Conor kneeled in the centre, fist covered in blood as he rhythmically reared back his arm to punch forward.
Thwack… Thwack... Thwack.
Each hit sent a sickening pulse through the group who watched by the wall, both Rachael and Travis taking a seat each on the worn fabric sofa.
“That’s enough,” Sam’s voice was sharp, his own fists clenching by his side as he waited for his father to finish beating the unconscious man. He remembered all too well his father’s punishments. “You’re going to kill him.”
Thwack… Thwack… Conor stopped with his arm raised, head snapping to the side. “Careful boyo,” he said, rage lining his face. “Did you want to finish Lennon’s punishment?” At Sam’s silence Conor released his fist, the last punch the hardest. It sent the man named Lennon across the floor, his face broken, the skin that wasn’t covered in blood black and blue.
Conor stood to his full height, which, Sam realised for the first time, was a few inches shorter than himself. He looked wired, agitated as he reached for a bowl that had been placed on a side table. With a growl he tossed the contents at Sam, who barely controlled his flinch as pain erupted across the side of his face.
Salt. His father had thrown salt.
“That’s for interrupting Lennon’s punishment,” his father barked, stalking forward until they were toe to toe.
Sam straightened, knowing that if any grains had gotten into his cuts they would scar. Salt was used often after a beating, and not even shifting could help the damage.
“And for knocking me,” his father continued, voice dropping to barely a whisper. “Do that again, and I’ll make sure your childhood looked like a fucking fantasy compared to what I’ll do to you. You’re not too old to be locked in a cage, Son.” He moved even closer. “Or tied to a mattress.”
Rage roared to the surface, so hot it blurred his father’s face as Sam forced himself to remain rigid, to not react. There was a touch of fear, the child he once was unable to stop the memories.
“This is our Omega,” Conor said brashly, spittle hitting Sam’s face. “He’s new to our pack, and we must introduce him to your animals before we allow free skin privileges.”
Sam flinched then, unable to stop the reaction as nausea settled like a lump of coal in his gut. Skin to skin contact, it was how shifters calmed their animals, and the reason his father pushed more than just a casual caress.
There were six shifters, three sitting on the sofa with two standing each side. Not one had moved the entire time, not even a single twitch as they watched the beating, and then the salt. Lennon alone rolled onto his back, ignored by the others.
“How many are there in your pack?” Sam asked, studying each shifter slowly. Not one kept eye contact, each gaze skirting away as soon as he met them. There was some severe dominance in the room, and most of them were high tier, with the single woman the highest, barely below his father. A Beta, at least.
“This is it,” Conor replied. “There was ten, but there’s been a few… accidents.” With a click of his fingers he pointed to Travis, who immediately stood, and then started to strip. Nudity was nothing for shifters, embarrassment of the naked body something not developed in a Breed who had to be naked to shift from their human shape to their animal.
Sam could feel the disjuncture between all the pack, the hesitancy and aggression as Travis completed his shift into a wolf. Bishop was right, there was no connection between them, no loyalty. To become a pack was to submit dominance to the Alpha, offering them your throat where they bit down until blood coated their tongue. In return they then bit the wrist of the Alpha, creating the blood bond and threads of life that entwined them as a group. It was natural magic found from the earth. A way for the pack to connect on a spiritual level.
Sam remembered the feeling, like a warmth from an open fire. Except his experience as a true pack was anything but warm. There was no blood bond between anyone in the room, and his father would know that being the Alpha.
This wasn’t a pack, just a group of dysfunctional, individual shifters.
“Here,” Conor demanded, and Travis stepped closer until his nose was buried in Sam’s stomach. He was large for a wolf, twice the average size, with his back paws deformed. Human fingers were still attached, seeming to hang by a single bone. His eyes seemed sunken, swallowed by his sockets, enough to interfere with his sight, and there were sharp spines spotted throughout his fur.
Sam remained where he was, allowing the wolf to become familiar with his scent.
“They’re mostly wolves,” Conor said, upper lip curled in disgust. “They dominate this fucking city. Not many cats except for Nick, but he never returned.” With another click of his fingers Travis stepped back, only for Rachael to begin shifting.
“White Dawn own the surrounding territory, you need permission to be here or else they have the right to kill you.” Shifter law was old and barbaric. White Dawn was one of the largest packs in Europe. They controlled most of the southern part of England, allowing other smaller packs to have their own sections if they pledged fealty. The only person above the Alpha of White Dawn was Xavier, the councilman. He stood for the shifters on the Council of Breeds, and was their judge, jury, and executioner.
Conor grunted, unbothered. “We’re careful about territorial lines with White Dawn. We can’t take them on until we’re stronger.”
“What do you mean take them on?” Sam held his hand out for Rachael, who had warily approached. Her nose was cold in his palm, the bottom of her jaw crooked to reveal that her tongue was missing. “Their pack has hundreds of members, and you have seven.”
Conor tensed, knuckles white. “Careful boyo,” he warned. “You’re part of this pack now, I’ve already taken your blood. We’ll complete the union after I’ve introduced you to everyone.”
Terror trembled down his spine, leaving trails of ice. “Touch me again, and I’ll kill you,” Sam growled, meeting Conor’s angry eyes without recoiling. The blood wasn’t permanent, a shifter able to move packs easily enough if the ritual was repeated. But Sam couldn’t think of anything worse than being connected to his father once more, to be able to feel him spiritually. It would be too much, too close to the nightmares he had buried beneath years of fucking therapy.
If it was between completing the union, and death.
Sam knew what he would choose.
Conor’s enraged smile widened, his teeth sharpening as Rachael moaned low in her throat. Without looking away Conor swiped her to the side, his hand grazing her head. “You’re going to regret everything.” His voice could cut glass.
