The people here suffer far more with their control than what we dealt with in Shadow Ridge, their wolves sinking their claws deeper into their systems.
Finally, the Slaughter house comes into view between the trees. The cabin is set in the center of a small clearing, not big enough to be one of the barracks style we passed, but definitely bigger than three guys need when there are so many people nearby that are struggling. In the distance, I can catch a small glimpse of the lake, and while the grassisa little greener on this side of the territorial divide, I’ve been in the wilderness enough to recognize that there’s still something seriously off about this place. There’s no sound of birds chirping, or anything scurrying through the trees. No signs of tracks besides boots on the exposed patches of dirt. The entire place simply feels like... holding your breath. A place where everyone’s afraid to breathe, knowing one wrong word or exhalation will cause the temporary stasis to shatter.
The front porch is open air, with a wooden railing framing it that’s waist high for most of the people around here, but more likely would reach my rib cage. On it are three men with short-cropped, dark brown hair, and similar enough features to show they’re brothers in blood and not just in name. Two are pacing; the massive beta, and one of the others, and the last is leaning on the railing so completely still, he may as well be made of stone. My mind immediately brings up an image of Emmy’s mate Maddox in comparison. While they aren’t clad in leather jackets, and are at least twenty years older, they could have easily stepped out of the same sort of biker bar I picture Maddox frequenting.
They’re dressed casually in jeans and plain t-shirts of varying colors, but there’s a no-nonsense, dangerous edge that emanates off of them that’s on par with several of my men, and there isn’t a doubt in my mind that the smaller two are both alphas. I hate to admit it, but I see why Damian, Hunter, and Kaige keep their distance. I can completely picture any of these three tearing a path through a swath of men without issue, and posting their corpses on spikes around their property like rotting, human scarecrows.
As we round the trees lining the dirt path leading up to their cabin, the three of them notice us simultaneously. The one leaning on the rail stands abruptly, and those that are pacing stop cold in their tracks. The real kick in the teeth, though? Witnessing the raw pain that transforms their faces into something heart-breaking when they set eyes on me, and it physicallyhurts.
Like Reid, I can typically put myself in other people’s shoes for the sake of understanding, but genuine empathy is a bit harder to accomplish, since I have a tendency to analyze situations more than feel them. Or at least, I used to, before my mates stormed into my life and blew my reality to high Hell. But looking at these three men and seeing the way that simply my face, so much like my mother’s, creates such a visceral reaction that it nearly brings them to their knees?
It’s a knife to the gut that I feel as completely as they do, because everything that’s torturing us is a concept that can’t truly be resolved. Even if things were magically perfect from this moment on, it would do nothing to give any of us back all of the lost time, and ‘what if’s are almost more painful than hope. You can delude yourself into believing that the future holds something better, but no amount of wishing can change the past.
Stopping a few feet shy of their front steps, I swallow uncomfortably. Where does someone evenstartin a situation like this? Say ‘hey, want to make a trip out to the nearest lab for a paternity test?’ Ask if they’re going to attempt to kill all of my mates and lock me in the basement until I give up my mother, then auction me off to the highest bidder?
As quickly as their distraught expressions appeared, they shutter them completely. Glaring first at the guys forming a semi-circle at my back, then at me, the beta demands, “What happened to your leg?”
His harsh tone instantly puts me on the defensive, my retort flying out of my mouth before I can weigh my words for diplomacy like I’d planned. “Zombie. What happened to your face?”
Cerulean eyes narrow on me. “What’s wrong with my face?”
Damian grabs my arm and hisses, “Sabrina!”
Naturally, a series of rumbling warning growls fill the clearing the second he touches me; from the Slaughters as well as my guys. The sound of bags hitting the ground proceeds Bo approaching my other side, preparing to intervene like he promised the last time I started jabbing wolves in the face with a verbal stick, yet I never take my eyes off of the man in front of me.
Unperturbed, I slightly tilt my head, assessing him. For what, though, even I’m not sure, but the action is as natural as breathing. “It doesn’t have a filter.”
Running his tongue over his teeth, he scrubs a hand over his chest and counters, “Looks like we’re on even footing, then.”
Raising an eyebrow, I straighten up. “Not even close, but it’s cute that you think so.”
Damian tugs me back a step and whisper-shouts, “What in the actual fuck are you doing right now?!”
Kaige is there a moment later, smacking Damian upside the head and peeling his fingers off of my arm. “Whatever she wants, idiot, same as any other day.”
I continue to stare down the behemoth in front of me, who’s still rubbing at his chest uncomfortably, now with his brows furrowed. One second turns into ten before he suddenly throws back his head, and laughs. Ignoring Kaige and Bo completely, I’m swiftly enveloped in a bone crushing hug that has my feet coming off of the ground, and several angry shouts until the guys catch on to what’s actually happening.
“You’re nothing like we were expecting,” he declares with a grin before releasing me, but he doesn’t step away despite my men crowding me.
With a wry smile, I point out, “Expectations only lead to disappointment, but since you were likely basing your assumptions off of my mother, I’m happy to disappoint you.”
A thousand questions cross his face, yet he doesn’t voice a single one of them. He simply stares at my face like he can read all of the answers he wants on it, suddenly uneasy again. The brief moment of joy morphs into anxious fear, as if he’s worried that if he blinks for too long, I’ll disappear and this will all have been a cruel dream.
As my stomach flips, I reach behind me without looking, latching onto the first hand that I can find. An onslaught of thoughts are coming quicker than I can process, darting out of my reach before I can make sense of any of them. All I’m left with is the lingering ache of one painful emotion after another, throwing me off-kilter. If I can’t keep a clear head, I might miss a sign of things beginning to go awry, all of us blindsided and stumbling into a trap. I can’t let emotion get in the way of this meeting, because... it doesn’t matter what I want, what any of us want. Facts are facts, and we have to face them whether we like it or not.
Of everything we prepared for, nothing came close tothis,and I need to remind myself that it’s completely possible it’s a manipulation tactic to get us to drop our guard. But it doesn’t feel like it, and I hate how my parental issues have me wanting to throw caution to the wind and latch onto the men attempting to fill the void Noah left behind. That pain on their faces was real, but it could simply be Mom’s ghost haunting them, not actually because ofme.
Slowly, some of the pain subsides into a dull ache as Kaige discreetly uses our connection to siphon from me.Sebastian was rubbing his chest. The flurry of thoughts and emotional onslaught was what I pulled fromhim,not me spiraling.
I have a really shitty grasp on reality since my wolf emerged in all of her blazing glory, feeding me other people’s thoughts and images, making them seem like my own. Ironically enough, that might be a blessing if Mom was right. If Iwasfeeding off of her all of these years, that’s why I could never shake her voice from my head. But now that I’ve completely burned through my reserves, her voice isn’t torturing me like usual.
Maybe I’m not actually as fucked up as I thought I was. I mean, Iam, but in a fun new canine-succubus way instead of a destructive blob of depression. You know; personal growth.
If I can conquer her, then these men should be a walk in the park. So while my guys are always hung up on alliances and treaties, respect and toeing the line, I’m... not. I’m already exhausted by all of the deception and ulterior motives, of playing political games and humoring awful people in the name of maintaining a miserable, tentative peace. I’d rather someone hated me to my face than behind my back. So even though my mates hope I can solve all of their problems, we’ve clearly seen over the course of the last few weeks that all I do is make everything worse, destroying whatever I touch. Rather than shy away from that fact and lament over my cursed fate, I embrace it.
Like Emmy’s final courting dinner, my contribution to pack drama is to escalate whatever situation I’m in until people slip up and reveal their true colors.
After an ungodly long silence, I prompt, “So you would be?” I trail off expectantly, craning my head back to stare him in the face.
