I'll Have The Lamb

“Here you are, sir.” The bartender expertly placed the coupe glass on top of a thick napkin with the restaurant’s logo printed on it. The cloudy amber cocktail was Shadow’s standard go to for a predinner libation. Bitters, 3 parts top-shelf high-rye bourbon, 2 parts sweet vermouth, 1 part triple sec, straight up, with an orange twist garnish. Shadow disliked repeating himself, so he kept a note with the recipe on his phone that he could just slide across the bar for particularly deaf or slow mixologists.

He lifted the glass to his lips and took a perfunctory sip. Floor to ceiling windows displayed the City in all its nighttime glory, glimmering lights stretching out into the distance. The Empire on display, as it were. The restaurant occupied the whole top floor of a high-rise hotel and offered amazing views along with the privacy commanded by a strict dress code and sixty floors of elevation.

Mother had quickly leapt at the opportunity to provide assistance in finding Shadow a partner. She seemed eager to wring whatever chances of grandchildren she could (short of milking him herself, though he couldn’t be sure, so best not give her the chance) from him before the ‘emergency’ board meeting for the no-confidence vote would be held. Until then, Shadow found himself unable to protest for fear of provoking some unforeseen trap to snap tightly around, steel teeth digging deep into new and creative places. He needed to reserve his strength for the inevitable battle over the rose garden. Or so he’d initially thought.

Shadow had found himself on a sequence of three ‘dates’ in the weeks since the phone call. Awkward, rigid affairs that filled him with a potent cocktail of disgust for himself for allowing these events to occur in the first place and deep, heart-wrenching sadness and pity for the poor ladies that had been forced before him like prized cattle at show. When he had constructed this ploy, he had not thoroughly thought through the rocky sholes of complicated emotions he would have to navigate, nor the impact of the sucking whirlpool that was his continued fascination with Amy.

After the event with Rouge, Shadow had avoided any public appearances, especially those adjacent to Rouge. The public relations risks were simply too high to surmount. He could not allow himself to be embroiled in petty political squabbles or be the target of baseless relationship speculation. Truth be told, he shouldn’t have even been at that event...

Shadow knew it wasn’t kind or fair, but he was angry with Rouge. If she had just kept her fucking mouth shut, he could still be coming up with stupid excuses to potentially be in the same place as Amy. His thoughts always seemed to return to the petite pink hedgehog. She was in him so deeply, he’d stopped struggling and Shadow was afraid that he’d been so utterly possessed that he’d cursed himself. That the real Amy, once he could finally see her again, talk to her even, wouldn’t be the creature he’d become obsessed with, wouldn’t be interested in his crooked soul, and he would be forever after damned to crave the company of a ghost, of a fairytale.

A fucking pathetic existent, he knew, but, frankly, also very fitting given his myriad of sins.

Thus far, Shadow had been able to resist the urge to locate Amy via his ample means and swoop down upon her like an eagle plucking an unsuspecting rabbit from a grassy field. Such an advance, he was certain, would be wholly unwanted, revolting even. If she had wanted to be snatched in such a way, carted off to be blissfully ravished and possessed, he had no doubt some other lucky bloke would have already had the honor.

But Amy had been terrified of him, of her situation. Of losing her freedom. All this, coupled with her, for unbound Omegas, advanced age, painted a vivid picture for Shadow. Amy had to make the first step forward. He could only place himself in her line of sight and hope for the best.

No matter how much he longed to hunt her, obtain her, claim her so completely that no one dare think she was anything but his, he had to abstain. Their next meeting (which would come, he had to assure himself or he’d go insane) needed to seem serendipitous. Not seem. Be serendipitous. Amy needed to be there of her own volition, and it needed to make sense that he, too, was there for reasons other than her.

But the fucking wait was killing him! Fucking Rouge!

He wasn’t an unadulterated fool. By now, Shadow knew that he had imprinted upon her and little short of a lobotomy was likely to expunge Amy from his brain. He’d spent a decade denying that portion of himself, so it stood to reason that his instincts only grew stronger in repression. His ruts certainly were, if Eclipse was to be believed. To Shadow, those bi-annual periods had become hazy, confusing affairs from which he emerged each time with sharper aches and injuries and weaker memories. With Amy on the brain, he was not looking forward to his quickly approaching rut.

In the meantime, he allowed Irena to torture him. Rouge had had a good laugh upon learning of the arrangement. “You possess a self-loathing so refined that it has become a connoisseur of suffering. One that always pursues new and unique flavors because your misery is simply not multi-faceted enough yet, you glutton.” He didn’t have the energy to argue. Or, really, the grounds to.

Shadow had gone into first appointment with as an open mind as he could muster. He wasn’t genuinely looking for anyone. This was just a pleasant dinner with a new acquaintance. The elegant restaurant setting was inoffensive for a first, effectively, blind, date. Shadow had arrived early and been seated. When he spotted the host approaching, he stood, ready to offer a gentlemanly introduction, and promptly froze.

It wasn’t Amy’s shade, but the young hedgehog’s pink was close enough to fill him with an extreme feeling of wrongness, a punishing sense that he was in the act of a heinous betrayal, that persisted for the entire dinner. Despite his efforts, he had not been able to force the feeling away and he was shamed to have been a poor companion to the young woman for the evening. They parted ways having formed no connection.

The second was equally disastrous as the first. The young hedgehog with a pale blue, almost silvery coloration, was diminutive, nearly two heads shorter than Shadow, and so slight a strong wind might take her away. They got along fairly well at first, but Shadow could tell she was both very nervous and, also, strangely tired. Some gentle inquiry towards her health revealed that she was jet lagged, having been flow across the world by her parents for the dinner. She would be heading back to the private airfield should he ‘find her inadequate’.

His guilt beheaded his appetite, and he spent the rest of the dinner boiling in a nasty vat of emotions. As he watched the private car take the tired woman away, he wondered if he should have offered for her to rest at his home for the night, before she returned home…but the appearances of that would be unwanted to say the least.

Both women had been Omegas. Off their heats, yes, but still identifiable as such via smell. And both uninteresting to Shadow. It seemed his appetite had narrowed to a pin prick. Strawberrys and vanilla or nothing at all. He felt himself responding to their distress as well, but not strongly enough to force him into uncalculated action.

The third date, in retrospect, was a demonstration of Irena’s impatience. Frankly, Shadow later admonished himself, he should have seen it coming. It was his fault to forget the cold war he was engaged in. Shadow was not adequately prepared for the gut-wrenching catastrophe that awaited him. Nicole even tried to ward him off, suggesting that he cancel the dinner because of some early meeting the following morning. He’d frowned, a bit confused at Nicole’s commentary on his personal life, and dismissed her concerns. The next morning, he did not attend the meeting due to illness.

Shadow’s first impression of the honey-colored woman was how…designed she was? Every aspect of her appearance seemed just a touch overdone, just enough prickle the back of his neck, as if every pain had been taken to form the woman into a perfect, lady-like shape. Make-up, hair, clothing, even the way she held her hands or tilted her head. Constructed. He should have known then.

Her name was Marie. Her family-owned agricultural products conglomerate. About 75% of the world’s palm oil was harvested on their land. Land that first had to be tamed with the machete. Marie was well spoken and elegant, choosing her words carefully, but attending to whatever Shadow said with a rapt attention that border on off-putting. Inexperienced, perhaps encroaching on desperate. He really should have known then.

She played the violin. She enjoyed making oil paintings. Shadow struggled to keep a crease out of his brow as the dinner devolved further and further into a pure, unadulterated interview. She mentioned that she would be finishing school the next year. Marie said she hope to study Classical Literature at a prestigious private university the following fall.

Oh.

Oh, no.

A growing sense of dread convinced him to foolishly (and crassly, one shouldn’t forget that) ask her age.

Shadow had placed his cutlery down and excused himself to the restroom. Securing the lock on the door, he fell to his knees. Once the full contents of his stomach were washing away to the water treatment plant, he ran the sink and, ripping off his gloves, splashed water on his face. Gripping the marble countertop tightly, he glared at his reflection in the mirror. A fucking fool of the highest order stared back.

The rage wrestled with the self-loathing inside of him and he wasn’t certain which he preferred to win.

Marie was sixteen.

Just like Maria had been when she’d been…given away to that monster.

And Shadow was older now than that demon had been then.

Shadow gagged again.

Irena, you truly are the Queen of Hell.

His quills would not settle. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin. Spit blood. Spill blood. Something destructive. She had to pay for this insult! He’d finish what he started on his birthday. That she thought she could serve this girl to him on a platter and somehow expect him to partake! The nerve! The audacity! The vindictive fucking gall!

Something dark and viscous was boiling deep inside him. Something long hidden and denied, deep, deep down in the recesses of his soul. It overflowed the levees and surmounted the barriers he’d built. A venomous, scalding hatred that gripped him with such steely talons that he could barely breath.

And it whispered, now, as it had before those long years ago, that absolutely everyone and everything was below him. That his whims were law, were right! That transgressions against him were be treated with the highest severity. That he was to suffer no insult without reparations in blood.

Shadow slammed his forehead against the countertop.

When he recovered, Shadow found himself on his knees before the sink, a little blood trickling between his eyes, and, most importantly, a fairly clear head, terrible thoughts halted. He would not go back, even at Irena’s provocations. Wetting one of the cloth wash towels, he dabbed at the bleeding spot and sat on the lidded toilet. Almost on impulse, he retrieved his phone from his pocket and typed out a plea for aid to Eclipse.

Right before he pressed send, however, Shadow paused. Sighing, he backspaced the message into oblivion. As much as he wished for his brother’s counsel and allyship, injecting Eclipse into the conflict was cruel, unfair, and likely lead to further escalation from Mother in retaliation. Shadow would have to fight this battle on his own.

But first there was the matter of Marie.

The poor girl was only a pawn in this game. An Omega, even that of sufficiently wealthy or powerful stock, was still only a good to be commodified. A work of art commissioned to be traded and sold, valuable only for the connections she could bring, the children she could birth. Worth only what someone would pay for her. Just like Maria.

Shadow tidied himself. Straightened his jacket, rubbed creases and dust from his trousers, checked his collar and muzzle for errant, exiled particles attempting to escape their watery demise. Took a few deep breaths to gain enough control to banish the scowl contorting his lips. Return, at least in appearances, to the refined gentleman he’d been not too many minutes before.

The wound on his head stopped bleeding and the minor swelling was hidden under his dark colored fur. The headache he’d generously given himself was growing in intensity, but the pain kept him grounded to the moment and, thus, was welcome. He shelved his anger and indignation for later processing. He was being terribly rude to be apart from his dinner companion for so long, and he needed to make his amends.

Back at the table, Shadow apologized profusely for his absence. Marie made all the proper noises of forgiveness but then said in a small voice. “I’m sorry if I said anything that displeased you.” She stared down meekly.

Shadow’s chest throbbed and every fiber, every sinew of his being wanted to do something, anything to change Marie’s fate. She was a dish being offered to him and if he refused to indulge, someone else would. This, he was sure his mother would inform him, was how these things were done. Love, as requisite for matching, was a very modern concept. Would Marie find herself behind a door that locks from the outside as well? His stomach roiled and threated to revolt upwards again.

“Not at all.” Shadow smiled reassuringly. “It was something I must have eaten that was displeased with me, I’m afraid. You were talking about studying literature. What has drawn you to that subject?”

Shadow’s eyes unfocused as he watched Marie’s town car take her away. Bruno pulled up soon after and patiently waited to open the sedan door as his employer stared absently into the middle distance of the night. His coat folded over his arm, Shadow did not feel the chill.

What could he have done that would have really helped? Anything more than a courteous rejection carried heavy implications. He couldn’t even give her his contact information, an offer of aid (but not that kind!), without both falsely raising her hopes and enticing both his mother and Marie’s family into further highly unwanted action.

It had been a long time since Shadow had felt this powerless. How everything he had, everything he was, everything he’d worked years to accomplished, were nothing in the face of the unyielding machinery of the world. The invisible hand that divided every one of them into two categories: the meat or the butcher.

Shadow had to be very careful in how he confronted Mother. Her tactics, once confronted, would be predictable. Feigned ignorance (<<Oh, I had no idea she was so young! The name similarity never crossed my mind!>>) would be swiftly followed by an attempt to inspire guilt in him (<<How can you attack me so for such an honest mistake? Brutish!>>).

Then would come the rationalization. What did he expect? This was how things were done, after all. It wasn’t her fault he’d waited so long. The only viable Omegas were all below twenty, that was just a fact. What did he care anyway? He would need to see her if he didn’t want to, after a certain, important point.

Shadow leaned his throbbing forehead against the cold glass of the car window, the lights of the city streaking by. What do you do with the evil that cannot be vanquished? An opportunity had to be hidden in her predictability, if he had the mind to find it, surely.

So eager was Irena to learn of the effect of her villainy, that Shadow had a message from her already on his phone. He contemplated his reply long into the night, ice pack balanced in his head as he slumped in an armchair, the silence of his childhood home draping over him like a shawl. Finally settling on a course of action, he retired, leaving Irena on read, and slept late into the next morning. Nicole had the decency to pretend to be surprised at the request to reschedule his meetings for the day.

<<Mother,>> He texted, finally, <<I am very grateful for your help thus far, but if you are not going to take the matter seriously, I’m afraid I must insist that I explore other options.>>

When the reply came quickly, he knew he’d gotten her. <<Excuse me?>>

<<These girls, Mother, and I do mean girls, are frankly, unacceptable. I am seeking a life partner, partner being the operative word. I need a woman much closer to my equal or what is the point? The world is full of beautiful young Omegas and more mature every day. I have many years left to fill that part of my life, but at this time I am simply not in the market.>>

<<I see.>> An indication of retreat, but he was not done.

Shadow pressed his advantage. <<Further, as your eldest son, I should think there would be much more potent matches to be made. Frankly, I’m a little disappointed at the goods on offer thus far. I was under the impression that you had developed quiet the catalogue of friends and admirers.>>

The words sickened him to type, to even think up in the first place, but the effect could not be diminished: No more young ladies would be forced before him. Thank god.

And so, Shadow found himself at the bar of a trendy restaurant, overlooking the expanse of the City at night, waiting for his mother’s latest volley. This ‘date’ threatened to be something different.

First of all, his perspective companion’s people reached out to Nicole to make arrangements, rather than Mother’s assistant sending him instruction directly. A wonderful display of weight. Secondly, Berenice L’Hérissonne was a Beta and of an age with Shadow. If his Father wasn’t a pariah from ‘polite society’, she and Shadow would have traveled in the same circles growing up. In an alternate universe, where Shadow’s great-grand father hadn’t been exiled from his family and Shadow’s last name were inverted, Berenice might be the one pursuing him.

Finally, and most impressively on Irena’s part, Berenice was the CEO of Breeze Media, the fastest growing arm of a massive family-owned mega-conglomerate. Breeze Media possessed sweeping coverage of nearly every medium. Digital, television, what was left of print and radio, if eyes could see it or ears could hear it, Breeze Media had a quickly growing stranglehold on it.

Further, the L’Hérissonne family was old money, perhaps the original money that emerged after the revolution overthrew the old monarchy centuries ago in Shadow’s birthland. Under normal circumstances, such an old family wouldn’t even entertain a match from a family with such ‘muddy’ blood, but in modern times money over road all traditions. The lengths to which Irena must have gone to arrange the meeting would be laudable if Shadow wasn’t still nursing a deep-seated resentment towards the woman that blinded him to any potential positive qualities she most certainly did not possess.

Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of color drew his attention and Shadow turned to the hostess’ station. Dressed in a bright red pant suit, styled so sharp it could cut diamonds, was a female hedgehog with dark teal fur and muted violet coloration at the end of her ample quills. The woman had walked right passed the hostess and was surveying the dining room. The hostess, a blond chipmunk, was attempting to draw the woman’s attention, but the maître d'hôtel intercepted the chipmunk and moved in himself.

The self-possessed hedgehog ignored the maître d and, spotting Shadow at the bar, moved directly to him. Shadow stood, habitually buttoning his jacket.

Berenice L’Hérissonne stopped a few paces away from him and the intensity of her grimace murdered the greeting Shadow’d been preparing in its crib. Her pale purple eyes ran over the length of him from bottom to top in a single smooth motion. Berenice smirked, her frame sliding as she shifted her wait to one foot and jutted her hip out. “Alright, not bad. Let’s get on with it.” With a flirty twist of her shoulders, she jabbed a thumb at the dining room.

Shadow snorted. “Not one to mince words, I see.”

“Congratulations,” She sneered, “You look like your picture.”

Shadow’s brow knitted. “I should hope so.”

“Spoken like a true fool. You’ve got good bone structure, but I’ve got people who could touch up your glamor shot in fifteen minutes so good, your office’ll be drowning in used ladies' panties.” She planted a hand on her hip, a collection of golden bangles chiming against her silken gloves.

My god, she sounds like Rouge, Shadow mused. “I see. And remind me again, which side of this argument is your preference? Truth or the affect? I’m getting the impression that there is no correct answer.”

Berenice scoffed. “Of course there’s a correct answer, and, what’s more, it's the only answer you ever really need.” She leaned in slightly, almost conspiratorially. “The right answer is always the one that gets the most hits, the most clicks, the most eyeballs, love.”

Shadow straighten, momentarily at a loss at how to reply to that.

Undaunted, she took the conversation to the mother tongue. <<Now grab your little drink and let’s get on with it. I’ve been meaning to case this joint to potentially host my niece's birthday party, but don’t let on to these fucks, got it?>>

<<Ah, how efficient. Very well.>> Shadow lifted his glass from the bar countertop. <<I’m glad that you will not find your time to be wasted. It is wonderful to make your acquaintance, Berenice, if only in passing.>> He lifted the glass in a mock toast.

She snorted, <<Please. I’ve fired men for calling me by my given name. We might fuck later, so you can call me Breezie.>> She winked and turned on her heel, leaving Shadow with a bit more heat in his face than he cared to admit.