by Celia Kyle
Panic assaulted her, burrowing into her heart, and she very, very much wanted to cry. And run. The animal part of her rumbled its objection. It begged to stay and fight and demand their due. She didn’t think they were due anything other than their lives once this was over.
“Trista.” Her mom’s firm voice pulled her away from the men and women who wouldn’t mind seeing her dead and gone.
“Yeah?” She gulped.
“You’ll be fine.” She shook her head and her mom spoke again. “You will. Mrs. Scott may not like you,” understatement of the century, “but she and Heath know better than to do anything. Harming you will bring down their Southeast Alpha and they don’t want that.”
No, no one wanted one of the territory leaders hanging around. Least of all that one.
“Now, go pay your respects and then come back. We’ve got a few hours to kill. We’ll head over to the falls.”
The falls. She’d always loved the sound of rushing water, even if her animal thing in her head hated it.
“’K.” She took a deep breath and fought for calm. Heading into a group of blood-thirsty shifters while scared out of her mind was not a good idea. With a jerky nod, she stepped back and pushed the door closed. She didn’t know why she was surprised that her mom wasn’t coming along. From the moment Trista was born, Mr. Scott told her Mom she wasn’t welcome at pack gatherings. Trista and Trista alone. Never a human.
Even if she’d been banged by a furball at some point.
Okay, ew, no thinking about Mom and sex. Ever.
Rubbing her hands on her jeans, she made her way toward the group, ignoring the sneers, growls, hisses, and high-pitched cackling laughs that chased her. Those laughs… They scared the shit out of her while also poking her animal. Trista couldn’t shift, couldn’t even get slightly furry, but she sure could make the screeching sounds.
She swallowed them now, pulled them deep into herself. No sense in antagonizing the “people” who could kill her without blinking.
They hated her, but still stepped aside as she approached, making a path straight to the gravesite. Mr. Scott’s casket remained perched above the hole, waiting to be lowered into the ground. She wondered if someone would throw a rose in after he’d been put down there. Or toss a handful of dirt on top like they did in the movies.
Tired of rubbing her sweaty palms on her jeans, she tucked them into her pockets. No sense in showing how nervous they made her.
Eventually Mrs. Scott and Heath were revealed. Mrs. Scott sat straight-backed in a fold-out chair while Heath stood directly behind her. Both of them were focused on Trista, their eyes the orange-tinted brown of their animals. It’d freaked her out when she first met others in the pack. Honestly, it still freaked her out.
Stopping five feet from them—Mrs. Scott’s reach tended to be about four feet—she tilted her head slightly as she’d been taught. “Mrs. Scott, Heath, I’m sorry for your loss.”
She supposed it was her loss, too, but she didn’t care.
Mrs. Scott glared at her while Heath smiled wide, exposing his hyena’s teeth.
“Trista.” His smiled grew even more. “Come, sit beside my mother. You’re part of the family, after all.”
Oh no, she really, really wasn’t. But he was Alpha now, so that meant she had to listen. Taking a deep breath and praying she didn’t end up in tiny pieces, she stepped toward the empty chair beside Mrs. Scott. A chair she hadn’t noticed until now.
Slowly she made her way to the seat and lowered herself to the surface. She perched on the edge, afraid of relaxing too much and being unable to run. Even if she did, she knew she wouldn’t make it far, but she’d try.
Her mother was sure of Mrs. Scott’s adherence to the law and that she’d keep Heath in line. Trista was not.
A large, claw-tipped hand rested on her shoulder and yanked her back, forcing her to rest on the seat fully.
“Relax, Trista.” Heath’s voice was a menacing purr, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
Relax. Right.
When his mouth left her skin, one of the other males stepped forward and stood at one end of the coffin. He was old, as old as Mr. Scott, she thought. He launched into a prayer, words asking God to send Mr. Scott’s soul to Heaven.
Trista hoped the man went to hell, but she wasn’t sure that was a popular opinion. Looking at all the others, she realized it wasn’t.
Heath’s hand tightened on her shoulder, his claws piercing her shirt and digging into her flesh. She forced herself to remain still, to not react. He’d prick her, cause her to bleed, and then laugh when she cried.
It started when she was barely able to walk and still continued today. He’d been ordered not to kill, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t maim her. At least, that’s what he said each time he caught her. Of course, thanks to being part hyena, he still hadn’t managed to scar her.
She watched the ripple of awareness travel through the crowd, the rise and fall of chests and the flaring of nostrils. They scented her, smelled her blood, and it excited them.
Nice.
The wounds on her shoulder burned, the pain sinking deep into her body and searing her from inside out. She fisted her hands, her human nails digging into her palms as the agony twisted its way along her veins.
It hurt. God, it hurt so much. It hadn’t ever felt like this before and she didn’t know why and she almost cried out when he tightened his hold even further. Usually the animal thing took care of wounds by now, but it was as if something stopped it from healing her.
The man speaking kept droning on and on only now his attention was on her as well. He’d moved on to blessing the pack, licking his lips between statements.
Heath wrapped his other hand around her throat, his thumb pressed against the hollow beneath one ear while his index finger stroked the other. His palm spanned her neck and it’d take one rapid move to tear her throat from her body.
From the corner of her eye, she watched Mrs. Scott’s gaze swing to her and then flick to Heath. “You can’t kill her. Your father wouldn’t have wanted that, more’s the pity. Just be thankful that his will requires her to stay near her ‘family’ in Boyne Falls.”
Heath leaned down, speaking to her once again. “I won’t kill you, will I, Tris? This is just a game we play, Mother. One that I’ll win this time around and with father’s last wish, we’ll get to play this game for a long time coming.”
Trista didn’t hear the rest of the speech. No, she was too focused on the pack watching her, on Mrs. Scott staring at the blood that now soaked into her shirt, and on the wounds Heath inflicted.
The fingers in her shoulder weren’t the only ones that burned her. No, he tightened his grip on her throat, squeezing harder and harder with each passing second until his claws pierced her skin.
More burning assaulted her. More heat and agonizing pain pumped through her veins in an increasing tempo. Even she smelled her blood now and she cursed her mom for making her come to this stupid funeral with this stupid pack.
She cursed herself, too. She’d never told her mother about Heath’s treatment. Her wounds had always been healed by the time she got home from school. There was no point worrying her. Besides, Trista’s pain was nothing when compared to what her mom would endure if her mother went to Mr. Scott and complained about Trista’s abuse.
Trista complained once, and only once. After her mom came home covered in bruises and smelling like Mrs. Scott, Trista never said anything again. Ever.
She shoulda said something before they left the apartment.
While Heath dug his fingers deeper, she held onto Mrs. Scott’s words. “You can’t kill her. Your father wouldn’t have wanted that, more’s the pity.”
She just had to endure.
Tears pricked her eyes, gathering as more agony filled her body. It was so much worse than ever before and she wondered when it’d end, if it’d end before she passed out from the pain.
When spots danced before her eyes, she wasn’t so sure.
Heath dragged his index finger across her throat, digging into her skin, and she wondered if he’d cut her there, too. When another round of rolling pain hit her, she decided he had.
She gasped as it joined with the rest of the hurts bouncing through her, assaulting her with invisible claws.
This was different—new—and she decided she’d never, ever, come to Boyne Falls again.
The man speaking finally finished his speech, still not talking to the crowd, but focused on her. They were all intent on her, on her wounds.
Hungry.
They looked so very, very hungry.
Trista swallowed, forcing Heath’s nails even deeper, and she tried to remember some of that stupid biology class she was taking this year. Was he near one of those “holy crap, I’m dead in a minute from blood loss” artery things?
She hoped not.
Then again, that’d be killing her and Mrs. Scott said—
“He’s been laid to rest. Are you ready to go to the house?” Heath murmured and she remained still, fighting not to flinch. “Or would you like to go home?”
Home. She wanted to go home.
“We’ll leave the territory now, if that’s okay, Alpha.” She prayed that using his new fancy title would make him happy and he’d let her go.
The pain was overwhelming her now, pushing deeper and deeper until she wondered if it’d reach her soul and crush it.
“Hmm…” He straightened and tugged his hand free of her shoulder, scraping furrows into her flesh.
Tears streamed from her eyes then, coursing down her cheeks, and she didn’t care if all the stupid hyenas saw.
“I suppose you’re free to go.” He gave the same treatment to her throat, drawing a line over her skin.
The second she was free, she bolted to her feet and headed toward the gathered crowd. It was the quickest path to her mom’s car, to her mom, to safety.
Heath’s cackling laugh chased her and she increased her speed, forcing her to move faster, to almost break into a flat-out run.
Other chuckles flowed in her wake, the sounds of their animals and not men. Then—she was gonna die—the snap and crack of bones reached her. They were shifting. One or all? It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because Mr. Scott told Heath and Mrs. Scott they couldn’t kill her, but she didn’t know if that applied to the rest of the pack.
Trista shoved past the last line of shifting hyenas, breaking free of the crowd. Blood flowed down her neck and stained her shirt, but she forced herself to run, to push beyond the bone-melting pain that filled her.
They’d swarm her, attack her, if she faltered. Hell, she didn’t even know if she’d make it to her mom’s car.
Her mother’s vehicle came into view just as the first hyena snapped at her jeans, jaws barely missing the cloth. Stricken eyes met Trista’s, her mom’s face paling, and she could only imagine what she saw.
This was what she’d hidden over the years and now it was being shoved in her face.
Her mom reached for the door handle and Trista shook her head. She needed to start the car. When indecision covered her mother’s face, she shook her head again. Then she clutched her shoulder, squeezing it in an effort to stem the pain. It burned so hot and she thought she’d die from the agony of the wound.
Teeth finally did snag her pants, almost tripping her and sending her to the ground, but she righted herself and kept moving. Stopping would get her killed.
As soon as she neared, her mother unlatched the passenger door, allowing it to swing open.
The heated breath of a hyena on her left teased her, telling her of its closeness, and she shifted right just as it snapped at her shirt.
When it came near again, she focused, bent her arm, and elbowed the animal in the face. If she had the energy, she would have smiled at its pained yelp. Instead, she pushed harder, ran faster.
The car was only fifteen feet away. Then ten.
Another bite had her jerking away from the attacker on her right and she fought to keep her balance. She was so close…
It did it again and this time she spared a moment to kick at the animal, nailing it in the shoulder. She smiled when it went tumbling to the ground. They seemed to forget who they were chasing, who’d fathered her. Even if her mom was human, Trista was still strong as heck.
Another thing that pissed them off.
Trista stumbled the last few feet, grasping the edge of the door, and she used it to stay upright. She scrambled into the passenger seat, snatching her foot back just as one hundred fifty pounds of hyena slammed into the panel, shoving it closed.
Her mom didn’t utter a word, didn’t make a sound as she slammed the beat-up car in reverse and peeled out of the parking spot.
The rest of the pack flowed toward them like a claw—and fang—lined river, swarming their car.
“Go, Mom!” Trista yelled over their snarling attackers while she waited for her mother to slam the car into drive.
One furred body slammed into the side, sending them rocking. Another jumped on the trunk and fell against the back window, cracking the glass. Yet another hyena vaulted onto the vehicle, sliding across the hood with an earsplitting screech. Finally orange-brown eyes met hers; familiar eyes. Its paws were soaked in her blood and the redness surrounded his maw. Hers or someone else’s?
When he dropped a shoulder and attacked the glass, it didn’t matter. One slam became two, became four, and still her mother sat frozen as Heath fought his way through the front windshield.
“Go!”
Before it was too late. Before Heath succeeded. Before— A final crunch gave him space to reach his arm past the glass and Trista ducked. He caught her hair, yanking the strands, as well as a hint of her flesh. The claws scraped her jaw, sliding along the curved line.
Trista’s fear filled her voice, pain on its heels, and she screamed once again. “Go!”
Chapter Six
A scream rent the air, snatching him from his restless sleep and into wakefulness in an instant. Keen’s bear recognized the source before his human half realized his eyes were open. Fur burst from his pores, his hands transforming into claws, and his teeth pushed through his gums in a stinging rush.
He gained his feet in a fluid dash, rolling from the bed and striding toward the bathroom. He shoved the pocket door aside, sending it crashing into the wall, and the one leading to Trista’s room received the same treatment.
His bear scanned the area, its senses focusing on their surroundings while the human part of his mind got his body into further motion. He flew over the carpet, racing to the struggling pile of woman and blankets near the window. Her heavy panting reached him as did the rapid beat of her heart. The bear was attuned to her, intent on securing her and assuring her well-being.
Nothing—no one—lurked in the shadows which meant he could focus on Trista. He lowered to a crouch and clawed his way through the blanket enveloping her. His nails sliced the material into floating ribbons, revealing Trista with every cut and tug. It didn’t take long to find the baggy T-shirt that covered her upper-body, nor did he have trouble getting to her loose shorts.
Then he focused on her body, running his hands over her arms and legs, ensuring she wasn’t hurt. All the while, she panted and moaned, struggling against him, her hands clawing at her throat.
Her scent finally penetrated his focus, smacking him in the face with her emotions. Panic. Fear. Pain. Hyena and… what?
He pushed the question away and focused on her terror. A nightmare… or memories. He couldn’t imagine what caused her terror, but he needed her to calm before she hurt herself.
Redness surrounded her throat, her fingers clawing at her flesh, and he snatched her hands, gathering her wrists into one fist while he tugged her close with his free arm.
“Hush. Easy. Trista…” His bear raged at her fear and the scrapes now peppering her skin. “I’ve got you.”
The words were garbled, warped due to his beast’s muzzle, but she seemed to r
ecognize him. She slowly quieted, the gasps and cries gradually lessening to low mewls and whimpers. He stared at the woman in his arms, the tears streaking her face and the redness of her eyes.
“I’ve got you…” This time he sounded more like his human self and he realized his bear had retreated. It still paced in his mind, grumbling and growling, but seemed to have accepted that his human half could better take care of her. “I’ve got you.”
I’ll always have you.
The thought ricocheted through his mind, pinging off his memories and thoughts of the future. The bear snatched the idea from its travels and held it close, growling when Keen attempted to mentally wrench it from the animal. It was then he realized one thing with pure clarity. He wanted to have her as his. Now. Forever. Longer if it were possible.
“Keen?” Her eyes focused on him, shifting from glazed to laser sharp. “What…?” She shook her head. “What happened? Why am I on the floor?”
He released her, convinced she wouldn’t hurt herself any longer, and used his free hand to stroke her face. He brushed aside lingering tears, capturing the droplets with his fingertips and making them disappear.
“You had a nightmare,” he murmured, watching her gaze for recognition.
It was swift in coming, her eyes widening as she sucked in a harsh breath. Her heart rate picked up once again, the rhythmic beating reaching his ears thanks to his inner-beast. Air whooshed in and out of her lungs and the scent of panic, terror, filled the air in a resurging wave.
“Shh… You’re fine. You’re okay, Trista.”
She brought a hand to her neck and he tensed, worried that he’d have to subdue her once more. Except, this time her touch was light, fingers fluttering over her skin. She danced across the line of her throat and paused by her ears before retracing her path. She sought something, but what?
With one final pass, she brought her hand before her gaze, flipping from one side to the other, staring at her pale skin. Finally, a soft sigh escaped her lips and she relaxed in his arms.
