“If one more person insinuates that I'm a coward,” he hisses. “I'm going to rip their goddamn head off. You got me?”
“Fine,” I reply. “Whatever you say.”
He looks at me for a long moment, the anger mixed with humiliation plain as day. Umak isn't a fighter. I know how he rose to the rank of Packmaster – although, he doesn't realize I know. It's just a little nugget of information I've squirreled away for future use if the need ever arises. I'm not saying that Umak is a coward, necessarily – he's just, not a fighter.
Which is why he needs me.
I'm the best fighter in this whole damn pack – in either my human or wolf form. The truth of the matter is the Umak needs me more than I need him. But, like everything else in life, things are never that easy or black and white.
When I was younger – and human – a pack of Rogue wolves abducted me. For six months, I was subjected to daily humiliation, degradation, and abuse. I can't count the number of times I thought about killing myself. I tried more times than I care to admit. But the wolves wouldn't let me.
Eventually, they tired of me, I guess. But they wanted to inflict one final indignity on me. So, they turned me – and then left me to fend for myself. For a couple of weeks, I wandered aimlessly, not knowing what was happening to me.
It was Umak who found me. He took me in. Gave me food. Shelter. A warm bed to sleep in. He taught me about being a wolf, helped me through the change. Given the fact that I was no longer human, I knew I couldn't go home. I couldn't face my family. Let them see what I've become. Not only that, I wasn't willing to put them in danger – I had no idea what I was capable of.
Umak became something of a father figure to me. He made sure I was educated and very well trained. He's been grooming me to be his Sword from practically, the day he found me.
“I really don't like your attitude right now, Neesa.”
I take another swig of my beer and shrug. “Sorry 'bout it.”
“You will respect your Packmaster,” he says. “After all, I'm the one who gave you this life. Who elevated you to a position of respect. Without me, you'd probably still be wandering around out there all alone. Hungry. Afraid. Or – more likely – dead.”
“What do you want me to say, Umak?” I snap. “Jackson got under –”
“Oh, it's Jackson now, is it?” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Cozy indeed.”
“What? That's his goddamn name, Umak,” I say, my voice low, my patience running incredibly thin. “What would you prefer I call him?
“How about your enemy?”
“He hasn't done anything to me,” I say.
Umak looks at me for a long moment, his face darkening with anger. A long time ago, in what feels like another lifetime, Umak wouldn't hesitate to put his hands on me. Wouldn't shy away from slapping me around until I was sobbing and agreeable to whatever it was he said. To make me obey him, he'd hit me more times than I can count.
But times have changed. I'm a warrior now and he knows it. Knows he won't get away with that garbage anymore. He'd thought that by molding and shaping me into the fighter I am now, he'd make me more reliant on him. More pliable. Easier to bend to his will and more compliant. Willing to do what he wanted when he wanted to do it.
What he's finding though, is that all of that training infused me with a core of steel. Made me stronger – both mentally and physically. Rather than being a piece of clay that he can bend and shape to his will, I've become a stone.
And he knows if he lays hands on me, he's very likely going to lose them both. So, he tries other tactics – mostly threats of violence or some manipulative little head game he imagines works on me. Like reminding me that he's the one who took me in when I was lost and had nothing.
“Do we need to teach you another lesson about loyalty to your pack, Neesa?” he asks, his voice low and menacing.
Of course, his threats of violence include bringing the whole pack down on me to punish me now – since he can't do it on his own. And he's not very good at the manipulative head games – Umak isn't half as smart as he thinks he is.
Most of the time, I just ignore him.
I drain the last of my beer and toss it into the can. “Whatever,” I say. “I'm not in the mood.”
I go upstairs and into my room, slamming the door behind me like a petulant teenager. Immature? Yeah, probably. But Jackson isn't the only one to get under my skin tonight. As he gets older, Umak is getting more paranoid. More violent.
He knows he can't take me in a straight up fight – though, that's never been his style anyway. Umak prefers working in the shadows. Keeping out of sight. Getting other people to do his dirty work for him. Because in a nutshell, that's Umak – unwilling to get his own hands dirty.
Some call it cowardice. And maybe deep down, it is. But more than anything, Umak is obsessed with power and control and will do anything to keep both – even if it means sacrificing his own people. Umak is focused on himself – not the pack. And that's the thing that grates on me the most.
I grab a beer from the small refrigerator in the corner of my room and crawl out my bedroom window. The roof of our house is flat outside my window and I've spent more time out there than I can even remember. On warm Summer nights, I've been known to sleep out here. I like it because it's peaceful. And even though I'm five feet from my bedroom, I can imagine that I'm in my own little world out here. Nobody bothers me. I can just sit out here, gaze up at the stars, and let my mind wander.
I lean back in the small chair I keep out there and lean my head back, close my eyes, and try to relax. But I'm jarred by the sound of Umak banging on my door. The pounding of his fist on my door and the sound of his muffled voice is really disturbing my calm.
I roll my eyes as I stand up and strip off my clothing. Climbing down the ladder I keep next to my little rooftop haven. Even on the ground, I can still hear Umak banging on my door and yelling at me through it. Shaking my head, I just sigh.
Closing my eyes, I raise my arms and will the change to come.
Chapter Four
I sprint through the darkness of the woods, the cool air blowing through my fur, the wind of my passing stirring the dry leaves and rattling the undergrowth. All around me, the world falls silent, as if holding its breath. The animals that usually scurry about after dark take shelter and wait for me to pass. As if I even care about them.
I run and run until my legs start to burn and my breathing grows ragged. But the feel of running through the shadows of the forest, dashing through the spears of moonlight that lance down through the canopy overhead is exhilarating. Liberating. I feel free.
Slowing to a walk, I let my heart settle and my breathing return to normal. I walk to the edge of a small creek that cuts through the forest like a scar and take a long drink, letting the cool water splash against my tongue, relishing the sensation as it slides down my throat.
I shift back into my human form and naked, sit down on a fallen, moss covered log that sits next to the creek and lean back, closing my eyes and let the cool breeze that rustles the undergrowth cool my skin.
Running through the forest in my wolf form is one of the things I love the most. It's hard to explain, but it makes me feel so – free. Free from the bonds of my human form. Free from the world around me. Free to just – be. There's something so primal about it that touches something deep down inside of me. It makes me feel whole. It makes me feel – alive.
I sit and listen to the natural world around me as it finally exhales and begins to get back to normal. I hear the sound of animals scurrying through the brush. Squirrels moving among the branches overhead. I even hear the sound of an owl hooting floating to me from somewhere in the darkness, it's sound eerie and haunting – and yet, beautiful at the same time.
As a wolf, I feel so more in tune with nature than I ever did as a human. I appreciate the seemingly mundane things and see beauty in a whole lot more.
That isn't to say I don't miss being human and not being a part of
the shifter world. Some days I miss it so bad it hurts. The politics and backbiting of life among the various packs is sometimes difficult to navigate and it's thoroughly maddening.
Although I serve as Umak's Sword, I'm not accepted by everybody among the other packs. Hell, I'm not even accepted by everybody within my own pack. Some see me as something detestable. Something worthy of nothing but contempt. As something – less than they are.
All because I'm not a natural wolf – because I was made and not born.
Not that I had any choice in the matter, but the fact that I'm not a “pure blood” – and was made by a Rogue pack at that, makes some see me as an inferior being. The bigotry among the packs never fails to amaze me. Although, I guess it shouldn't. People always have a need to feel superior. To hold themselves above another group. To oppress others.
I suppose it's just disappointing to see it among shifters too. Not because we're better than anybody else, but because we're all freaks – whether naturally born or not.
The packs in the area – hell, even my own pack – only tolerate me because they fear me. Which is also one of the only reasons Umak retains his title as Packmaster. He'd made sure I had the best instructors and was trained very, very well. That I am a living weapon for him to deploy as he sees fit.
And much to my own shame, for a long while, I was that. I'd assassinated more of his political enemies in the dead of night than I can even count anymore. Oh, most everybody knows it was me. There are always rumors and whispers – wolf packs gossip more than elderly women in a sewing circle. But they've never been able to prove a thing.
But the rumors and whispers are enough. It makes them fear me, and by extension, fear Umak. It serves his agenda to have me seen as the deadly shadow lurking in the background. It serves his purposes to have people fearing my wrath should they displease him.
It serves him, but it doesn't serve me.
And lately, I've been thinking more and more about that. About myself. About my life and how I'm going to spend it. Now that I'm a shifter, I'm going to live a very, very long time. Do I want to spend that serving somebody like Umak? Somebody who thinks only of himself? Who doesn't make the world a better place? Somebody who rules by making others fear – rather than trust – him?
I was never going to admit it to Jackson, but taking the lives of my people – my pack or not – did hurt me. It affects me deeply. I feel like every time I take a life, it takes a little piece of my soul. My biggest fear is that eventually, I won't have any soul left to take. And what then? What will I become?
It's thoughts like those that are keeping me up at night these days. Years ago – before I was abducted – I never could have imagined myself taking another life. I was a gentle, sweet girl back then. I was optimistic. Always smiling. Always happy. My mother called me her little ray of sunshine.
And yet today, I take a life without even flinching. I'm never happy and I never smile. I simply walk through my life, from one day to the next, in a shroud of darkness. Nothing ever changes, nothing ever gets better. The only difference from day to day is the degree in which it's going to suck.
Most days, I feel dead inside.
Something needs to change or I fear I'm going to become something I don't want to be. I've thought about running away more times than I can count. But Umak is not one who tolerates disloyalty and I know that I would spend the rest of my life – however long it may be – looking over my shoulder. Waiting for his newest assassin to show up to take me out.
There are days I love being what I am. Other days though, I wish I could have grown up normal. Human. Doing human things like going to college, having a career, or having a family.
The real bitch of it all though, is the fact that I know Umak is the only reason I'm alive. He has been a father figure to me. And although I've come to love him in a way, I also hate him. I owe him for everything he's done for me. But because of what he's made me do – for what I've become because of him – I also don't think I owe him a thing.
Like I said, it's complicated.
Getting off the log, I bend down and scoop some water from the creek into my mouth, the cool water feeling good as I swallow it down. My heart is finally slowing and my breathing is finally returning to normal. I know I should go home soon, but I'm enjoying being out amongst the forest. There's an energy and vibrancy that resonates with me.
Sitting back down on the ground, resting my back against the log, I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the night around me and breathe in the musky, earthy scent of the forest. I feel like I belong out here. Probably more so than anywhere else I've been.
The cool air soothes me, the soft breeze even making me feel a little chilly. But I like it. As I sit there though, I notice that the forest around me falls silent again. An ominous feeling descends over the world around me. There's a tightness and a tension in the air that wasn't there just a couple of minutes ago.
Sitting up, I look around. Two raccoons burst through the underbrush running side-by-side in what looks to me, like abject terror. The sound of breaking twigs and furtive movements through the underbrush echo out to me from the darkness.
My body tenses and the adrenaline starts to flow through me as I hear footsteps shuffling in my direction. But that's not what disturbs me the most. It's the low, guttural chittering sound drifting out of the shadows that sets my every nerve ending on edge. It's eerie and sounds utterly alien to me. That chittering noise doesn't sound like any animal I've ever heard out in the forest before.
Getting to my feet, I stare into the darkness, toward the noise that is drawing ever closer to me. Even with my enhanced vision, I have some trouble seeing through the thick pockets of shadow that cling to the trees around me.
As I strain my eyes to see, I catch glimpses of – something. I only catch glimpses of it as it moves between trees and bushes, seemingly trying to stay out of sight. But I see flashes of unnaturally pale flesh. Whatever is out there walks like a human, but when I scent the air, it doesn't smell entirely human. I have no idea what it is, but whatever is coming my way sets off every warning bell in my head.
My fight or flight response is in overdrive – and yet, I stand paralyzed. Rooted to my spot. I'm a highly trained killer, and yet, I seem to be too scared to move. What in the hell is wrong with me?
It's a high-pitched keening sound that breaks my trance. And when that voice is joined by a chorus of others – all around me in the forest – I know I'm in trouble. It's not just the one coming my way – judging by the number of voices echoing to me from the darkness, there are a dozen out there. At least.
I'm not a coward, but I'm also not a moron. I'm smart enough to know when I'm going to lose a fight. And this is one of those times. Shifting into my wolf form, I turn and sprint back the way I'd come, careful to keep the scent fresh in my mind – and to be aware of where it is around me. I may not be able to see them, but I can smell them – and if I can do that, I can avoid them.
Running as fast as my legs will carry me, I race through the forest. I hear the crashing through the underbrush behind me. To the sides of me. I know they're in pursuit and that whatever they are, they can move fast. I don't want to lead them back to the house, so I alter my course to take me into some thicker, denser growth of older forest. Back there, it's a little more wild. Untamed. Overgrown. It's perfect for losing somebody.
I know these woods like the back of my hand and can lose anybody among the trees. I just have to hope that whatever those things are, they don't know them like I do.
But as I run, weave, double back, and run an otherwise convoluted route, the sound of that keening and chittering fades – as do their footsteps. A rush of triumph washes over me as I realize I've lost them. At least, I hope I have.
Turning and jogging along the creek bed, I slow it down and try to catch my breath as I take a circuitous route home. The whole way though, my mind is consumed by thoughts of those creatures. They're unlike anything I've seen or scented before.
And as I continue letting my mind replay everything over and over again, my curiosity about them only grows.
Chapter Five
Jackson
I walk through the doors of the Silver Salmon – a bar on the outskirts of town – and as usual, everybody inside avoids meeting my gaze. Conversations hush and the people start looking distinctly uncomfortable. It's like death himself walked into the room. I'm used to it. It's the typical reaction I get whenever I walk into a room. They don't think I know, but among the Clan rank and file, I'm actually called the Reaper. Which means, I don't get a lot of invites to weekend barbecues or bowling nights.
Most every clan has their own place to get a drink and hang out, and the Silver Salmon is the bar of choice of the Umpa'qa Clan. Although, you will, from time to time, see members of various other clans in and out of the place – though, usually only the other Clans closely allied with the Umpa'qa.
If nothing else, just looking at who is hanging out with whom, it gives me an interesting look at how Clan politics plays and how quickly allegiances can shift.
Personally, I don't care about Clan politics. The shit bores and irritates me. I'm not a very social guy, to be honest. Most of the time, I prefer relaxing in my cabin and reading a good book. I don't feel like I fit in with my Clan anymore. I don't feel like I have anything in common with them. Not since Anyga's father – Adyn, my former Clan Chief – took the Walk, leaving her in charge.
Don't get me wrong, I like Anyga well enough. She's a good woman with a good heart who does her best for the Clan and all of us in it. But I sort of feel like when her father Walked, a lot of us should have too. Not that I'm old enough to Walk – not by any stretch of the imagination. But I almost feel like with Anyga ascended to the throne, the Umpa'qa underwent a generational shift.
Suddenly, the Clan seemed to get younger and a lot of the rest of us who came up under Adyn don't quite fit in anymore. Some have been released from their Clan vows, choosing to be Rogues instead. I feel like a square peg and the Clan is a round hole. And that feeling is not only persisting, it's getting stronger day by day.
Mated to a Bear (Legends of Black Salmon Falls Book 3) Page 3
