Page 16 of Harley & Her Ferals

I pretend to believe it for Feral’s sake, even though we both know that my brother has never even been able to protect himself from Dad.

What happens over our rare breakfasts and dinners with Dad, however, are a secret that us three siblings have jointly guarded our entire lives.

I meet Lionzio’s eyes, recognizing the gratitude there that I haven’t spilled our family secrets to Feral.

I recognize the flush of shame as well.

He doesn’t have anything to be ashamed of —Dad does.

Reluctantly, Feral turns to me, nuzzling and licking my neck. Then he carefully tucks the paper rose more firmly behind my ear. It’s been crushed in ourplayfight,but Feral brings it back to life with his nimble fingers.

I smile. “Thanks, Fer. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Be careful.”

I know what he means.

Don Battle is not only my dad and Head Alpha but also the leader of the entire Alpha Underworld.

His word is law.

He’s a brilliant showman but also a volatile, violent narcissist.

I’ve been playing the game of survival in this pack successfully my entire life.

Yet every encounter with my dad is like playing Russian roulette.

I nod.

Feral slowly moves to the back of the cage.

When Lionzio swings open the cage, I scramble out of it.

Immediately, Lionzio slams the door shut and clicks the padlock back on.

My muscles ache. I wince, shaking out my arms and legs.

This brief freedom is only an illusion. The entire Underworld is a cage for all of us.

My Omega Mom, Bea, was kind and the type of sweet that my sister only pretends to be.

I remember the way that Mom was always smiling, even when I knew in my young heart that she was sad most of the time.

Mom is the only person, apart from Feral and River, who has unconditionally loved me for who I am and not who others want me to be.

Mom and I would lie together in her nest, while I snuggled her, excitedly laying my hand on her stomach and feeling the hard kicks of my baby sister.

I felt loved and cherished.

I couldn’t wait to play with a little sister.

How wrong could I have been?

The best memory I have before her death, however, is of her reading me bedtime stories, which she would change to give Omega heroines the starring roles.

Yet after her death, Dad took over her role. Then there was no more unconditional love or acceptance. Worse, the bedtime stories were dark and terrible, leaving me shivering with nightmares.

Dad would lean over me, while I shook under the blankets, wishing with all my heart that Mom would somehow appear, as if the last few years had been nothing but a cruel prank…not real.

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