He frowned, then held up his hands with all ten fingers spread, then added two more fingers.
"Since you were twelve?" I clarified.
He nodded.
"And your parents... were they shifters too?"
The question seemed to confuse him. After a moment, he shook his head.
"They were human?" I pressed. "Did they know what you were?"
His face darkened, and he nodded once. Then he made a gesture like he was pushing something away.
"They kicked you out when they found out," I guessed, my voice hardening despite my efforts to keep it neutral.
Liam nodded, his eyes dropping to the floor.
"And that's when you were seven?" I asked, piecing together his earlier gestures.
Another nod.
The rage that bubbled up inside me was so fierce I had to close my eyes for a moment to contain it. Seven years old. A fucking child, tossed out like garbage because he was different.
Were his parents even his biological parents? Or had they adopted him, only to discard him when they discovered what he really was?
"Were you adopted?" I asked, opening my eyes again.
Liam shrugged, then nodded hesitantly. Not certain, then, but he suspected as much.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the bear that wanted to hunt down these people and make them pay for what they'd done. The reasonable part of me knew that Liam's parents had likely been frightened humans encountering something they couldn't understand.
But the protective part of me—the part now fiercely attuned to this skinny kid with the haunted eyes—wanted blood.
"Okay," I said, focusing on the immediate need. "I'm going to explain some basics about shifters. Stop me if anything doesn't make sense."
He nodded, his attention fully on me now.
"First rule of shifter society: we keep ourselves secret from humans. There are exceptions—like Henry, who's mated to Gunner—but in general, humans don't know we exist, and we like to keep it that way."
I watched his face for signs of confusion, but he seemed to understand this principle well enough. After fifteen years of hiding, he'd clearly figured that part out on his own.
"Most shifters live in groups with others of their kind," I continued. "Bear shifters like me live in clans or dens. Lynx shifters like you would typically have their own communities, though they tend to be smaller and more spread out."
Liam tilted his head, listening intently.
"Each group has its own territory, its own rules. Some are very traditional—strict hierarchies, rigid customs. Others, like our MC, are more modern. We accept different types of shifters, focus more on chosen family than bloodlines."
I paused, taking another deep breath before continuing to the more complicated parts.
"Shifters who live outside established groups are called rogues. Some choose that path, preferring solitude. Others are forced into it through circumstances." Like being abandoned as a child, I didn't add. "Rogues aren't necessarily bad, but they can be dangerous if they're unstable. If they expose our secret or hurt others."
Liam's eyes narrowed slightly, his body tensing again.
"When rogues become a threat to the wider shifter community, they sometimes have to be... eliminated." I winced internally at the clinical term, but there was no gentle way to describe what happened to dangerous rogues.
The effect was immediate. All color drained from Liam's face, and he shifted his weight, preparing to flee. I realized with a sickening jolt what he must be thinking—that he was a rogue, that we might consider him a threat.
"No, no," I hurried to clarify, raising my hands in a placating gesture. "Not you. You've done nothing wrong, Liam. You've survived. That's all. You're not dangerous—you're just a kid who had to figure things out on your own."
