Page 42 of Taming Raptor

His head ducked and snaked before he fluffed his feathers. My chest seized for the boy who had no idea what he was doing and probably had no insight on how to process what was happening to himself. He certainly couldn’t teach his brother as he was muddling through the best he could. It was a frightening enough experience with preparation and support. Imagining him going through this alone made me want to throttle his mother. Did she think if she didn’t tell him what he was that he wouldn’t go through his first molt?

“Do you ever visit your mother’s family?”

“No.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“So, no one prepared you for this. Christ, I bet that was terrifying for you.”

“Yeah, and I ruined a lot of clothes at first,” he mumbled as his body rocked nervously, mouth open and panting. The boy was stressed.

“Can you make a rapid transition to human yet?” I asked, though I knew the answer.

“Sort of.” He dropped his head. “Not really.”

“Shit, okay… I want you to try, but when you do, I want you to visualize yourself as a human—imagine it in detail. See yourself head to toe, bone by bone. Breathe deep and slow. Concentrate.”

With a bob of his head, he reversed the process, though the transition back wasn’t as smooth. The thought of him getting stuck as a hawk or making it halfway through a transition had anger brewing in me. He should’ve been warned and coached. As usual, Falina only thought of herself.

And Evan—I should’ve fucking killed him. Both for his betrayal and his neglect of his children.

I should’ve fought her for custody, despite what the paternity test results I received indicated. Except I was young, hurt, irrational, and angry. Then again, at the time I never imagined it would be someone from my own family that she’d been having an affair with. Regret was a bitter pill to swallow and “should haves” could drown a man.

After I transitioned back, I dressed, then sat to pull my boots on.

“Have a seat,” I muttered.

He did as he was told, with much less hostility than he’d exhibited earlier.

“Your brother… does he remember me at all?” Sam was almost five the last time I saw him, and Seth was only three. How much could a three-year-old possibly remember. Surely, Sam didn’t believe that Seth could possibly trust me or want to be near me long enough to learn—whether the boy believed I was his father, or not.

“I found you and Mom’s photo album when we moved the second time. I hid it from Mom because I was afraid she’d throw it out. He and I would look at it at when Mom wasn’t around. I made up stories about you for him. They were bullshit, but he didn’t know that. Except he’s old enough now, that he has questions—and some understandable resentment.” Sam shrugged like what he’d done was no big deal, but it showed that he loved his brother very much.

“Shit,” I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. Like being on the ranch, thinking about the photo album brought back a lot of memories. Those were better times. Back when I still believed that they were my children and that the sanctity of marriage meant something. I was a fucking idiot.

“What did your mother tell you about me?”

“That you didn’t want to be bothered by us anymore.”

“Jesus,” I muttered as I closed my eyes to gain control of my anger. It wouldn’t be right for me to make a seventeen-year-old boy deal with my anger. Especially not when he lived his life thinking I didn’t want him. Nor would it be right to talk shit about his mother. It wasn’t fair to put more on him.

“Then why do you think your brother would be willing to let me say two words to him?”

“I told him Mom lied. I told him you were actually in prison, and we couldn’t visit you until we were eighteen,” he mumbled and at first I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly.

“You what?” My jaw dropped. “What the hell were you going to tell him after he turned eighteen?”

“I hadn’t decided. I figured I had another few years to figure that out.” He shrugged.

I damn near fell out of my chair. What a fucked up situation.

“Have you told your brother about this?” I motioned to where we’d sat on the floor. “Does he have any idea?”

“No. I didn’t know what to tell him. He’s gonna flip the fuck out,” Sam replied.

“Language,” I warned. Then I wanted to laugh despite the situation because I sounded like Madame Laveaux.

He huffed.

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