Serpentine

by J. Kearston

  Bane plucks a chip out of Stryker’s fingers. “That was before I saw Risa staring at a man’s corpse like a sociopath and come sit beside his killer without her heart so much as skipping a beat. She’s one of us now, and that means she should be a part of discussions; especially ones that revolve around her.”

  Mason turns to me with a raised eyebrow, and my cheeks heat indignantly. “Was not!” When he doesn’t back down, I throw a hand up in frustration. “Come on, like you’re going to toss a mutilated body in the center of the clearing and expect people to pretend it’s not there? Of course I was going to look, but that doesn’t make me some apathetic monster. I’m just not going to pretend to feel bad that he died when he brought it on himself by attacking us.”

  I start to slip off of his lap, but Mason only tightens his grip around my waist and slides me back. The hand at my collar drops so that he can interlock his fingers at my side, keeping me caged in the loop of his arms.

  “No one in this area has ever acted like that before.” Mason hesitates before continuing, as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “Not only in regard to being idiotic enough to attack one of us, but Marcus was so far gone as his wolf, there was no diffusing the situation. Even in our other forms, when we’re fueled by more animalistic instinct, there’s still cognitive thought and common sense. Yet when he looked at us?” He sighs. “That light in his eyes was gone, the one that lets you differentiate between a wild animal and a shifter.”

  Stryker rolls up the bag and sets it aside, licking his fingers clean and acting way too casual for the topic at hand. “Have you ever been on a run and met an animal’s eye? Maybe a fox or rabbit that gets closer to humans than usual and you have that moment of breathless stasis where the rest of the world falls away? Where it seems like they actually understand what you’re saying, are more self-aware than other animals?” At my nod, he shoots a finger gun in my direction with a wink. “That’s how you know it’s really one of us instead of wild.”

  Bane clucks his tongue. “But Marcus was gone beyond that of even a normal wolf. It’s not like there haven’t been cases where people like us choose to opt out, stay in their other forms permanently and go feral. Their cognitive thoughts fade more with every additional year that passes and they don’t shift back, until eventually, it’s like they forget that they can. That light dims in their eyes, and they either isolate like rabid monsters, or join their own kind in the wild, living out the rest of their days.”

  I frown. “But that would be a gradual thing, not sudden. So how does that have anything to do with me showing up? I hadn’t even met the guy before last night, so I can’t see how me coming here would have triggered something. Well, unless he hated on principle.”

  Bane releases a long, slow breath, buying time to figure out how to phrase whatever they’ve been discussing. “Remember how Stryker almost bit you when he shifted?” Confused, I nod, and he continues with less trepidation. “You were on the right track with the vampire comments. A lot of shifters have a blood kink. If we’re gravely injured, taking someone’s blood helps speed up the healing process, and biting someone to turn them has always been considered intimate. Some partake on the regular, and others just get off on biting, but sex tends to be generally-“ he wavers a hand, trying to describe it and failing, looking to Mason for help.

  “More intense,” Mason finishes, kissing the bare skin on my shoulder. “We’re less afraid of breaking each other than humans are.”

  Stop picturing it, stop picturing it. Important conversation going on here, supposed to be paying attention.

  Clearing my throat, I look at Stryker’s smug face, seeing right through me. “So what does that have to do with Marcus wanting to take a chunk out of Mason’s arm?”

  The man in question shifts beneath me, and I bite my tongue as it becomes clear that I’m not the only one getting distracted by the conversation at hand. “You mean wanting to take a bite out of you, and get me out of the way.”

  My stomach flips as I catch onto their theory. “You were more focused on the fact that I was bleeding when I caught up to you than anything else. And Marcus showed up shortly after, likely catching the scent of my blood.”

  Mason releases the iron cage of his arms to rest one hand on my thigh, going back to stroking a path with his thumb almost compulsively. “And we think that it was driving him mad with desire.”

  Looking between Bane and Stryker’s tight features, I point out the flaw in their theory. “But you guys have actually bitten me; tasted my blood.” Their eyes darken at the reminder, and I swallow, epically failing at shoving down the images that flicker through my mind. “So why would some random shifter go feral from only the faint scent of me cutting up my feet in the woods? Not like a limb was severed to make it overwhelming, or he took a bite and liked it so much he didn’t want to let go.”

  The arm of the couch compresses under Stryker’s grip. “I don’t think we’ve been completely honest about how addicting it is, Risa. Just looking at you has my mouth watering, imagining you writhing beneath me as I bite your shoulder. The soft sounds you’d make before I had you screaming my name, nails raking across my back hard enough to make me bleed. Driving into you until you couldn’t remember anything before the three of us, the taste of you coating my tongue, knowing you’re mine.”

  My breathing picks up, skin feeling too tight, like static is dancing across the surface. The heat of Mason’s hand on my thigh is a brand, possessive and immovable as it sinks in that this is my new reality... and I don’t actually hate any part of it beyond all of the unknowns threatening to drown me. But his touch, the sense of security I get being surrounded by them, has what little fear I was still holding on to dissipating.

  Embracing my second chance, I wade through the sexual tension to try and get back on track. If I want a new life, the opportunity to see if they live up to all of their claims, then I need to not end up getting my throat ripped out because of a paper cut before I can enjoy anything.

  “And you think it’s different because you three turned me.” I don’t phrase it like a question, because it’s the only thing that makes sense. “That while you’re craving another hit of my blood, your desire to protect and take care of me overrules the compulsion, but others wouldn’t have that same impulse.”

  Bane dips his head appreciatively. “Seems like a solid theory to us at least. You?”

  My stomach somersaults as I war with myself, debating if I actually need to get into all of the details and relive the trauma, or if an abridged version would suffice. Yet one look at these men filing away each move that I make, interpreting every nervous tick in response to the direction of the conversation, and I know that keeping secrets is a lost cause. They’ll continue probing for more until they can piece together the full story, because even my brief death didn’t give me an out.

  I don’t get to start over and pretend like the past never happened, I get a chance to make sure that it never happens to me again. Break the cycle, but never forget; do better.

  “I think it’s entirely possible that there’s something fucked up with my blood and I might never shift because of it.”

  Mason goes rigid beneath me, while Bane leans closer, resting his arms loosely on his knees and lacing his fingers together. “Explain.”

  With a deep breath, I try to disassociate, to distance myself from it all and pretend I’m dictating someone else’s suffering. “I was... sick, as a kid. A lot.” At his raised eyebrow, I start fingering the hem of my oversized shirt. “I spent my entire childhood in and out of the hospital, an endless blur of tests and treatments, experimental medications shoved down my throat and pumped in through IVs. All they really could do was try to combat my symptoms since they could never come up with a solid diagnosis. As soon as a pattern would start to develop with my symptoms, something would change and vary so wildly that it destroyed any of their running theories.”

  Mason’s fingers tighten on my flesh, and I bring my free hand to h
is wrist. Running a solitary finger over his knuckles and wrist, up his arm, it helps provide a distraction, an excuse not to look at any of them. I’m nervous that if I do, whatever I see in their expressions will make it harder to mentally distance myself like I need to so I can finish explaining.

  “We were forced to move nearly every year. My parents were always looking for a new treatment to come up, chasing down whatever small hope came to light across the country. By the time I hit third grade we gave up trying to keep up with public school. I missed too much, and every move was growing harder on me to adjust, so we switched to homeschooling from the hospital bed, or at home when we could. They tried though, constantly bringing me new books to read as a reward for doing well, or enduring a particularly bad stint that knocked me out of commission for several days.”

  Tears burning in the back of my eyes, I look up at the ceiling, sucking down a breath that threatens to make my lungs explode. When I have the sensation under control, I tilt my head back down, only to make the horrible mistake of glancing at Stryker as I do. The look on his face threatens to push me past the brink of no return, and it takes me another several seconds to compose myself.

  He isn’t looking at me with pity like Bane is; he looks absolutely livid. And it’s in that very moment that I know I’m never going to be able to leave these men to try and create the normal life I was robbed of and spent so many years chasing. With barely any information he’s pieced it together, and that sort of instant assumption only stems from understanding on a deeper level.

  People that have suffered at the hands of the worst of humanity will nearly always default to assuming the worst of any situation. We’ve experienced the lengths some people are willing to go, are convinced that every kindness is a trap to lull us into a false sense of security, always waiting to see what it is that someone wants from us.

  Because toxic people always bleed you dry for everything that they can get, leaving you a shell of a person when they’re through.

  “About six months before I turned eighteen, I overheard my parents talking when they thought I was asleep.” Hardening my heart, I force myself to hold Stryker’s livid gaze, soaking up his fury as validation for blowing up my life and making such terrible choices in my subsequent spiral. “Apparently I was building up too much of a tolerance, and they were growing desperate to find something they hadn’t tried before.”

  Bane furrows his brow. “To the medications? Wouldn’t that be something the doctors would come up with?”

  Stryker beats me to the punch, furious. “To what they were slipping in her food to make her sick.”

  The heavy silence that follows his declaration is as suffocating as the memories. Mason’s grip has tightened on my thigh to the point that if I were still human, I’d have bruises before the sun set tonight. Bane becomes so preternaturally still that there’s no way he’s breathing, a myriad of emotions flitting across his face as the weight of it sinks in.

  And when he explodes, he barely even resembles himself anymore.

  All the smiles and flirtatious nature are snuffed out, burned away by the rage morphing his features as the remote explodes against the wall. Pieces shatter, small plastic shards clattering against the hardwood floor across the room. He’s halfway into the living room before I’ve barely blinked, Stryker chasing after him.

  Turning to Mason, I have to swallow before I can get the words out, my nerves clogging my throat. “Is he going into the forest to break some stuff until he feels better?”

  Biting his lip, Mason looks like he’d rather not answer. But at my persistent stare, he caves. “To track down your parents.”

  The sound of an engine firing up has my eyes widening, but it’s cut off a minute later. Breaking free of Mason’s hold, I jog across the house, looking out the window in time to see Stryker and Bane grappling on the ground beside the car. Their voices are too muffled to make out what they’re saying well, but after a good hit that has Stryker’s eye swelling, they break apart.

  The front door opens as Bane storms back in, still pissed off, and looking nothing like the man I’ve come to know. Walking right up to me, he dips down enough to press his shoulder into my stomach without breaking his stride. Air rushes out of me in a whoosh as my world flips upside down, and I’m using his ass to push myself up.

  As he sits down on the couch in the media room, he pivots me so that I flop down onto his lap, head spinning from being slung around like a rag doll. He’s not even out of breath as he grips my chin so that I’m unable to hide, much less gloss over facts or dream of lying.

  “Finish the story,” he demands through gritted teeth, dirt streaked across his jaw.

  Like a deer in the headlights, my voice is a small squeak. “After that, I pretended to take my meds, but really spit them out the second they left. Starved myself for a week by dumping my food in the toilet, only drank straight out of the tap.”

  Those bright, golden eyes bore holes in my face as I lick my suddenly chapped lips. “And though I was hungry enough to make my head spin, I felt ten times better than usual by the end of the week. So I grabbed a bag, stole the cash from Mom’s stash beneath the floorboard under their bed, ran, and never looked back. Bought a shitty car, drove several states away, and got a job at the club before I burned through all of my money. It’s why I jumped at the chance to move in with Blake way too soon and overlooked all of the red flags in favor of gaining some security, a sense of normal.” Two of his fingers gently caress my neck, belying the aggression emanating off of him.

  My eyes burn. “I needed somebody to love me, and thought if I tried harder, everything would work out. But I couldn’t fix anything, and by the time I realized that he didn’t actually care about me, I couldn’t find a way out. I traded one hell for another, and even though I wasn’t sick anymore, I’d managed to isolate myself worse than before.”

  A few tears start to streak wet paths over my cheeks, trailing down onto Bane’s fingers. “And at that point, that was the only interaction I’d really had with people. I thought that’s just what they were like, and it was my fault for being a burden, that I was wired wrong.” My chest shakes as a sob slips out, unable to stuff everything back into the dark pit I keep it locked in. “Because I couldn’t figure out why they’d all want to hurt me when I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  My next sob is cut off by Bane pressing his lips to mine, his hand sliding up my jaw to cup my cheek. Barely breathing, I freeze for a fraction of a second before leaning into him. There’s nothing harsh or demanding about it despite the fury radiating off of him in waves. My enhanced abilities equivocally short circuit when I lose the battle of trying to hold back tears, overwhelmed by so much internally that my supernatural senses don’t stand a chance. I can’t hear the heartbeats of anyone in the room, can’t latch on to any of their scents.

  I’m left only with the bond they put into place in a bid to save me, tugging me in three directions like something wants to pull me apart, only so that it has a chance to put me back together as something new.

  “Because you deserve better,” he murmurs against my lips before slowly breaking away. “And I’m so sorry that it took your death for anyone to realize that you needed help.”

  Another sob wracks my body, tears openly streaming down my face and dripping onto my lap. Mentally breaking down, I can’t manage to articulate anything. For the first time though, I don’t have to hide it, needing to stifle my sobs on some bathroom floor before plastering on a fake face and pretending that everything’s okay.

  For a little while, I can just be broken, because they are too.

  Mason smooths the hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear as he crouches beside us. The understanding I see in his eyes has me crying harder, not knowing what he’s been through, but hating that he went through it. It makes me feel awful, the relief that comes from someone else’s suffering. While it means that I’m not alone, it brings to light that there has to be so many people that think they are, becau
se they haven’t found anybody that gives a damn yet, and it’s possible they never will.

  “And you think all of that wrecked your system enough that even turning you couldn’t fully heal it?” he asks, prodding at the raw vulnerability. But if there’s one thing I can count on Mason to be, it’s direct.

  Sucking down air, I nod rapidly, striving to steady my breathing enough to actually speak, though my words come out clipped between gasps and wrenching sobs. “Look how long it took me to wake up when you said it should only be a day? And I still haven’t shifted, and probably can’t because everything you guys were explaining in the forest; I didn’t feel any of it. And now my blood’s defective too, and-“

  I’m cut off as Mason palms both of my cheeks, kissing me hard. When he pulls back, his normally bright blue eyes are little more than slits, barely in control of himself and on the verge of shifting. “And you’re alive. It doesn’t matter if you never shift, Risa. You very well might only have heightened senses and a killer survival instinct based on that tunnel vision you developed in the forest last night, but so fucking what? It doesn’t matter to us. We’re just thrilled that we found you.”

  He rises to his feet, kissing me as he does so until I’m pressed back into the arm of the couch, stretched out over Bane’s lap. “Let us prove to you that better people exist than the ones you’ve met. Stay here with us, hidden away from the rest of the world where we can protect you.”

  Stryker grabs Mason’s shirt, pulling him back a step so that I have room to breathe, only for him to crowd my space. “But make no mistake, gorgeous.” Leaning in, he rests his forehead against mine. “Your parents, that manipulative bastard? We will kill them one day, and we’ll spend every one before and after that trying to convince you that it isn’t nearly as hard to love you as you seem to think.”

  Chapter 11