Page 8 of Brutal Alpha Bully
Not likely. With only a little money and nowhere to say, it would make more sense to head east. Maybe to the Midwest. We could settle in Nebraska, or Iowa. Somewhere with a low cost of living. Find a little town where I can go back to doing laundry and making a decent paycheck. Somewhere my father and brother would never want to follow.
Without the weight of our family name, Nora could go to middle school and then high school. I picture her going to prom, smiling up at me as I take pictures of her and her date.
Then the daydream comes crashing down when I feel the pinch and pull of magic at my stomach. Someone is nearing the car. Nearing Nora.
“Mom—” I stand up, start to tell her that I’m going and will have to come back later, but then the front door slams open, and without looking, I know that my brother is here.
“Seraphina,” Lucian says, drawing out my name like he used to when we were kids, a stupid little smile on his face as he leans against the door, which looks like it might fall right off the hinges from too many times of being kicked open.
But I’m not paying attention to him—someone is getting close enough to the car that my ward around Nora is going crazy. If I focused on myself, I might be able to turn and run out the back door, use my magic to keep him away until I could lose him.
Of course I don’t. There’s only enough for me or her.
And I will always choose her.
Focusing all my energy on Nora, I locate her, surround her with protective energy, and throw my weight into moving her far, far away from here. I know she will land without injuryand in a safe place. I will just have to retrieve her later, using my magic to find her again.
When I come out of the haze, Lucian is snarling, his hands landing on my shoulders as he jerks me roughly to him. Mom appears in the doorway, gasping, her hand coming to her mouth.
But, like always, she says nothing to stop him.
“Really, sis?” Lucian hisses into my ear. “You’re going to do that shit right in front of me? You know what it means. Time for apunishment.”
Fear rolls through me at the sound of that word—a callback to our childhood, when it meant he would hold me down in the dirt, tie me to a tree, and leave me there. Then he’d force me to eat something wriggling and alive while I gagged and choked, trying to scream around the feeling of it in my mouth.
As he slaps a hand over my face and starts to drag me from the room, I get the feeling that this time, the punishment is going to be much, much worse.
Chapter 5 - Xeran
The drive into Silverville is picturesque. There are a lot of things to complain about when it comes to this place—its current leader one of the primary ones—but the beauty of the place is not one of them.
Nestled in the Rocky Mountains, the drive up is just next to Silverville Creek, which trickles merrily outside my window. Sometimes on the left, and sometimes crossing over to the right side.
The air still carries that hint of daemon fire—unidentifiable to humans, but pungent to shifters and other supernaturals who possess a strong sense of smell. According to the newspaper I picked up on the way here, the fire happened several days ago. But the reek lingers, and occasionally I catch a charred branch or log floating in the creek.
Halfway up the mountain, I stop at a little diner that practically hangs off the cliff for a sandwich. I catch a couple of guys in the back eyeing me, the scowls on their faces only deepening the longer I stay.
When they leave, I catch Declan’s scent on them.
Of course. Not even in town yet, and I’m already worried about my damn uncle. Those goons are definitely running straight to him. They’ll cook up some story about how I’m back to take his spot, and I’ll have to diffuse things.
Sure enough, the second I pull into a spot at the only gas station in town forty minutes later, the lot fills with the roaring, echoing sound of engine growls.
I turn around and watch as a large black SUV, two motorcycles, and a sleek black car pull into the lot. Dallas andTanner are on the bikes, Farris flies out of the car, and a moment later, the SUV’s door opens. Declan steps out, his arms outstretched like he’s going to come in for a hug.
I glance backward at my truck, a 1978 Chevy C10 Silverado. I bought it a breath away from the junkyard and restored it on my days off from the station. It’s a burnt red color—as close to the original paint as I could get it—and it glitters in the sun. Our vehicle choices couldn’t be further apart, and only a small section of my brain wants to laugh at the fact that they’ve chosen all black like they’re escorting the president or something.
Dallas swings his leg to stand up and get off his bike. It’s some sort of classic Harley, the kind I’ve always thought makes the rider look a little silly with its handles up so high, like a massive trike.
Tanner doesn’t even bother to get off his crotch rocket, surely something Japanese and likely ordered from a limited-edition batch. Instead, he just stands there, straddled over it, his gaze going unfocused in the distance.
“Xer-an,” Declan says, a wide, fake smile plastered over his face like a plastic surgeon remodeled him that way. He presses the tips of his fingers together like a cult leader, eyes focused on me. “My nephew.”
“Calm the fuck down, Declan,” I say, turning and crossing my arms, leaning against my truck. Everything in me—more specifically, mywolf—bucks against the sight of him.
When I think back to the way he looked at Seraphina, the way hetalkedto her, I want to rip his fucking throat from his neck. I want to scatter his parts over this lot and grind his guts into the gravel with the sole of my boot.
My vitriol for my brothers is less intense, but still there, simmering.
