Taming the Queen of Beasts

GAR

Fuck. Gar was already sick of feeling uncomfortable in a room. But when his mother closed the door, his father just stood there and stared for a long minute, and suddenly Gar felt like he was twelve years old and about to receive the "beauties and dangers of self-pleasure" talk again.

He was an adult, he reminded himself. And now he had a mate. Even if she wasn't committed yet. He was Alpha of the disformed, and about to become his sister's war chief. Just because his father stared at him out from under heavy brows didn't mean he was in trouble. He couldn't be in trouble. He was an adult!

The mental loop seemed like a dangerous cycle, so he rolled his shoulders and started for the kitchen. "Do you care if I get a drink?" he said just to give himself something to do.

"Of course not," his father said, rubbing his face where he needed to shave.

Gar muttered his thanks and started to move. His father turned and followed him, waiting behind him as he got a drink of water, then turned to face him, leaning backwards against the countertop.

Catching his father's gaze—intense, but with a touch of pleading that Gar didn't understand—left him squirming again. But there was also a warm sense of hope simmering away underneath the nerves.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asked finally, when his dad just kept staring.

His father blew out a long breath and turned to begin pacing past dining table, almost to the windows, then back to the kitchen, then turn on his heel again.

Gar watched him, confused.

Why was his dad tense?

"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to make this weird," his father said, his deep voice a low rumble that seemed to fill the room even when it was quiet. "I just don't know how to say what I want to say. I don't want to get it wrong."

"When has that ever worried you before?" The words were out of Gar's mouth before he could swallow them back.

His father pulled up short, anger flashing across his face and Gar's stomach twisted in the familiar pattern of bracing against his disapproval. For a moment his head spun in time with the twist in his guts. This is how it always was with them—he ran off at the mouth, his father thundered his righteous anger, and Gar fled.

Gar had, in recent months, realized that he was as much to blame for this pattern between them. But he didn't know how to stop it. Something within him resisted the constant bridling of his father's will. And something within his father would never be cowed or admit that another male could be strong and think differently. Most especially his son.

In his head, this conversation had already gone nowhere. He'd already been put on the defensive, and was storming out of the tree, his heart pounding and anger fizzing.

But then his father was the one who rubbed a hand over his face, and when he looked back at Gar, he wasn't angry anymore.

He was sad.

"It is proof of my failing," he said, his deep voice little more than a whisper, "that the one to say that to me is my son." He sighed heavily. "You are right, Gar. That has been your experience of life with me. And that's my fault. I grieve it. Can you forgive me?"

Gar gripped the counter behind him because he felt like he might actually fall off his own feet.

Had his father just…?

Then his father, the former King, and proud Alpha, stepped forward and clasped a hand on his shoulder, holding his gaze. "I'm sorry that I have been so hard on you, Gar," he said. "And I'm sorry that it took me so long to see how hard I had been—how I had misjudged you. And I'm even more sorry that I was too prideful to admit that the moment it became clear to me. I have been looking for an opportunity to speak with you, and I fear that I have been… easily swayed from creating that opportunity myself."

Gar was stunned, his lower jaw slack.

His father hadn't dropped his gaze. "Can you forgive me, for all of this? For making you miserable, and for misjudging you?"

Gar nodded dumbly. A quiet voice in the back of his head urged him to admit his own fault just as openly. He swallowed, tried to wet the roof of his mouth that had gone dry. "I'm sorry, too," he croaked. "I didn't make it easy for you to see the truth."

Reth shrugged. "I am older, wiser, and have far more life experience. I should have seen it whether you hid it or not." Then he let Gar go, his hands dropping to his sides. "I never wanted this, Gar. I never wanted to be your enemy."

"Me either," Gar admitted, and his voice cracked, so he swallowed again.

"You're a good male, and I'm proud of you," his father said quietly, as if the words were a gift, one he wasn't sure would be received.

Gar's breath stopped. Of all the things he'd expected to find when he came over here with these questions—

"I can help you, Gar. I want to help you—with your mate. I'm sure if she's yours, she is incredible. But I know I've put a barrier between us and I want to remove it. Is there anything… anything I haven't seen? Anything that makes you recoil from me that I can offer remorse or… or admit, to help you?"

Gar blinked. Normally his list of accusations against his father was a mile long. The first time he'd realized Rika had issues with her father as well and she'd encouraged him to speak of his, he hadn't stopped talking for an hour.

But his mind was… blank. "I don't… think so?"

Reth's lips thinned. "I'm certain there is. But please, come to me. If you remember something that angers you. If you remember something that hurts you. Bring it to me. Let me acknowledge it. Let me try to repair the damage I have done," he said, his face dragged down.

For the first time in five years, Gar almost reached out to hug him without invitation.. The urge was so strong, he swayed on his feet, but he pushed it away. 

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