Knot His Beast

Chapter 1

Octavian

I never understood what my grandmother meant when she called me an old soul. Not until now, anyway.

An old soul in a young body, wandering around, looking for purpose in a world I wasn’t made for. A world that wasn’t really ready for me.

It sounded like bullshit the first time she said it to me, and it still did the last time.

“I still think you’re crazy,” I whisper to her as I get to my knees. “I guess now, I can see that I’m the same kind of crazy.”

Lifting the lid off the coffee can, I set it aside then slip my hand into my pocket and pull out the crumpled bills.

I straighten them out and fold them into three before tucking them into the can with the rest. It’s finally starting to get full.

It took months of hiding it but I’m finally starting to see how worth it that was.

I replace the lid and look around, making sure no one is watching, then take a deep breath and shove my fingers into the loose dirt at my feet.

I hold my breath as I dig down deeper than before, the tiny grains scraping under my nails and pushing into my cuticles.

I gag as a worm slips through my fingers but keep going until I’m satisfied my hard earned money will be safe and when I am, I shove the canister into the hole and bury it as quickly as possible.

“Definitely the same kind of crazy,” I say with a small chuckle as I get to my feet. I pick up my backpack and sling it over my shoulder then reach down to brush the dirt from my jeans.

“I don’t think this world was ready for either of us, Gran.” Adjusting the bag, I grip the straps tightly as I sigh. “You’re the lucky one.”

I reach out and pick a few leaves off the top of the cold granite then bend to brush the fresh grass clippings off the base. My fingers move to the deep lines carved into the stone, carefully tracing each letter and number as if committing them to memory.

Jones

Marlene M.

1949

Blinking a few times, I straighten and push my glasses up my nose with a sniffle and begin picking the dirt from my fingers. “I’ll make sure Mandy fills in the rest. Promise. See you soon.”

I back away slowly, trying not to disturb the fresh dirt anymore than I already have today.

Today and every day for the last week.

I walk the same path every time, step in the same shoe prints and kneel in the same spot so I don’t disturb my grandmother’s grave each time I visit.

I can’t say for sure, not one hundred percent, but I think this is the first time in her life she’s been at peace, and I don’t want to ruin that.

Shaking my head, I turn and head toward the front of the cemetery.

First time in her life, and she’s dead.

After twenty-seven years of Mandy, it makes sense.

I’ve only known that woman for eleven and I don’t think I’ve had one day I could call peaceful. I can’t imagine going as long as Gran did.

I was angry at her for dying. Angry that she left me all alone with Mandy. We had plans, my grandmother and I. She didn’t know it, I never got the chance to tell her, but we did.

Walking a little faster, I move down the overgrown paths and weave between crumbling headstones until the rusted, iron gates come into view.

I was going to grow up and get out of here.

Save money from teaching the other kids at Jerome’s.

Hide it away until there was enough to leave.

Then I’d find a quiet place, one I could make peaceful and safe.

I’d make a real home, I’d get it all ready, and I’d come back for Gran when the time was right.

But she left first.

And I was angry.

Until I wasn’t.

Which is exactly when I finally understood what she meant when she called me an old soul.

Gran didn’t leave me, she went back to where she came from, back to where she could rest and find peace. She went home, and she went ahead to get things ready for me.

Pushing through the gates, I blink away the tears as I step onto the sidewalk then quickly pick up the pace as I walk toward town.

My first lesson is in twenty minutes and if I’m not careful, I’ll be late.

Those lessons, the little bit of money I earn from them, it’s even more important now. I can’t screw up the only good thing I have going for me, not now. Not when it’s the only thing I have left.

Seventeen minutes later, I’m pushing through the doors of Jerome’s Instruments and More, giving myself about a minute and a half to scrub the heck out of my hands before barely making it to the piano room on time.

“Close one today,” Jerome says as I toss my backpack onto the chair in the corner and drop onto the bench. “Lucky for you, your student is late.” He laughs when I grunt my frustration but says nothing as he hands me the music books for today’s lessons.

“Thanks.” I look through them briefly, noting the extra one at the bottom of the stack. “Someone new?”

Jerome shakes his head. “Figured you could use something different to play in between.”

Before I can say anything at all, he walks out of the room, turning his big body to fit through the door before it softly clicks shut.

88 Keys to Success: How to Master Your Musical Journey

A master? Me?

Pfft.

I’m barely surviving, let alone mastering anything.

“It’s after eight, Octavian. I’ve got to lock up for the night.”

I look up from the magazine in my hands and nod with a sigh. “Sorry, Jerome.”

He shakes his head and gives me a crooked smile. “You know I don’t mind.”

I do, I know he doesn’t mind that I stay until after he closes the store. He never does. Sometimes I think Jerome would let me sleep here if I asked him.

And if it wasn’t super weird, and possibly illegal, for him to keep an eleven year old locked in his music store all night.

Sliding off the stool, I put the magazine back on the rack and slowly get to my feet, already dreading the next half hour and everything that follows.

“Here.”

I frown as Jerome holds out a plastic grocery bag, the handles tied and loops open for me.

“Chrissy wanted to make sure you had dinner.” He smiles as I take what he offers. “And Marco wanted it to be good.”

Jerome’s mates; his pack.

It’s not the first time they’ve cooked for me, I know it won’t be the last, and while I’m grateful to eat something balanced and not from a can, it takes everything in me to stay calm.

He’s a good guy with good people in his pack. They mean well and try to help me whenever they can, but it’s stuff like this that reminds me how bad things are for me outside this store.

“Thanks, Jerome. See you tomorrow.”

The fact that they feel this bad for me is a reminder that I actually have it worse than they know.

A point the universe apparently feels the need to drive home the second I get outside onto the sidewalk because it starts to rain.

Then quickly begins to pour.

Wonderful.

I have a thirty minute walk home when it’s warm and the sky is clear. Raining cats and dogs in October in Galena, Illinois? I might as well kiss the next hour goodbye, and I can definitely count on some sort of illness to make the next few weeks even more fun.

At least, by the time I do actually get home, our crappy apartment is empty and I’m able to get cleaned up and eat in silence.

It’s the only time the silence bothers me, though.

Normally, I love the quiet almost as much as I love the music that usually fills it.

It’s calm. Peaceful. The silence is almost comforting at times.

Except now.

Right now, the quiet of my apartment is foreboding. It’s heavy with anticipation and anxiety. Every inch of space around me is full of it, and it feels like the walls are closing in with each second that ticks by.

I can barely eat as that feeling of doom grows, but I have to. I have to get the chicken and rice down because after tonight, I don’t know when the next decent meal will be.

Walking into an empty apartment is both a blessing and a curse because Mandy isn’t here, but she will be back.

She’ll be back soon, and it’s fifty-fifty if she’ll be alone.

“Octavian!”

I cringe as her crackly voice echoes off the walls, as the front door swings open and snaps back into the frame with a hard slam.

I glance at my bedroom door as I quickly wrap up my dinner and hide it in the closet.

Saving what’s left will be important whether she’s alone or not because I can tell Mandy is high.

“Octavian, darling, where are you?”

I rush toward the door and turn the deadbolt, hook the chain, then reach for the padlock and click it into place. I take a few steps back as I hear Mandy start down the hall, her movements staggered but fast as she makes her way toward me. And she’s not alone.

I can hear heavier footsteps landing in longer strides behind her.

Loud. Forceful. Moving with purpose.

She brought home an alpha.

One she’s probably already slept with.

When I left for school, Mandy was coming down off of a bender, one that consisted of pain killers and benzos, and that means she went out looking for an upper at some point while I was gone.

Most likely cocaine or meth, and since she got whatever she was after, she slept with the dealer and brought him home. It’s her preferred method of payment, especially now that she’s blown through the money Gran left me, and I’ve hidden what little I have far away from her.

Mandy has been cut off but that doesn’t mean she’ll go without.

“Octavian?” She softly knocks on my door. “Octy, sweetheart, open the door for Mommy.”

Bile creeps up my throat at her tone, at her choice of words, and my eyes dart around the room.

There’s hardly anything in here anymore, ever since the last time she brought an alpha home. She cleaned out almost everything after I used my encyclopedia to clock her date upside the head when she let him in here. Now it’s just my bed, a couple milk crates for my clothes, and…

A chair.

I rush toward it, barely pushing down the memories of why she left it in here as I drag it across the room and shove the back under my doorknob.

Backing away, I start wringing my hands, watching the knob shake as Mandy starts to lose her patience.