Page 2 of Bound to the Beast

Grace Thatcher

I hit send, feeling a mix of hope and apprehension. As I wait for a response, I can’t help but glance around the empty newsroom. The monitors cast their ghostly glow, and the silence feels almost oppressive. I lean back in my chair, my thoughts a whirlwind of possibilities and fears.

The truth is out there, and with every piece of evidence, I’m one step closer to uncovering it. It’s something I can’t let go. Not until I’ve gathered enough evidence to prove that what I saw wasn’t just a figment of my imagination. I just hope I’m ready for what I might find.

The sound of a creaking floorboard snaps me out of my thoughts. I turn sharply, my heart racing. Standing behind me, peering over my shoulder, is Adam Straker. His polished appearance is as immaculate as always, his dark hair perfectly styled, but it’s the smug look on his face that sets my teeth on edge.

“Interesting research you’ve got there, Grace,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He leans closer, his green eyes narrowing as he takes in the scattered papers. “Cryptids and monster wolves? I thought you were smarter than this.”

I clench my jaw, anger bubbling up inside me. “What do you want, Adam?”

He straightens, a sneer playing on his lips. “Just making sure you’re not wasting company time on fantasies. But hey, if you want to chase fairy tales, be my guest.” He chuckles, the sound grating against my nerves, and turns to leave. “Good luck with your wild goose chase,” he calls over his shoulder as he walks away, sniggering.

I slump back in my chair, the anger quickly giving way to doubt. What if he’s right? What if I’m chasing shadows, letting my past cloud my judgment? But then I remember Becky’s eyes, wide with terror, and the determination surges back. I can’t give up. Not yet. Not until I’ve investigated this as far as I can.

I gather the papers, organizing them into a semblance of order. The newsroom around me feels even darker, the only light coming from my monitor. I take a deep breath, pushing aside the fear and the doubt. I owe it to Becky to find the truth, no matter how elusive it may be.

With renewed determination, I return to my research, my fingers flying over the keyboard as I search for more clues. The flickering light of the monitors casts long shadows, and for a moment, I can almost believe I’m not alone. But I shake off the feeling, focusing instead on the task at hand. The truth is out there, hidden in the shadows, and I’m going to find it.

2

ETHAN

Irelease a mighty grunt as I swing the hefty ax in a wide arc across my shoulders.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Parts of the trunk splinter away from the enormous oak. Normally, I would use a chainsaw to perform this job, but today, my feral nature is fighting its way to the forefront. I’m not feeling particularly inclined to rein it in.

My earmuffs hang crookedly on my neck, my chainsaw piled on top of my heavy jacket a few feet away. The company has been more concerned about safety on the job lately. Felling trees isn’t for the faint of heart. I can feel the men’s stares almost penetrating the back of my neck. There are a few fellow shifters on my crew, and I know they’re whispering about what I’m doing. Secrecy is the norm for our kind. Discovery is risky, and it can put everyone at risk.

Manually chopping trees down is almost never done nowadays. It takes too long and uses up too much strength. My shifter side has that aplenty. I could chop up this whole forest if I allowed myself.

But what I’m doing is risky. Chopping trees at this pace is almost unheard of for humans. The temptation to give in to my feral side is getting stronger every day. The instinct comes in waves – with some instances stronger than others.

Finally, after an hour, most of the tree lay in a pile of small logs by my feet. I’m releasing heavy huffs of breath from my exertions. Walking over to retrieve my belongings, I release a loud whistle to catch one of the collector’s attention. I could use my radio, but he was already passing by, so why not?

He gives me a thumbs up, and I turn back to what I’m doing.

The jacket is a solid weight against my shoulder. Made of heavy-duty nylon, it traps the heat in my neck and makes me sweat even more. I clasp my now-blunt axe loosely along my side as I walk back toward the middle of the base.

As I’m filling my water bottle before tackling the next tree I’m assigned, I feel a firm hand clasp me on the shoulder.

Turning, I spy Hutch, a fellow woodcutter. Older than most of us by many years, Hutch lied about his age and started felling trees when he was a mere boy. Looking at us standing shoulder to shoulder, one would think we were related. We both have broad muscular shoulders, thick legs, and muscled torsos.

“Ethan, you probably don’t want advice from an old cuss like me,” he starts in his rumbly voice. “But take care not to call too much attention to yourself.”

“Oh, you mean it’s not my good looks that’s drawing their stares?” I joke, swiping a sweaty arm across my forehead and pushing back my dark hair.

He lets out a chuckle. He’s been on me to get married for the past year or so, ever since my feral side has started rearing its ugly head. His wife has tried setting me up with a few of her co-workers, to no avail.

“Just be careful. Perhaps, chop a tree farther away where no one can see… And get hurt,” Hutch says before giving me one last squeeze on the shoulder.

Hutch’s words linger in my mind as I walk back to the next tree I’m assigned to. His concern is valid, but it’s hard to ignore the pull, the constant battle within me. ‘The Reckoning,’ they call it. It’s the age where shifters are forced to choose – give in to the feral side or find a balance.

I’ve always been a bit of a loner, and that’s made the feral instincts come on much stronger for me.

I grip the axe tighter, feeling the weight of it in my hand. I’ve never fully embraced my shifter bloodline, but I don’t outright deny it, either. It’s just how I was born. The pack sees the potential in me, the makings of an Alpha, but I’m content being left alone rather than leading.

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