The Uncontrollable: Bloodlines

PROLOGUE

Sam

~ Eleven Years Ago ~

I ran through the woods as quickly as my legs would allow me to, wishing the shift would happen already. After all, four legs were better than two. I knew it would be another three years before I was of age, but tonight had cut it pretty close and I knew that if I had to suffer through another drunken night like tonight, I wouldn't make it to my first shift. I had been lucky to make it to my tenth birthday last week.

The back of my head felt as if it were on fire, causing a pounding headache. I brought my fingertips to the spot where it ached the most, taking in a sharp breath. I felt it before I saw it but even still, my stomach twisted at the sight of the blood on my fingers. I whimpered at the memory of the whiskey glass that had caused the injury. I pushed forward through the woods. The moonlight coming through the trees lit the way to the shack. The only place I felt completely safe from the angry drunk side of my father. There was no reasoning with him when he was in this state.

The shack stood concealed in moss and vines, blending in with its surroundings. It appeared as though the shack had chosen a life of solitude. To be forever hidden from the world, surrounded by a crowd of trees with the same moss and vines. It lived the life, I could only dream of. It didn't look like much, but Octavia had been right the day she revealed it to me, no one found me there. I'd promised myself I would thank her for the sanctuary the next time I saw her.

I rushed inside the small shack, giving it a quick once over to make sure nothing had been disturbed since I had last been there. Even if someone had come across it, there wouldn't be anything of real interest to them. All I had were a sleeping bag, a few blankets, some lanterns, and a bunch of books. It wasn't the coziest place to sleep, cold, a little damp, and didn't have a lot of natural light, but I still slept better here than in my own bed. The last time I ever felt safe at home was before my mother died. She was the complete opposite of my father; beautiful, extremely kind and soft-spoken. I used to call her an angel. Of course, now I choose to believe that she officially is one. I hoped she watched over me and often I thought she was the reason I'd survived this long.

I turned on the lanterns, grabbed the smallest blanket I could find, and sat on my sleeping bag, hugging my knees with one arm. With the other, I pressed the blanket to my wounded head. It stung, and I felt a little dizzy, but I knew I'd heal fast. It's in my blood. I'd be okay as long as no one bothered me for the rest of the night. I'd stay here as long as it took for my father to sober up. I hadn't meant to upset him, but his patience seemed to be wearing thin with every passing day.

The sound of a twig snapping pulled me out of my thoughts. It came from outside the shack. I froze, still as a statue with my eyes glued to the door. My thoughts ran rampant. Octavia had been wrong. Did he follow me? Had he come to kill me? Would anyone even notice my absence if he did? my lower lip began to tremble as I heard the shuffling of leaves grow closer and closer until it stopped outside the door.

Would he really kill me?

I couldn't help but wonder if there was a limit to how far my father would go. I didn't know why he saw me as such a disappointment. But I'd gladly promise to stay out of the way if that's all that he wanted. I hoped my older brother Nate wasn't too far behind him. Nate's the only one who could stop my father when things went too far.

"Please, don't hurt me anymore," I begged, in a soft whimper.

The door to the shack began to slowly creak open and I wished I had thought of a way to block it off. I prepared myself for whatever state my father would be in when he came through those door. I wouldn't beg or grovel, my father detested that, it only agitated him more. I'd take whatever was coming, as a man. Like he always told me to, or at least I'd try. I wasn't sure how much more I could take at this point. The glass he'd thrown at my head a while earlier, had almost immediately rendered me unconscious.