The Abused Mate (Revised)

Chapter One - Logan

Thunder boomed twenty miles away from where I was standing. The deafening sound echoed within the cavity of my ear, hurting my sensitive hearing. That was the only reason I envied humans: they didn't hear everything for miles around. Though, I will admit my advanced hearing had helped me on many occasions, this was just the one day of the year that I didn't want to hear a thing.

I could smell the rain more and more each second as the sky gradually darkened around us. I knew we only had mere minutes before the full power of the storm would finally close in around us. It was almost as if the Gods were trying to emphasize the gloominess of this already melancholy day, I thought, bitterly glaring up at the thunderheads that I could swear were circling directly above my head.

Looking back down, I glanced around at everything that sat at eye level. I couldn't help but sardonically smile as my gaze settled on my uncle and the three red roses he cradled in his arms like he would a precious child. Those roses were the only source of color for miles around; everything else was gray in the shadows of the oncoming rain. It was almost ironic. Everything seemed to mirror my feelings.

The wind picked up, tugging at my loose-fitting dress shirt, and the temperature suddenly plummetted. We needed to hurry, before the storm closed in and became too troublesome. I couldn't think about that right now, though. There were much more important things to think about at this particular second. This had to be done right.

My uncle stood three feet in front of me. He was dressed in his gray suit and black tie; his usually unruly brown hair had been combed into submission. It was his usual appearance on this day; the only day either of us ever dressed up besides pack meetings.

I nodded curtly at him, my head bowed as he strode toward the crumbling stone, which was just to my left. Only five years had passed since the attack and already it was crumbling to pieces. I smiled mirthlessly. It was almost as if the stone was trying to personify how I was dealing with life now that he was gone. Watching carefully, it wasn't hard to spot the stray drops of salty water falling from my uncle's eyes as he dropped the three roses in front of the tombstone, one by one. I locked my gaze on the faded engraving on the stone's face. It read:

Here Lies Oliver Paxton,

Beloved Husband and Father.

July 5, 1971 - December 31

My uncle shifted, the sound of ripping clothing echoing throughout the otherwise silent country side. Once he was on all fours, his brown fur, the same color as his hair, stood on end and he howled so loudly that I thought my eardrums were going to burst. It was possibly the most heartbreaking sound I'd heard in my entire life.

I felt that this was too intimate of a moment for anyone's eyes to be on the poor man. I tried to tear my eyes away from him, but I just couldn't seem to. Tears welled in my eyes as my uncle's howl continued. It was as if I could feel his pain just as strongly as I felt my own. Finally, I managed to tear my gaze away from him and once again I was staring at my father's tombstone.

It had really been five years. God, I missed him. It felt like he'd been gone for decades. It was more likely that I had aged decades just in five years, I thought bitterly. I loved my father and still did. However, I was only seventeen at the time of his death. I hadn't even graduated high school and the responsibilities of the pack were thrust upon my shoulders.

My uncle's howl finally died down. Glancing over, I witnessed him crawl over and lay directly in front of the headstone. It was then that I forced myself to approach him. In three strides I was standing in front of his wolf form.

Looking from my uncle to my father's headstone, I couldn't take it anymore. My grief overwhelmed me and I dropped to my knees, allowing my wolf to take over. The shifting and breaking of my bones and skin was no longer painful; for that, I was grateful. I couldn't take any more pain on this day.