98. Game

The wolves pondered the big brown lemon that their alpha had presented to them with looks of confusion and apprehension. 

“That’s not edible,” Clara announced solemnly. She had attended this particular pack meeting because she had been promised food, but the small table that sat in front of the couch where she perched was not ladened with the food she’d been promised, nor was the brown lemon something she actually had interest in eating. 

“No,” agreed their alpha, running his hand through his hair short hair and setting the ball down on the table top. “It’s not to be eaten. It’s a football.” 

Clara looked to Brighton. Brighton was looking at his bare foot and back at the football, obviously comparing the two. It didn’t look like he was getting any insight from the comparison, however, so she looked toward Morgan and Conny. Both of them had a very pleased look on their faces, but neither of them looked like they were keen on sharing whatever information they had. 

Having decided that she was the only one willing to participate in the alpha’s game, and in the hopes that she would be rewarded with some type of food for her participation, Clara asked, “And what’s a football supposed to be?” 

Donny looked relieved that at least one of them was going to participate. “It’s a game that humans play,” he explained. “They throw a ball and try to get it to the edge of a field for points and they pounce on each other to stop the other humans from getting points.” 

Clara hadn’t known Donny for a very long time—certainly not as long as some of the other members of their pack—but she was willing to bet that her alpha had no idea what he was talking about. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest and looked from the ball to her alpha. “That sounds very dumb, Donny.” 

“That’s because he isn’t explaining it right,” Topher interjected in an exasperated sort of way. The young alpha was lying across the floor on his stomach, propped up on his elbows while Daniela sat straddled across the boy’s backside. The pair were surrounded by two toddlers, a wolf pup, and two of the three younger boys who generally followed Topher. 

Aspen and Corky were sniggering furtively. 

“Well if you’re so damn clever, why don’t you explain it, small fry?” Donovan gestured good-naturedly toward the younger alpha, but there was a slight bite in his voice. Although he was making the offer in earnest, it was clear that the older, larger wolf, disapproved of being undercut so openly. 

Topher didn’t seem to care about the latter. All he wanted to do was make sure the game was explained properly. Smiling, the boy clambered up to his feet, ignoring the slightly grumpy grunt of the girl who slipped off of his back and onto the floor, and he took the football from the table. “Deacon was telling us about it the other day,” he explained. “Except he didn’t use the right words, so that’s why Donny’s got it jumbled. But I think I figured it out.” His boyish grin was nothing short of prideful. “There are two packs with the same amount of members, and each pack tries to bring the prey—that’s the football—back to its den. But they have to do it without the other pack taking the prey. Each time that a pack brings the prey to its den, it gets points, and the pack with the most points after an hour wins.” 

Clara groaned. “But you cannot eat the football. Why are the packs fighting over it?” Brow furrowed, the fair haired woman flopped back against the couch and looked morose. “It doesn’t make any sense.” 

Topher and Donny looked at each other, clearly unsure of how to answer her question. 

“It’s to do with having fun,” Morgan explained, reaching across the side table from the chair he was sitting on and patting Clara’s shoulder lightly. “Like playing Chase Me Find Me, or Got Your Tail. Humans don’t have to hunt for their food, but they still like to hunt, so they pretend the ball is the prey.” 

It still made no sense to Clara, but she supposed it was just because she hadn’t been human for very long. “It still sounds pretty stupid if you ask me,” Clara grumbled. 

“No one did, of course,” Brighton mumbled. He was reaching across the coffee table for the ball that Topher was still holding. Topher had just handed it over when Clara reached around and smacked the back of Brighton’s head. 

“No one thinks you’re funny, Right,” she snapped. 

Brighton dropped the ball and clasped a hand over the back of his head. “Why would you hit me, Clara? You’re always so mean to me! Donny make her stop being mean to me!” 

“All I want to know,” Clara shouted over her littermate’s keening, “is what the hell the football has to do with me and why did you promise me food when there isn’t any food? I’m not playing that stupid game unless we’re playing with real prey!” 

One of the puppies got a hold of the football from where it had dropped on the floor. The little boy held it above his head with both hands and made a sound between a baby burble and a bark before pegging his burden haphazardly at Clara. “Ga-bah!” 

Clara’s yelp of surprise was lost amongst the giggles of the others in the room. 

“I think it’s safe to say Markie likes it, even if you don’t, Clara,” said Topher, his smile still plastered across his face. 

Clara was not very reassured by the notion that a puppy’s vote outweighed her own, but when she looked to Donovan for some type of support, she found him smiling as well. All that there was left for her to do, then, was to grump on her side of the couch. “Whatever,” she muttered. “I still don’t get it.” 

“That’s because you’re too busy complaining to let us finish,” Donovan said impatiently. “As Topher said, we learned about it from Deacon, and Deacon said that he and his mate spend time together by watching the football on television, and on the days they watch, they order special food and drinks.” He paused and looked pointedly at Clara. “We’re supposed to be learning how to be human so that we can live comfortably even with the wooded areas being made smaller. So since this is something that humans do, I asked Deacon and his mate where they got their food and when the football is on television so we could try to watch it all together while we eat.” 

Clara’s stomach growled. Suddenly the idea didn’t seem so stupid after all. “Well when does it start? I’m hungry now and I don’t want to have to wait to eat!” 

“There’s a game on in a few minutes,” Topher supplied. “And I asked Deacon all about how to work the TV properly so I have it on the right channel and everything. And Felicia and De—“

As though saying their names summoned them, the front door opened and in stumbled the butter-ball of a little boy that was Devon. "You guys," he was carrying two heavy bags in each hand. "I don't know where Felicia just took me, but it was the best place I ever been to in my whole life." He tromped into the living room and plopped the bags down on the table. Each bag held three large black containers, and Clara wouldn't have needed her wolf senses to know that each contained some type of food. 

Felicia came through the door a few moments later, holding two very large tin dishes. The smell of the food got stronger as she entered the living room. “I got everything you said, Don. Except the beer.” She frowned. “They said I need an ID for a beer.”

“Well never mind that, you got the food. I’ll have to ask Deacon about the beer next time I see him. Topher?” Donovan moved to meet her, taking the top dish and setting it on the table next to the bags that Devon had put down, “why don’t you put the television on? It should be near the time.” The second dish followed, and Donovan peeled back the lids to reveal chopped up chicken wings in an orangish kind of sauce.

The smaller containers were each filled with something different. Celery sticks, potato skins, onion rings, Felicia named the content of each container, pointing daintily, and then picking up one of the toddlers. “It should be enough for all of us,” she added thoughtfully. If it isn’t. I can always go back for more.”

Clara slipped off the couch and eyed the food almost lustfully. She felt so happy that she was sure she could have died. “That’s like a whole coup of chickens!” There was a murmured agreement from Brighton and Morgan, and they circled the table too.

Topher, meanwhile, had turned on the TV. “It’s starting now,” he announced, picking up a wriggling grey puppy and moving her out of the way so that he could sit close to the food as possible.

“So all we have to do,” said Clara in the hopes of avoiding any sort of misunderstanding, “is eat the food and watch the television. And that’s football.”

Donovan was helping himself to the first of the wings. “Yes,” he said, “Basically. At least that’s how I understand it.”

Since Donovan had taken a wing, Clara reached out and picked one up for herself. She stuck the fat end of a drumstick in her mouth and pulled the bone through her teeth to tear off as much of the meat as she could. “We’ok,” she wuffled behind her food. “ish not sush a ba’game a’ter all.”