six. You can ride with me.” Her mother called again. “I better go before she has a fit. See you at six.”

Sweeny watched as she ran toward her house.

“What do you wear to a mud-ride?”

Momma laughed. “Heck if I know, Sweeny. Help me with this and we’ll figure it out later.”

Sweeny helped Momma lift the ottoman and they waddled toward the house.

It took most of the day for the movers to bring everything in and set it up. Sweeny’s excitement built as she put up posters, adjusted her candle warmers and memorabilia from her youth. Nothing felt better than settling all your things into a new space.

The sun sank lower beyond the hills, reflecting off Momma’s hand-me-down jewelry box on the dresser and into her eyes.

Nerves scattered down her spine as the clock turned to five. She could smell Momma’s famous casserole cooking from her cracked bedroom door. She’d gone grocery shopping earlier in the day and laughed at the small store they considered a market.

“Sweeny! Come eat. You need supper before you leave.”

Sweeney walked to her doorway and turned to look at her new room. Covered in whites and grays, the extra space made it look better than her cramped bedroom in Missouri.

Momma sat down her plate as Sweeny hopped onto the barstool. “So,” she said with a mouth full of food. She slid Sweeny her phone and smiled. “This is what you wear to a mud-ride.”

Sweeny choked on her drink. The girl on the screen wore coochie cutter shorts with rubber boots and a mid-drift Coolers Light shirt.

“No way in hell, Momma.”

“Language. You need to be a respectable southern belle now, Sweeny. No ugly words.”

“But it’s okay to dress like a Kardashian?”

“It was a joke, kind of.”

She slid the phone back across the bar. “I’ll just wear those jean shorts and an old T-shirt. It’ll be fine.”

Momma shrugged. “Maybe you’ll find your lover boy for the year.”

“Lover boy? Now we’re in the 50s?”

“My mother always told me to snag a southern one. Most are good with their hands and accustomed to hard work. Of course, I ended up with your father who was from around here. Obviously, that is iffy advice.”

“Dad’s from Louisiana?” Sweeny asked.

Momma’s face turned serious, which didn’t happen often, and she shrugged before taking another bite. “Somewhere in Louisiana. Not here, per se.”

Biting her lip, Sweeny tried to read her face but couldn’t, so she gave up.

Sweeny placed her dishes in the washer when she finished and walked to her closet. She pulled out the jean shorts, tugged on an old Five Seconds of Summer concert tee and pulled her dark locks into a ponytail.

The old tennis shoes she wore were older than dirt, not to mention one had a flap at the toe. Sweeny wasn’t one to bother Momma with trivial things, knowing she couldn’t afford new shoes every year. It didn’t matter to Sweeny to have older stuff.

Right at six, Hattie knocked on the door. Sweeny’s stomach bottomed out. Momma stood in the doorway to the kitchen, leaned against the doorjamb, licking a Popsicle. “Do I need to go over the rules, or do you have this?”

Sweeny blew her bangs, which was her nervous habit. “I’m fine. Have your phone on you in case there is an emergency.”

“Do you plan on drowning in the mud?”

Sweeny grinned. “Who knows, I might meet my lover boy today, and we might start making babies.”

“Make sure he’s cute,” she said, walking toward her room. “I want cute grandbabies.”

It felt different that night. Something about the way the wind shifted against him. Even the bayou seemed quieter than before. He blamed it on the moon—that’s what his granddaddy always did, so he followed suit.

The humid air formed sweat on his hairline not two seconds after he stepped out onto his wraparound porch.

He was used to it, though.

Lucas spent his entire life in Louisiana and he didn’t know any different from the heat. His Cajun accent came from living around the border before moving to Abita Springs in junior high, where he met his pack.

He lit a cigarette and took a long drag, letting it feed his soul. Most seventeen-year-olds didn’t smoke, openly, but with his parents living in Texas and the emancipation finalized, it didn’t matter anymore.

They knew he could take care of himself. Lucas always felt older than his age. His Momma probably thought differently, but he felt it inside.

When he turned thirteen-years-old, he understood why he felt fiercely independent. At least, after he shifted for the first time, and his granddaddy explained it to him, he did.

Being the descendant of a rougarou didn’t make life easy. It sucked at times, but having others with him made it tolerable. He didn’t have to keep it bottled inside anymore. Most people in the parish thought of it as an urban legend still lingering around from the old days. A Louisiana version of a werewolf that every town told around the campfire to scare little kids.

But he knew better. Because he was that beast in those legends.

Jaxson and Theo, his bon amis, pulled up several minutes later. They both got out of Jaxson’s truck. Since Theo didn’t come from money, he didn’t have a ride. Jaxson’s family owned half of the town and he walked like it.

Lucas told him it looked like a corncob was up his backdoor, but he pretended not to hear.

Jaxson stopped a few feet in front of him. Since his daddy was ex-military, he wore his hair buzzed and kept a neutral face. You wouldn’t think he grew up with a Marine daddy since he got away with murder.

His Momma was raised here in Abita Springs, a Caucasian who went off to college and brought back an African American husband—his daddy.

It didn’t go over the best at first—at least his granddaddy said it didn’t—but as the generations grew, the southerners became more opened minded and accustomed to the relationship.

Lucas thought they all needed a lesson in manners.

His Momma always bought him the best boots and jeans—not that anyone at school gave a rat’s ass about it. It was Abita Springs, Louisiana and no one cared about riches and stuff.

All three of their families founded the town. Granddaddy left Lucas a pretty penny and it paid his bills.

Theo, on the other hand, wore hand-me-down clothes from the Goodwill on Sycamore. His parents were druggies that’d been high when he was born.

His grandparents still lived, so they kept all their cash, knowing his parents would spend it on booze and drugs. Not Theo though; he was a good kid with a quiet tongue.

His blonde hair was natural like his mom’s, but he had his daddy’s cleft chin and deep cheekbones.

“You ready to go?” Jaxson asked.

Lucas put out his cigarette on the bottom of his rubber boot. “Allons,” Lucas said.

They all piled into Lucas’ Hummer that he bought used from a lot in downtown Shreveport. Just because he had money didn’t mean he’d spend it all on new stuff. His granddaddy taught him better than that.

“I heard there is a new girl,” Theo said, sliding into the back seat.

Jaxson pushed his seat back in the front. “Yeah, I heard that. She lives over there by Hattie on Kutchenmatcher Rd.”

“Wonder if she’ll come,” Theo asked.

Lucas chuckled. “Why you worried about it, yeah? You think she gonna be your mate?”

Theo shrugged. “Who knows?”

Jaxson tossed Lucas a knowing look. Theo wanted a woman more than any of them. His hormones kicked in early and never left.

Each rougarou had a destined mate that was theirs for life. It reminded Lucas of prearranged marriages because they didn’t get to pick them.

The truth was that she could be ugly and you’d be stuck. Hopefully, destiny knew best for them.

Lucas drove through town knowing the kids would wait on them. Lucas won the mud-ride the last four years in his side-by-side that trailed his truck.

They had a reputation at school as The Trios Loup. In Cajun French, it meant three wolves, but who nowadays actually believed there were rougarous running about in the woods?

Maybe a couple of the older cats, but none of the kids in school thought twice about the name. He was sure they believed it was because they stayed together in a pack.

The closer they drove to the mud-hole, Lucas’ chest felt heavy.

Jaxson glanced over. “What’s the matter?”

Lucas craned his neck, trying to get the frog out of his throat. It was suffocating, that smell—what was it?

“I don’t know. I’m not breathing right, no,” he said. “Do y’all smell that?”

Neither one did. How could they not? Lucas didn’t realize until they pulled up what the smell was.

The new girl was here and it wasn’t what he expected.

Jaxson tensed up beside him. “Now I smell it.”

Lucas nodded. It was everything.

Like vanilla and honeysuckle. His granddaddy described it, but this was too much. It pulled him closer and he hadn’t even opened his door yet.

Lucas tightened his fist over the steering wheel and groaned. His wolf howled on the inside, wanting out—wanting her.

“Yeah, it’s my mate.”

“Not just that,” Theo said. “She doesn’t smell right. She ain’t human.”

He’d never heard of a wolf mating with anything other than human. It made for a clean bloodline. What was she? He’d come across other wolves in the past and a shifter, but this was new.

“This can’t be good,” Jaxson hissed. “Are you sure it’s your mate?”

Theo slapped the back of his head. “Hell yeah, it’s his mate. I can practically smell his wolf hyperventilating. Lucky bastard.”

“I don’t trust that,” Jaxson said. “When have you ever seen a wolf mate with something that isn’t human? When she has your babies it’ll come out screwed up.”

Lucas went to open his door. “Piss off,” Lucas spat. “I don’t give a damn what you think. I can’t wait another minute—I need to see her.”

Jaxson caught his arm.

Lucas snatched away. “Don’t start yo crap, yeah? And leave her alone. She’s mine.”

Jaxson backed away and ran his fingers through his hair. He knew better than to start a fight with Lucas’ wolf.

He didn’t take it from anybody.

Lucas stepped out into the humid night air and his body vibrated.

Her scent smelled like pour toujours—it called to him like a lullaby. One that he couldn’t wait to hear.