Feral

by Berkeley, Anne

  Nevertheless, they eventually flagged too. It was the doe and me. The hunter and hunted. I could hear her breaths, short little puffs streaming through her pulsating nose. She was tiring. But I didn’t want to drag out the kill. I tapped into my reserve and surged forward, grasping her thigh long enough to take her down. She stumbled, her forked hooves furrowing the soil. Not far behind, Icarus wrapped his jaw around her throat, cutting off her air supply and severing her jugular. Her struggles waned. She gave a few lethargic kicks and fell still, her chest rising and falling in shallow jerks as her blood spilled onto the earth below. Icarus’s jaw constricted, closing off her airway, hastening her death and easing her suffering. Soon, her chest fell still too.

  Icarus released her neck just as the boys arrived. They trotted forward, tails wagging, licking and butting their noses against mine in praise, then moving on to the doe lying on the ground. Icarus fended them off with a snap of teeth and a snarl, reminding them of their place.

  I shouldered my way through the pack, making my way back to our prey, where Icarus stood waiting. He dropped his head, nudging the doe’s underbelly and then attentively nuzzled my face, urging me to eat. Hunger drove away my inhibitions. I tore into the thick, winter fur, tossing it to the side until I reached the soft flesh beneath.

  Chapter 17

  “Hold it down,” Icarus ordered. “Do I need to compel you?”

  I shot a caustic glare in his direction from where I knelt on the forest floor. “You wouldn’t.”

  “I would.” Crouching beside me, he smoothed a hand across the bare skin of my back. “It’s meat, Thaleia. Nothing more.”

  “I can buy meat from the grocery store.”

  “It’s the only way to control the hunger. We eat much more than humans. A four ounce breast of chicken and a spoonful of peas will only hold you over for so long.”

  I supposed not. I just consumed almost fifteen pounds of venison. Raw. While the blood was still warm and steaming from its body. I ripped skin and flesh from its carcass. I cracked bones with my teeth and eaten the marrow. I fought Max for the liver. (And won.)

  “I hate liver.” I gagged, shivering convulsively, praying it stayed down. The only thing worse than eating it, was tasting it on the way back up.

  “It’s all in your head, Sweetheart. Mind over matter.” Sliding his arm under my shoulder, he urged me to my feet. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.” Gazing longingly at my breasts, he added, “I daresay you’re cold.”

  Smirking, I looked down to his erection, bobbing animatedly with each step as we made our way through the yard and back to the house. “I daresay you’re not.”

  “You’re all the warmth I need.”

  Suppressing a smile, I placed the back of my hand against his chest and skimmed down to his waist, watching him suck a sharp breath through his teeth.

  “Holy mother of God! Your hands are freakin’ cold.” Grabbing his package, he shielded himself with his hand, assaulting me with a scathing accusation.

  “What? I didn’t come anywhere near your junk!”

  “You don’t need to, Sweetheart. It’s natural during a threat for them to run for cover. They head for higher ground if you catch my meaning. And not altogether gently.”

  My nose scrunched in disbelief. “Really?”

  “They just clacked like a set of billiard balls.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Exactly.”

  Inside, our blankets waited by the kennel. The basement sat empty. The others had gone ahead so that I could have privacy when I returned. The point was moot. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the control to make it back before the change took me, giving them an eyeful as I returned prematurely to my own human skin. I’d caught a few sets of curious eyes perusing my assets before they had the acumen to look away. Most of them. The rest, Icarus promptly chastised.

  Icarus shifted back to walk with me the remainder of the way. Luckily, we weren’t far from the house. My wolf pelt was enough to keep me warm, but as a human, the November temperatures were cold enough for hypothermia to set in. I quickly wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and headed for a hot bath to chase the chill from my bones. Icarus was right; my nipples were hard as diamonds. I could’ve cut holes in the boogey blanket with them.

  “Hey.” Icarus grasped my arm, turning me to face him. He touched a hand tenderly to my cheek, his expression afflicted. “Are you ok?”

  My smile was stolid at best. “I’m fine. A half hour in a hot bath and maybe I’ll feel human again.” I’d never feel human again. I wasn’t.

  His inane humor had done little to distract me from my self-torment. I’d killed a living, breathing creature. I could still see the whites of the doe’s eyes, rolled back in terror. I could hear the cry she released before Icarus silenced her. I could smell her fear. I couldn’t even claim that her death was swift. She knew it was coming. We’d chased her down for well over a mile.

  I found little comfort in my full stomach.

  “Deer are hit by cars all the time, Thaleia. And they hold hunts at the park every year to cull the population. They shot a hundred and fifteen last year. Whether it’s a rifle, a car or us, they’re going to die. It’s nature.”

  My eyes drifted from the floor to Icarus. “How often do we have to hunt?” Once a week? Once a month? It couldn’t be that often. We couldn’t possibly digest that quickly.

  Icarus’s eyebrows furrowed sympathetically. “Every night. That’s not to say that we’re always successful, though. We might bag a kill twice a week. And we don’t always consume deer. We have to be judicious with what we hunt so that we don’t exhaust our food sources.”

  Belching a sound of disgust, I whirled and stomped up the stairs. “Deer and rabbits. What’s wrong with good ole fashioned beef? We could buy in bulk at Sam’s club.”

  “Do you realize how much meat eight lycan can eat?”

  As I did the math in my head, I quickly calculated that we each ate approximately sixty quarter-pounders a sitting. Sixty! Per lycan! That’s four hundred and eighty quarter pounders to cover the eight of us, give or take a few dozen depending on our age and sizes.

  “I would have to get an entire side of beef. Where would I store it?”

  “We could get a walk in freezer. My parents have them in all their shops.”

  “Do the math, Thaleia; you know how much a pound of beef costs.”

  At three sixty a pound, a two hundred pound side of beef would cost about…oh, only seven hundred and twenty bucks. The eight of us could eat just over one a week. Multiply that against four weeks a month…My God, we’d have to mortgage our appetites.

  “It’s not exactly cost effective, is it?”

  Swinging the basement door open, I was faced with a naked Caius. He lounged in the kitchen, drinking a frosted bottle of water. “You wouldn’t like it so much. Cold fried chicken is one thing, but a cold slab of raw steak is nasty. Trust me. A fresh kill is more appetizing.”

  Blinking, I turned my head in the other direction, discovering a naked Max, polishing off a pint of ice cream next to the fridge. I felt like a pinball, my eyes bouncing from bumper to bumper, ricocheting from one nude Adonis to the next. Lucius crossed my path on his way to the laundry room, equally underdressed. Crispin sauntered across the hall in the distance. (The boy had nothing to be ashamed of, but I could’ve slept at night without ever knowing.) I tried not to look, but it was like magnetic attraction. Nature hardwired us to appreciate the opposite sex.

  “Criminy, can’t you guys put some clothes on?”

  Caius pushed off the counter and tossed the empty bottle in the recycling bin, his bits and pieces swaying with his gate. (Not that there was anything bitty about them.) The metaphor I’d chosen was unbecoming. “We want you to feel comfortable in your own skin, so we thought we thought we’d start by allowing you to grow comfortable around ours.”

  Shielding my eyes, I turned to face Icarus, who was not only naked, but also erect. Unwavering, despite his claim abou
t my cold hands. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  In a casual bid to protect said appendage from harm, he reached down and cradled it against his hip. “If you look below their waist, I’ll take you over my knee.”

  “They looked!” I objected with umbrage, my voice rising in octave. My free arm poked out from beneath the blanket, waving in a tizzy. “I didn’t see you take them over your knee!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. They’re grown boys.” Placing two fingers under my chin, he lifted my face until I met his eyes. “Lesson one, when approaching a lycan male, always hold his eyes, unless he’s an alpha, then you’ll rest your eyes on his chest or his feet.” Foreseeing another objection, he smiled. “Unless you’re dating the alpha. Then the point’s irrelevant.”

  “Won’t meeting their eyes be considered a challenge?”

  “No, the only one you show deference to is your alpha. Would you bend to Caius or Lucius or any other male you encounter?”

  I hoped not. But I had bent to his will easily enough.

  “There is a hierarchy in the pack, but each is different depending on its size. Usually, the pack has an alpha—me, and betas—Lucius and Max. Anyone under them, which are omegas, vies for his own place, dependent upon age and size or fighting skills. But remember, males and females in the pack stand alone. You’ll find that you compete with females more, just as you have here with Hailey. You may not realize it, but you’ve already established your own hierarchy, claiming your place as alpha female in my pack.”

  “So I shouldn’t meet a girl’s eyes; they’ll consider it a challenge.”

  “If you want to maintain your position in the pack, you’ll want to meet everyone’s eyes. Male or female. But more to the point, when approaching a female, you’ll want to keep your eyes on her feet if you want to take a submissive posture or her eyes if you’re standing ground. You don’t want to stare at a girl’s chest, because staring at her breasts could be misconstrued as a challenge during initial introductions. She might take offense of your appraisal.”

  “Imagine that,” I said sarcastically. “A girl that doesn’t like her boobs stared at.”

  Caius and Max snickered, as did the boys down the hall and up the stairs. You just had to say the word ‘boobs’ for them to break into a fit of laughter. Juveniles.

  “Maybe we feel equally about having our Adonis belts stared at,” Caius suggested. He emphasized his statement by outlining the hard curve of muscles with a slice of his hand.

  Reflexively, my eyes flickered down, following the movement of his hand.

  “She looked, bro,” Max said. “She so just checked you out.” His stuffed a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth, but he couldn’t hide the smile twinkling in his eyes.

  “I couldn’t help it!” I exclaimed, flushing and flustered. “He made me look! If I fondled my breasts in front of you, you would look too!”

  “Sugar,” said Caius, candidly, “if you fondled your breasts in front of me, I’d do a lot more than look.”

  “It’s the twin thing,” Max added, stoking the fire. “Women find it irresistible.”

  What I hadn’t realized was that behind me, Icarus was smoldering, and with Max’s claim, I found myself on an abrupt trip to the pantry.

  “W-w-w-what are you doing?” I demurred in protest, toddling on my toes as he grasped my upper arm and drove me across the kitchen.

  “I warned you.”

  “I was provoked!”

  “So was I.”

  My mouth snapped shut with an audible clack. I glared over my shoulder at Caius, who lounged back against the counter, crossing his feet at the ankles, anticipating the show.

  Icarus was provoked. I had no doubt.

  “He did that on purpose!” I ground out, resisting Icarus’s effort to land me over his knee. “He’s been sulking because he missed it last time you spanked me!”

  “You discussed this?” Icarus inquired. Firmly planted in position, his palm rounded my ass, a promise of the pain to come. “What other secret fantasies do you share?”

  “Fantasies?” Smack! “Owe! You son of a bitch!” My legs kicked out, jarring the shelf of dry goods. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Don’t play coy with me.” Smack!

  “Goddamn it! You lay another fuckin’ hand on me and I’ll rip your throat out!”

  Smack! Obviously, he didn’t take threats well. “Of the anti-football playing kind,” he disclosed, curtly. Smack! “Those kind of fantasies.”

  A light bulb flared in my head, blinding me with grim understanding. “You think I’m hot for the twins!” Smack! A shrill snarl escaped me, infuriated with his unwarranted castigations.

  “You don’t have to be so Goddamned enthused about it!”

  “God, I freakin’ hate you!” I shrieked. “I hate you to the fiery pits of hell!” The vehemence of my declaration gave him pause. I was able to elbow my way from his grip and grapple my way to my feet. I pushed my hair from my face with a harsh breath, my hands shaking in anger. Drawing back, I slapped him once to the face, thrilled to see his head snap back and my handprint impressed in red across his cheek. “The only fantasy I have of the twins was watching them double team Michael Dougherty—you pompous asshole! And I promise you the next time you lay a hand on me, you damn well better ask my permission or I’m gonna bite it the fuck off!” Swinging the pantry door open, I shoved it with such force it broke through the sheetrock. Caius was gone, and Max hastened from the room upon my emergence. No one said a word about my state of undress as I stormed through the house on the way to my room.

  ΑΒΩ

  Thanksgiving was a total drag. I refused to cook. I essentially quit communications outside my mandatory nightly excursions when I hunted with the pack. Even then, I was reduced to snaps and snarls, enforcing my right to eat first, next to Icarus, of course. Anything over that was strictly a formality. Please. Thank you. No thank you. Fuck off. And so forth.

  I missed my family. During our Skype call that morning, I could barely refrain from begging them to come get me. I cried, but only after mom cried first so that I could lay blame for my tears elsewhere. Then I used the excuse of having to cook so that I could terminate the chat early. After which, I promptly shut my computer down. Then I rolled over and went back to sleep. Turkey be damned, I had nothing to give thanks for this holiday season, and the hell if I was going to slave over a hot stove for a bunch of ingrates that had no need for mundane food.

  Icarus insisted on driving me too and from school, when I adamantly refused to leave the bed. I was running on only a few hours sleep, stolen in the early hours of morning after hunting, if time allowed for it. I wanted to apply for a proficiency exam so that I could graduate early, but he didn’t consider it an option. In his warped and twisted mind, I was still attending college.

  “It’s not the same as a GED. I’ll just get my diploma early, and I’ll still be eligible for college. I have all the necessary credits needed if I decide to go.”

  “Not if; When.”

  “My point exactly. I have all the time in the world, don’t I? I’m immortal.”

  “You need to get out of the house. It would be good for you to be around other people your age. Girls, specifically. You know…a social outlet.”

  “That’s what this is about, isn’t it—because I’m not talking to you?”

  “You don’t talk to any of us. You’re not coping; you’re withdrawing. It’s not healthy. I’m worried about you.”

  Torn between wanting to acknowledge his claims and wanting to shun him further, I leaned my head against the car window, watching my breath fog the glass like the miasma of fear and antagonism my life had become. Fortunately, the warning bell rang, absolving me of either.

  “Go,” Icarus sighed, resigned. “You’ll be late for class.”

  With relief, I jumped from the car and jogged to my first class.

  I can’t say things didn’t improve. I did find an outlet, and in an unusual place.
During first period not a week later, I felt like God threw me a bone when Mr. Holloway transitioned the curriculum from chemistry to biology. I loved biology. As he gave us the outline of the semester, I regained an appreciation for science, if not a sliver of hope for my so-called life.

  Systems Biology for Infectious Disease Research. That was the catalyst to lure me from my depression. It was the answer to finding my cure. Yes, cure. I developed a newfound determination; I threw myself into the study of biological processes in microbial organisms.

  A.k.a pathogens. Germs. Bacterium. Viruses. Prions. Funguses.

  Mr. Holloway was more than thrilled to find a student who shared an avid interest in science. He became my mentor and I his dedicated disciple. He fed me books, research papers, and pamphlets for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I was a machine. I studied any moment I wasn’t physically challenged by the lack of opposable thumbs or the necessary amount of sleep required to continue functioning throughout day; though, everyone questioned my judgment on the latter. I ignored their observations, choosing science over the need for beauty rest.

  ΑΒΩ

  Crispin paced the room, returning time and again to my window overlooking the driveway. While I couldn’t hold a grudge against him to save my life, he was annoying me terribly with his constant disruptions. My hardwood floor did little to muffle his treading.

  “Crispin, if what you’re looking for is so enticing, beat it. I’ve just read this chapter three times, and it’s not so interesting that I feel like reading it a fourth. Now go.”

  “It’s Christmas eeeeeevvvvveeee,” Crispin whined, sprawling across the foot of my bed in a back flop. My papers flew up in the air and drifted back down, scattering like leaves across my mattress and floor. I scowled at the offense. “Can’t you put the books away for two days?”

  “No.”

  “Tonight then. We’re having some friends over. Besides, it’s blasphemy to work on Christmas—it’s Jesus’ birthday.”