A Prequel [Book 8] in Her Destiny Series ||| ❝His family was blinded by greed and he lost everything in the crossfire.❞
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Everyone knew his family was a twisted one, they slaughtered packs for power. He was trapped, unable to escape t...
We fall and we fall until there's no reason to get up.
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While his siblings were busy conjuring their poisonous pot of lies with Braxton, he managed to slip away. Like he had always been, all his life, he was a shadow. He always faded into the background, slipping away without a single thought from anyone, and nobody would ever know when he wasn't really there. Always on the outside, he didn't belong, he was just a tool to be used and tossed aside when the desired results are sowed. Like a reaper, he was only meant to take and be stolen from.
He was glad to leave the basement, however, because it brought back horrible, painful memories. He wished he could take the woman with him, take her to the border and let her run free, but he knew she would be dead within a few steps out of that cell. Even in the dead of night, he couldn't help her escape. Hell, he couldn't even escape.
His wolf was restless, practically seething with frustration. They were both trapped. No matter how many times he sat in his room and counted the rounding shadows on the house. No matter how he had mapped out every patrolling Enforcer's step. No matter how often he stood on the border of the pack, contemplating just saying fuck it and sprinting till his heart burst. He couldn't get far, he was like a chained dog, and every time he misbehaved the chain jerked him back. Every time he thought of freedom, the handler's hand grew tight and constricting.
There were eyes on him at every minute of the day. He hardly doubted he was alone at night either. His skin was constantly itching from burning eyes. He had grown uncomfortably aware of his surroundings, no matter the time of day, and that led to very short nights. He hardly felt safe enough to rest. It was like he was walking through hell itself and any lack of attention to detail would end up in his bones rotting in a pit somewhere.
He paused in his step when he went to pass the living room. Even the very walls of this house were haunting and there was darkness crawling over every inch of furniture, in every corner, and he quickly checked his surroundings before approaching his mother. She was seated in the armchair by the window, her blank, dull eyes not even seeing through the weathered and cracked glass.
With an exhausted sigh, he knelt in front of her. He figured it was safe to approach her for a few moments as he couldn't hear anyone else moving in the house. He studied her face, she hadn't even acknowledged his presence. Just an empty shell of a person who once had a soul. Everything had been ripped away from her. Even him, he had been her favorite son, and Braxton had separated them ever since the day he was five.
He had few memories of her and even littler recognition of what it felt like to feel her soft hand against his cheek. He missed his mother's touch. He always would because she was the only person who treated him like a human. He was forced to grow up far too young, he had been thrown into the world of pain before he even had the chance to experience joy.
