Page 121 of Her Feral Beasts

Savage

Ten years ago

I’m thirteen when women start to call out to me at my fights like they do Scythe. I’m strong and tall, ripped from fighting, and Dad takes me to the barber to have my hair done all nice. They make comments about my body at the fights, and one day Dad starts to look at me with a weird thinking sparkle in his eye.

We get home from training one day and Dad says, “Are you still a virgin, Savage?”

I look up at him because it’s the first time he’s used my name and not ‘pup’. But also, what the hell?

“Yeah?” I say. “Scythe said I should wait until I’m at least twenty, so I don’t hurt the other person by accident.”

Dad shoots a lethal look at Scythe and I know he’ll be in trouble for my stupid mouth. I punch myself in the head, but Dad seizes my arm when I go for the second punch. “Stop that. You’ll make yourself even more stupid.”

I drop my arm.

“You want to though, I bet?” Dad says, intently looking me up and down. “You want to fuck someone?”

My face goes hot and I shrug. “Yeah, I suppose. One day.”

“You like any of the girls at school?”

I look up at Dad because this conversation is weird and Scythe is standing by my side, all stiff like he’s ready for a fight. But that doesn’t make sense because Dad beats me all the time. But he’s never used this voice on me either. I’m automatically suspicious and glance at my brother, only to find him as white as a ghost.

“What’s this about, Dad?” I ask.

“Don’t ask questions,” he snarls, shoving my face down to make me submit. Then he pulls something out of his pocket. “You know what this is?” It’s a small blue plastic square and heat fills my face because Scythe’s told me about it.

“Yeah,” I mumble. A cold draft wafts from Scythe and I know he’s super mad about something, but I can’t fucking tell what.

“What’s it called, Savage?” Dad’s voice is dead serious and I know he’s losing patience with me.

“A condom.”

I’m more than aware of mom on the couch and Lily sitting in her cage in the living room behind me. But all Dad says is, “You know how to use it?”

“Yeah,” I mumble.

“Good. Get out.” He turns away from us and reaches for the phone.

As we leave, my mum says in the slurred voice she has when she’s shooting up, “How much more will we make?”

It hurts because my mum is always asking about how much money I make and not how much I bleed. Sometimes she calls Scythe to her bedroom, but she never calls me in there. I’m jealous of that and I shoot an angry glare at him. I don’t really hate him, but I now know my mom definitely loves him more than me. Dad is trying to make another baby with Lily, but it’s not working. I tried to tell him that they need to feed her more, but it only landed me a jab to the windpipe. Lily has stopped talking at all now. She mostly just sleeps and blubbers. Scythe cleans out her cage and holds her after dad is done with her, but the last time he did that, she almost clawed his eyes out.

I think she thought he was going to hurt her. I snuck her a chocolate after that, but she didn’t eat it.

As we walk out of the living room, Scythe grips my arm and I whirl to look at him, about to tell him to fuck off or I’ll break his arm. But I can’t because the pure terror on his face stops me dead. He’s so white hecouldbe dead except for the way he’s shaking. His blue eyes are wide and his hand on mine is so fucking cold it’s burning me.

“Sy?” I whisper, wondering if he’s turning out to be mad like his mum. He’s always been scared of that.

His eyes never leave me when he says, “I’mnotgoing to let them.”

Our parents’ screams pierce the night, hitting me right between the eyes. But the sound is sweet music. The other wolves in our street run out of their houses to stare at our blazing house and the thick black smoke that fills the black sky.

Scythe walks out of the blaze, his bare skin covered head to toe in ash, his clothes burned away.

He coughs and it’s a rough sound like a saw on wood. I rush forwards and yank him by the arm so we can get out of here, but he places a sooty hand over mine and his grip is like steel. He wants to stay. He wants to feel their pain, their suffering. And so, I sit with him on the sidewalk and with his arm around me, we watch our dad and my mum go to hell.

When the screams stop and the wail of sirens replace it, we walk away from the house together. Scythe, with the wad of cash he’s been saving—tips from the people he callsclients. Me? I walk away with knowledge that sits like a curse at the front of my mind, because Scythe told me everything our dad let strangers do to him since he was eight.

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