I can hold us together long enough for Knox to rally himself.
I lower my head and speak close to her ear. "It’s okay sweet thing. They’ll be back. In the meantime, let's see if we can make you a nest."
Halley peeks up from beneath my chin, her large purple eyes swimming and blinking rapidly. She squeaks in a high-pitched voice, “A nest?”
The sound she makes is so small, so hopeful, it hits me right in the chest.
I smile. How could I forget how adorable she is like this?
Her trust is a gift worth protecting at all costs.
"Not just any nest, sweetheart.Yournest."
Her purr kicks up again, and suddenly everything feels like it’s going to be alright.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Knox
Thirty years ago
Nine, I think, is pretty young to know how to kill someone.
But I do.
Because I'm special.
They taught me five different ways to kill with just a knife. I haven't done them all yet, but stabbing is my favorite because it’s fast.
I can snap a neck too. It’s not difficult if you twist hard enough.
I think I’m supposed to like killing the enemy. That’s what they tell us when some of the others cry. They say that they hate us, and that means it’s okay to hurt them. The way my instructors talk about the Human enemy, I know that they're weak and easy to make bleed.
And I'mreallygood at making things bleed. Even with just my fists, feet, or teeth. I’ve got the best aim, and I’m stronger than the others. The instructors are always praising me for that.
I'm the best in my class. The best fighter. The best in weapons and hand-to-hand combat.
I'm going to be a Prime Alpha. One of the toughest and meanest and deadliest soldiers. The kind that wins all the time.
When I’m grown, I’ll get my own Beta battalion to command and we’ll never lose.
"Thorin," my Den Mother calls. She's a Beta woman who picks at her teeth and smells stale. She’s new here. "Come inside. It's time for bed."
She tends to the twelve other young Alphas in our den. Future soldiers like me, raised by the military to defend our great nation from those who want to take it from us.
Our last Den Mother was sent away because the boy with bright green eyes and body far bigger than the rest of us wanted to cuddle her. He’d hold her hand when he got hurt and push his face into her side.
That’s not allowed.
He was weak, and they punished him for it.
He came back weeks later different. He’s quiet now. He doesn’t cry at night like he used to and when we spar, he hits hard.
I know better than to want soft things. The Drill Instructors say soft soldiers get killed. So it's better to be cold, and strong, and mean.
This Den Mother is better because she doesn't treat us like kids. We're soldiers. She gives us space, doesn’t tuck us in at night, and doesn't ask us questions about how we're feeling. She lets us do as we please, as long as it doesn't interfere with our training schedule, or make too much of a mess.
She says that blood is hard to clean, and it stains, so we aren't allowed to fight inside.
