Shielding the Beast (discontinued)

Nineteen | Past

A/N:
Starts off in Asher's point of view.

Enjoy :)

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The ground is wet, soaked and muddy from the storm.

"Everything you have here would be ripped away", Amber's words play through my head like a tape recorder stuck on her beautifully cold voice, "You wouldn't have a pack. You wouldn't have a family. You wouldn't be an Alpha anymore".

What secret could she be hiding? What secret could have that bad of consequences?

Anxious fingers run through my hair. A cool wind blows, chilling my skin to the touch, but not bothering me in the slightest.

"He sounded reasonable this time," I remember Daniel's reassurance.

If he's truly reasonable, then I can find a way to let Amber stay without trouble.

My chest, the place directly over my heart, tingles. Warmth spreads from it, as if her hand were still there, lingering beneath my shirt.

And if he refuses to reason, then I can find a way to have one less problem to deal with.

I follow the scents able to be picked out in the crisp, moist air, guiding myself through the forest I grew up in.

The sky is still dark, and the clouds are still a rolling grey. The wind blows in impulsive thrusts, rustling the leaves overhead and forcing an occasional drop to land on my shoulders.

In the distance, through the trunks of trees, I catch movement, the scent of my father getting stronger the further I walk.

My claws flex at my sides, renewed irritation already burning inside me with just the thought of talking to the man again.

A deadbeat. A deadbeat who's still celebrated and respected because they don't know the truth behind him.

Before walking into the small clearing that acts as our burial grounds, I stop to take a breath. I close my eyes tightly, keeping the unusual golden color from overtaking. My hands clench into fists, the trivial pain in my palms slowly disappearing as my claws turn back into fingernails and the small wounds heal.

I stride up from behind my father, who intently watches straight ahead, his hands clasped together behind his back. As I come to stand beside him, a sense of solemnness is thick in the air.

"What do you want?" My tone isn't to the point of steely, but it's far from being warm.

In front of us, a large chestnut stained coffin is being lowered into the ground by four pack members, all of which I know to be Jack's closest family and friends.

"I raised you with manners," my father says without a trace of emotion, "Your mate may be one, but you're not a savage."

My knuckles turn white as my fists shake in controlling anger. My jaw clenches, and I refuse to let him get under my skin. If with one simple statement he can decide my emotions, then he has too much control over me. And that's something I won't let continue; being controlled.

I keep my unfocused gaze on the men as they throw dirt in the hole, metal shovels held in their mud-smeared hands.

"Did you want to talk to me, or did you just want to continue talking shit about the new Luna of this pack?"