The children were gone. Emwe, Jake, Conor, Oliver. The names blurred in his head, the more he drank the more he became unsure of which names he had christened them with and which ones were their birth names. It didn’t matter because he wouldn’t be using any of them anymore. Stumbling along the path he threw back another bottle, emptying it this time and tossing it behind him. The path he had taken from Phoenix Valley was littered with little brown bottles; he normally did not drink beer and found that he went through more bottles than he did of whiskey or rum. Later he would trace his way back home with these, but he probably wouldn’t pick them up.




Coming to the beach he found that he couldn’t travel much further, unless he wished to wade into the ocean, which he thought he might. The children that had been taken from him weren’t the only he decided to drink himself into oblivion, but then again he didn’t much of a reason at all. Sinking into the sand, the steel grey husky tossed the sack next to him, the bottles clinking together—threatening to break. In response Ly drew out another one, popping off the cap and bringing it to his lips. His movements were already automatic, he had been quenching this thirst since noon and the night was drawing near.

Drink?



The male had ignored the alabaster wolf as she had positioned herself next to him, but it was harder when she spoke. He imagined her as he imagined most women, he did not spare them much of her thoughts if they weren’t offering him something at the time. She was offering him something now, but it wasn’t anything he particularly wanted. His own sack he carried with him was filled with an assortment of bottles, and he had been at it since noon anyway. There wasn’t anywhere to go from here except to drink himself into passing out, which he might do. Steel grey eyes turned up to her, his mind swam. Did he know her? No. Why was she sitting with him. For a long moment he said nothing, trying to compose himself.




“Drinkin’ esss bad fer ya miss.” With that he took a swig out of his own brown glass bottle and turned his eyes away. She probably wouldn’t leave, females were like that, wolves especially. Part of him wished there were more dogs about, he hated to admit it but the husky mutts always looked a little bit better than their more wild brethren but he made do with what he had. The female next to him wasn’t bad. And she smelled like Dahlia de Mai. It just occurred to him suddenly, and he could blame the alcohol for his slow reaction, but quite suddenly he turned to her, almost pleadingly. “Where’s tha kiiids? Oliber and Jake… Yers frem Dahlia de Fray, where ares they?” Oh yes, he was certainly at his best now.

Lysander wasn’t interested in self pity or destructive actions and he so he simply ignored her comments about the dangers of loneliness and emptied another bottle. Dully he stared at the glass container, trying to weigh it in his hands. It was hard, it felt almost as heavy as it had when full, or maybe he just thought he did. Ly loved the foggy feeling alcohol brought him, the distorted thoughts and lack of concentration. It gave his actions an excuse at least, when he needed one. Pulling back his hand and then fling it forward, Lysander watched the bottle sail through the air, landing in the water a ways away. He turned back to the women with a stupid grin.






The women had no answers to his question, and he realized then that he should have even asked. Of course, all of Dahlia de Mai probably knew he had the pups at one point, or the leaders at least. Aside from the angry women, he had not dealt with anyone since, and maybe they would just forget and move on, though it was not likely. More likely was that the leaders and father of the pups were just slow and lazy and hadn’t come for him yet. Still, he missed the little brats. The women beside he had not seemed to notice or care about the children though, she only commented on her own loss. Despite knowing how it felt to live alone after sharing a home for so long, Lysander was not one to feel sympathetic.




“Ya kin ahways make mer of ‘em.” Puppies were easy to come by and maybe soon enough Emwe and Conor would be replaced, maybe Winnie could make some up for him. The idea placed a smile on his face. Still, there was always the chance they’d leave, Emwe in the end had gone with the Dahlian puppysitter. Frowning, he pulled the cap from another bottle he drew from his bag, staring at it as he thought. “Lock ‘em up too. Sos they kin’t get ahway frem ya.” Next time he stole some puppies he would know to hide them better.

He shrugged and worked on his drink. Women were all the same, if they weren’t faking self loathing and fishing for compliments then they really meant it. Why couldn’t any of them just be confident but humble? “Not wif that attitude theys don’t.” He was blunt, but really, why would a girl expect someone to want them if they didn’t even think so highly of themselves? He wasn’t one to sugarcoat anything, he simply stated them as he saw fit, or in a way that would amuse him. Self deprecation wasn’t amusing, even when it was coming from someone else.



He drained yet another bottle, he was going through them fast. Lysander couldn’t even taste them anymore. “Yer not any werse than any of ‘em other women ‘round here. Dun’t try ta be either, it’s jus’ annoyin’” Lysander dug into his sack for another beer, finding only two left he took one. Soon he’d either have to share with the lady or find another way to amuse himself. He looked the women up and down, his response delayed and his words thick and heavy. “I’d do the favor fer ya.”

It almost wasn’t fun, how easily she agreed. It was sad really, she wasn’t nearly as drunk as he and yet was willing to take on the sloppy drunk. Yet because he was so drunk, it didn’t matter if she resisted or complied so easily. It didn’t really matter who she was or what she looked like or if he ever saw her again. Drinking made his body ache for the warmth of others, even if his senses were slightly confused and he wasn’t likely to remember it in the morning. How many drunken one-night stands had been forgotten except for waking up next to a stranger? Lysander couldn’t count. How many times had he turned down a women when he was in this state? That number was easy. Never.



“My luckay day then, she’ll haf me.” He moved toward her, his body awkward and clumsy but his eyes and smile charming as ever. He gently pushed her over so he could climb on top, have more convenient access. After all, he wasn’t really doing this for her, Lysander worked only for himself. Absent mindedly he bit lightly at her neck, his hands feeling around in places he was sure Winnie wouldn’t have approved of. The thought delighted him.

Lysander wanted to do this, he was sure the alcohol only increased that feeling, but something was wrong. Though he groped her, poking and prodding in places forbidden, something was off. His bodily reaction was not right. The nameless female was willing, and there was nothing wrong with her, and so Lysander only tried harder, growing more desperate. His hands moved with more purpose, his tongue explored the insides on her mouth more urgently, but still nothing. “Af damnit.” He pulled away from her, angry clearly. “I can’t do ayt.” Perhaps she would take it as he had a mate and couldn’t cheat, or sex with strangers just wasn’t his cup of tea. Neither of those were true. He just couldn’t get it up.



The husky had heard of this happening, too large of doses could keep the male’s parts from performing properly, but he had never believed it. There had never been a problem before, so why now? He grabbed one of the last two remaining beers and drained it, tossing the bottle over his head haphazardly. Even if alcohol was the cause of his impotence, alcohol was also the cure for everything, he was just sure of it.

“Ahhhrf, yous stupid bitch.” His arm swung out, making contact with her cheek and he glared angrily at her. What kind of stupid women thought he was gay? Was that what her words had meant? The small spark of violent contact sparked something and he felt himself stir. Scrambling to his feet he got up after her, blowing out angry air. “Maybe if yers mouths wasn’t so vile and ya talked like a ladies I could get it up.” Yes yes, now he was convinced it was all her fault. He never did like the word “fuck”. It was so unromantic, so crude. What he did was not crude, selfish and mindless maybe, but not crude. Not usually. “Yas stupid ol’ hag. It’s prolly dried up down thar anyway!” Shouting insults at the stranger help him to forget his performance problem.

Her sarcasm went over his head, and he nodded agreeing as she stated she should indeed watch her tongue. More and more women were forgetting just who was the superior sex, they were starting to think that they had the same skills, strengths and intelligence as men. Well, they had another thing coming when the realized the true realities of life. Her next questions did anger him however. Who was she to question what kind of male he was? Not only could he give her two black eyes, he could fuck her until she tore in two, he was sure of it. The very best kind of male there was. “I’m a fur better man than ya’ll ev…”



A surge of sickness swept him, interrupting his retort. All at once the toxic liquid came up from his stomach and flooded into his mouth. The taste was horrendous. There was no other choice, his lips parted and the vomit, comprised mostly of beer and stomach fluids, flowed. It splattered on the sand, leaping back into the air randomly with the impact of hitting the ground. Little flecks landed on his feet, and probably on the feet of the female as well. The smell was vile and the purge hadn’t even cleared his head any. He was as drunk as ever. Looking dumbly at the pile of puke, he looked back up to the lady. He smiled.