His Claim

1

My heart pounded with each passing moment. I had almost healed from the last time I tried to protect them. I looked around the all too familiar room, the red walls caving in around me. I started to get a light sweat as the hair on the back of my neck prickled. It would have been a beautiful room if it wasn't for all the dark memories it held. I had put on the most recent gift, a  nightgown, Marcel had bought for me. It was black with purple flowers embroidered on it, it was perfect. I had hoped wearing it would make him go easy on me.

"My rose!" his chilling voice rang out as the door opened. My body instantly began to tremble and I felt my chest drop.

"Marcel," I whispered and smiled softly. I feign happiness even though I was so far from that.

"I heard you were...argumentative today?" he came over to me slowly. His eyes made me feel like a ship at sea. Where the sky was dark and the waves crashed unforgivingly around me, smothering me, drowning me. I flinched as he placed a hand on my cheek.

"Jeremy was being too rough on the kids my love. They are still so-" I cried out as his hand came down harshly on my cheek.

"You spoil the brats! I spoil you," he grips my chin tightly, "Maybe too much so." He leans forward kissing my lips softly. "Am I too kind?"

I cried out as he knocked my feet from under me. Before I even collided with the floor his leg had kicked into my side throwing me back against the wall. I coughed as I tasted bile in my throat. He lifted me by the collar of my dress sending another painful slap across my face.

"I love the color you get," he coos. Its as if lightning now strikes my boat causing the wood to burst into flames. I groaned as he then assaulted my side with multiple kicks.

My mind wandered as the pain got to a point where I was just numb.

"Remember I am just making you stronger" his words echoed in my head.

-

I was six when my mother told me the story of what we truly were. We are werewolves, a proud group of people that lived in the forest and turned into a beast in less than a heartbeat. I had always known I wasn't human. I shared my mother's bright yellow wolf eyes. Eyes that remained unchanged even when we were in human form. My mother told me she was a descendant from a strong line of she-wolves. We had a power beyond normal wolves, a power to connect to minds. I can still remember her face as she told me of our family history, war stories and celebrations. She explained the hierarchy of the packs and how life was lived in one. Her eyes always glowed brighter when she was having intense emotions. She held her forehead to mine images flashing in my head of groups of wolves, her hunting.

I remember feeling my heart flutter from the emotions she poured into mine. There was an image that shone brightly to me, it was her and dad standing on top of a cliff. There was a wild look to them, they were young. Her long black hair flowed with trees and the grass. My dad stood stoic like the boulders at the base of the cliff. Their eyes held such admiration for each other. A look that never faded.

"The power we hold my little spit fire...it can be a blessing. We can help the hurt, bring strength to bonds, but it can be extremely dangerous. When you are messing with a mind it is very easy to break it, to bruise it," she told me.

At that moment my dad walked in. He was a tall thin man, but he still had a layer of lean muscle. His eyes always got brighter at the sight of us, I don't know why but I would sometimes catch him with such a somber expression.

"My two beautiful ladies," he always called us before pulling us together into a bear hug.

"Daddy what about your pack?" I asked and that somber look returned to his face. I could feel the guilt coming off of him in waves. There was another feeling that I hadn't felt but it shook me to the core.

"My pack was not like your mother's spit fire. There is a reason we live as rogues in the city instead of in the forest. Here we will have a wonderful life. As a family," he said as my mother ruffled his hair. The emotions he was feeling subsided replaced with a warmth my mom placed in him. He sighed resting his head on her stomach as he pulled me into him. I was always in awe of their relationship. My father spoiled my mother and I, with gifts and flowers. We were everything to him and he reminded us of that constantly. Whenever we were together we let our minds mingle and connect. It brought us together in a whole different type of way. It is where I felt the safest.

From then on I trained with mom, learning to control my power. It was hard at times, emotions could make my sporadic, I could lose control if I didn't maintain a calm demeanor. Living among humans made things more complicated since humans broadcasted their emotions so loudly. Thankfully, my mom was a great teacher.

A few years later my mom got pregnant. She died giving birth to Asher.

In the last moment of her life my mother was able to help me possess a will that would strengthen me through her loss. The understanding of death. She showed me all the beautiful moments in her life. Even as the light from her eyes faded she held a smile on her lips.

I understood later why she did this. The emotions my father experienced would have torn me apart. His mind fell into a world of chaos and destruction, those feelings seeped from his skin in a black smoke. Sometimes I couldn't even see him, I didn't know if he was still there. He would go days without coming home. When he did he would be bruised and bloodied. I understood he would hang with the other rogues in the city. I didn't know what they did at the time, but the wild look in my fathers eyes terrified me.

He still held love for me, at the sight of me his body would relax. He still called me spit fire. However, he did not look at my brother. I knew he felt as if it was his fault. Asher had been a weak baby and he drained my mothers energy. Or so my dad thought. It was a lot of hard work looking after Asher by myself. I was constantly worried he would die, he was so frail.

But I did my best. Filling his head with images and stories of our mom, images of when our father was kind and loving. I thought showing him good memories of our father wouldn't hate him so much. As the years rolled on my father became more and more of a stranger. My mothers death had broken him in a way that I was unable to mend. When I tried I felt overwhelmed almost as if I would drown. He became violent especially towards Asher. Every mistake he would strike him, anything he did earned him punishment.

I didn't know what to do. I felt trapped. They say between a rock and a hard place. All I could do was try to spare my brother taking on the beatings myself. An act that seemed to drive my father worse into the abyss. He would start hitting me then stop and call my mothers name. Cradling me against him as he sobbed and apologized.

Asher did not talk often, just in my head. I rarely heard his real voice. He was constantly sick, and my fathers beatings only worsened his health. Asher might have been young but he was good at shielding his mind from me. Especially when it came to the dark and cruel things my father said to him. It was breaking me. My power felt worthless and I was failing my mom.

When I was 15 that's when he came.