Chapter 2 #2
Sprawling blackberry bushes lined both sides, drooping with heavy clusters of dark fruit. Perhaps he and Taylor could take the kids out later, send them on a pillaging quest to give Maman a break.
The pack house was every inch the picturesque English country farm until the hedgerow fell away and the front lawn came into view.
“Whoa! Is that Chop?” Taylor said, winding down the window to stick his head out.
There came a loud squeal followed by a high-pitched “Yee-haw!” as a massive brown and white pig came tearing down the grass towards the car.
“Yep,” Johnny replied, snorting out a laugh. “And that’s Clem riding him.” He slammed on the brakes as the pig-child combo came thundering towards them. “Aaand, here come the other two riding Ham and Frank.”
Short for Hamsolo and Frankenswine II.
“Yeah! Get ’em, Marty!” Taylor called, hanging out of the window whilst waving and cheering for Johnny’s youngest and smallest sibling, Martin. The nine-year-old’s face lit up when he saw Taylor, and he stuck out his tongue as he urged Frank on with a few slaps to his chubby bottom.
All three came racing down the bank, barely managing to jump over a series of sticks the kids had laid out as jumps before bombing towards the car. Taylor threw an arm out and all three of them slapped his hand as they came flying past.
Pigs really could shift it when the prize was three massive watermelons waiting for them at the end of the garden.
Johnny pulled the car up to the house, cheeks aching as he and Taylor got out.
The other alpha punched the air, his fangs popping out in a toothy grin.
The tip of the left fang was broken off, the colour slightly duller than the rest. Johnny’s own smile faltered as his eyes got stuck on it, on the memory of Taylor as a twelve-year-old crying his eyes out and begging him not to tell Maman.
He recovered when Taylor turned towards him with the same childish grin, because being in the presence of that smile was like basking in the sun.
The kids led the pigs back up the garden, improvised bridles made from twine and sticks all but falling apart as they fed them bananas with the skins still on.
“Damn, girl, you were flyin’,” Taylor said, flicking Clementine’s braided ponytail as she skipped past.
She nodded, pushing her thick-lensed glasses up her nose. “I know. Maman put Chop on a diet. He’s much lighter on his feet… or maybe his trotters, but I reckon by tweaking his macros and protein intake we can improve our PB even more.”
“You cheated!” Johnny’s second sister, Gabriella, said, puffy space buns bobbing as she huffed and handed Johnny Ham’s reins.
The pig looked up at him with an expectant expression.
“I did not!” Clem snapped back, shoving Chop’s reins into his other hand before stomping after her sister and disappearing inside the house.
They were both alphas, eleven and twelve with just over a year between them, which made the sibling rivalry a fucking nightmare.
“Taytay!” Marty said, abandoning Frank halfway up the drive in favour of launching himself into Taylor’s arms.
Taylor caught him, hauling him onto his shoulders.
He looked so tiny sitting up there, all skinny limbs and a smile that seemed to eclipse his entire face.
His black curls were tighter and darker than Johnny’s, and Maman kept them shaved over the summer to avoid having three different curl patterns to maintain.
“How’s it going, big guy?” Taylor said, tipping his head back to let Marty run his little fingers through his beard.
“Good,” Marty replied. “I won the egg and spoon race at sports day and Frank got runner up for the prettiest pig at Wickham County Show.”
Taylor gasped. “No way! Did you paint his trotters like I showed you?”
“Yep!”
“Excellent.”
“Um, excuse me?” Johnny said, holding out his arms whilst the two pigs pressed their snouts into his pockets.
Marty rolled his eyes and held out an arm, prompting Taylor to place him back on the ground. He smiled and flung his arms around Johnny’s waist, nuzzling his face between his ribs. Taylor let out a soft laugh and began walking down the drive to retrieve Frank.
Johnny frowned when he noticed a cut on the delicate tip of Marty’s ear.
“What happened here?” he said, tapping his brother’s temple. Marty stayed silent and gripped Johnny tighter. “Hey?” he urged, transferring Ham’s reins into his other hand. “What happened?”
Marty groaned and dragged his face up Johnny’s front until his massive brown eyes looked up at him. He was frowning—pouting, actually—in that angry-cute way only omegas could pull off.
“I’m not telling.”
Johnny narrowed his eyes, flicking his gaze towards Taylor, who had begun jogging up the drive with Frank.
“Well, you better. Before Tay notices.”
Marty let out a long sigh and pressed his cheek to Johnny’s chest. “It was William, okay? He nicked me with his fang.”
Johnny’s eyes narrowed even more. “William Manders?”
Marty huffed, but said nothing.
“When?”
“Yesterday. In the woods.”
“Was he shifted?”
Marty nodded again, more slowly that time, still not meeting Johnny’s gaze.
“Were you shifted?”
Marty tightened his grip around Johnny’s middle.
“Were you shifted, Martin?”
There was a moment where Johnny could hear the air going in and out of the nine-year-old’s mouth, as though he was trying to find the right words for a convincing lie. Eventually, however, he just said, “No.”
Johnny clenched his teeth. Bastard. Fucking little bastard.
Pups play-fighting and nicking one another in wolf form was fair game.
But a shifter getting rough with someone un-shifted, especially an omega, was one of the biggest social lines one could cross.
He could almost forgive William, because he was only eleven, but unfortunately Johnny knew his parents.
They were not nice people. In fact they were fucking chavs with more domestic call-outs than Johnny could count.
Johnny knew he should be kind. Give them the benefit of the doubt. That was what Maman had always taught him, but fuck, sometimes it was easier to ask for forgiveness than think good, Christian thoughts.
He placed a hand on Marty’s shoulder, drawing him back. “Have you told Maman?”
Marty winced. “Yeah. She wasn’t happy. And then…” He trailed off, glancing at the door. “Gabby got in trouble for punching William on the nose.”
Johnny let out a huff of laughter, eyes drifting to Taylor again, who had taken to shoving a reluctant Frank up the drive by his backside.
Dropping to one knee, Johnny wrapped his arms around Marty and squeezed.
“You tell me if anything like that happens again, okay?”
Marty squealed. “Too tight, JP!” Marty rubbed his neck as Johnny let him go. “Please don’t tell Tay. You know how mad he gets.”
Johnny squeezed his shoulders. “Can’t guarantee he won’t find out, and I’m not gonna lie if he asks.”
Marty let out a defeated sigh. “I know, just… please don’t make a big deal of it. I don’t want William’s dad causing problems for the restaurant again.”
Johnny’s jaw ticked, remembering the two smashed windows at La Fourette last summer. As much as he hated bullies, he hated seeing Maman cry even more. They’d installed a fancy CCTV system since then, so even if William’s father did start causing trouble at the family business again, they’d get him.
Johnny nodded and let Marty go.
“Martin! Clementine! Gabriella! Come and tidy the living room!” Maman’s soft French accent called from within the house. Johnny smiled at the way her voice strained; well and truly ironed out from having all three kids at home over the summer holidays.
“Go on, Mart. We’ll be in in a sec,” he said, gently pushing Marty towards the bright red front door.
Martin nodded and bolted inside, covering his ear as he went. Johnny rolled his eyes. Kids were so fucking obvious it was painful.
“Je—sus,” Taylor said, sweat rolling down his forehead as he reached the top of the hill. “Stubborn fucker.” He patted Frank’s flank and pulled on his makeshift bridle. “Let me guess, the kids buggered off.”
“Yep,” Johnny replied, tugging Ham and Chop along as he followed Taylor around the side of the house.
The whitewashed brick was alight with bursts of colour. Papa had let the kids paint murals all along the house—part of his war against the downfall of self-expression, or so he said, but Johnny suspected he just didn’t want to re-mortar the brickwork.
The paint and chalk had been applied with varying degrees of skill, and Johnny noticed three massive pink blobs with black dots for eyes that were new.
The pigs, presumably. Clementine’s work, no doubt, because what she possessed in book smarts could not make up for her complete lack of creativity.
Johnny laughed, because that girl did not possess a single artistic bone in her body.
Next to the pigs were the rest of the family, Maman front and centre, with her long twists of black hair floating around her head like octopus tentacles.
Then there was Papa, ball-shaped in his brightly coloured dashiki, blinding even in paint form.
Clem stood next to Maman, eyebrows slanted down and pointed white fangs gnashing like a fucking shark.
Which was fair, because Clem had a hell of a temper.
Marty was next, half the size of the rest of them with big blue tears spilling out of his eyes. The poor guy was a bit emotional, especially when the pigs went off to slaughter every winter.
Gabriella’s portrait was much, much more flattering, with her massive cloud-like afro and long curling eyelashes. Extra attention had been given to the little pink flowers on her dress and the lace trim of her socks, and Johnny was beginning to suspect who the artist was.