Chapter Seven #2
I squeezed my eyes shut against the memory, but that only made the images sharper. The trees sensed my increasing distress, their branches bending lower as if trying to embrace me. I focused on their presence, trying to anchor myself in the now, but the past wouldn't release its grip.
Those first few weeks alone had been a blur of hunger and fear.
I'd slept in parks, behind dumpsters, anywhere I could make myself small and invisible.
I'd learned quickly how to scavenge food, how to avoid adults who might send me to foster care or worse.
But I hadn't yet learned to avoid other street kids—especially the older ones.
They'd found me huddled in a makeshift cardboard shelter during a rainstorm.
Three boys, probably no older than fourteen but seeming like giants to my seven-year-old self.
They'd seemed friendly at first, offering to show me a better place to sleep, somewhere dry. Desperate and naive, I'd followed them.
Their "better place" had been an abandoned building where a group of homeless teens had established a territory of sorts. I still remember the smell—mildew and unwashed bodies and the sickly-sweet odor of cheap wine. They'd given me food, the first hot meal I'd had since being abandoned.
Then they'd explained the price.
"Everyone who stays with us goes through initiation," the oldest boy had said, his smile revealing teeth stained brown from cigarettes. "Gotta prove you're tough enough to be one of us."
Before I could run, two of them had grabbed my arms, pinning me to the filthy mattress that served as communal seating. The leader had leaned over me, his breath hot on my face.
"Don't struggle. It'll hurt more if you fight."
I'd fought anyway, twisting and kicking as panic overtook me. That had only made them laugh.
"Hold him tighter," the leader had ordered. "Little feral cat needs to learn his place."
The pain had come suddenly—teeth sinking into my shoulder, biting down hard enough to break skin. I'd screamed, the sound echoing off concrete walls as blood welled from the wound. Through my tears, I'd seen the leader wipe my blood from his mouth, grinning.
"Now you're marked. You belong to us now."
I jerked back to the present with a gasp, my hand flying to my shoulder where phantom pain flared. Sweat soaked my shirt despite the cool night air. I felt nausea rising in my throat, the remembered terror so vivid I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth.
The trees responded immediately to my distress, their energy pulsing through the ground beneath me, up through the roots and into the trunk I leaned against.
Safe-now. Long-past. Not-here.
I focused on their vibrations, letting them ground me in the present. Those boys were years and hundreds of miles away. They couldn't hurt me anymore. No one could hurt me unless I let them close enough.
I hadn't let anyone that close again—until Rooster. The thought of his gentle hands, his patient teaching, made my chest ache with conflicting emotions. When he'd spoken of biting, of claiming, all I could remember was being held down, teeth breaking my skin, the feeling of being owned.
But Rooster wasn't like those boys. He'd given without taking, protected without demanding. The memory of his fingers lightly brushing my face felt nothing like the violent hands that had pinned me down all those years ago.
I exhaled shakily, loosening my death grip on my knees.
The forest around me had become my first real sanctuary after that night with the street gang.
I'd escaped their "initiation" when they'd all passed out from whatever they'd been drinking and smoking.
Terrified and bleeding, I'd fled to the nearest park, hiding among the bushes.
That was the first time I'd truly understood what the plants were trying to tell me. Under-here. Hide-well. They-pass-by.
I'd crawled beneath a dense rhododendron, pressing myself into the dirt as my pursuers searched the park the next morning. The bush had seemed to thicken around me, its leaves creating a perfect screen that hid me from view. The boys had walked within feet of my hiding place, but hadn't spotted me.
After that, I'd learned to listen more carefully to the whispers of the green world.
Plants had guided me to safe sleeping spots beneath dense undergrowth where humans rarely ventured.
They'd indicated which wild berries were safe to eat and which would make me sick.
They'd warned me of approaching dangers—stray dogs, aggressive homeless men, police officers who might send me into the system.
As the years passed, my connection to plants had deepened.
In cities, I'd found unexpected allies in the weeds pushing through sidewalk cracks, the ivy climbing abandoned buildings, the neglected trees in forgotten lots.
In forests like this one, the network was vaster, stronger—thousands of plants communicating through underground mycelia, forming a web of awareness that extended for miles.
The plants never demanded anything in return for their help. They never tried to own me or mark me. They simply recognized something in me that was kindred—a fellow outsider, surviving against the odds.
I ran my fingers over the moss growing on the tree trunk beside me, feeling the subtle vibration of acknowledgment.
Around me, the forest floor continued its gentle movement, roots shifting beneath the soil to create a living nest cradling my body.
The canopy above had grown denser, branches interlacing to form a protective dome.
Within this cocoon of nature's making, I felt my breathing steady, my heartbeat slow. The panic that had driven me from Rooster's side began to ebb, replaced by exhaustion and the beginnings of clarity.
Maybe Rooster's "bite" wasn't meant as the violation I'd experienced. Maybe there was something about this "claiming" I didn't understand. Maybe...
I leaned my head back against the tree, too drained to complete the thought. The forest held me in its silent embrace as my eyes drifted shut, this time falling into a deeper, dreamless sleep protected by the only family I'd known for fifteen long years.
I woke with a jolt, my body tense before my eyes even opened. Something was wrong. The protective cocoon of roots and branches around me trembled with urgency, the vibrations different from the soothing rhythm that had lulled me to sleep.
This wasn't comfort—this was warning. I sat up, blinking as pre-dawn light filtered through the canopy above, casting everything in a gray-blue glow. The forest was trying to tell me something important.
The pine tree at my back pulsed with energy, its needles rustling despite the still morning air. I pressed my palm against its trunk, focusing on the sensations flowing through my fingertips.
Danger-coming. Metal-beasts. Bad-men.
The message was fragmented, urgent. I frowned, trying to interpret the impressions flooding my mind. Plants didn't think in human concepts like "motorcycle gang" or "enemies," but in patterns of energy and intent. Whatever they sensed carried malevolence, threat.
I placed my other hand flat against the ground, closing my eyes to better concentrate on the vibrations running through the soil.
The forest floor was alive with movement—not physical shifting like during the night, but a current of information passing from root to root, tree to tree, carrying news from miles away.
Red-fur-place. Attack-coming. Blood-intent.
My eyes snapped open as the meaning crystallized. The Soldiers of Fortune clubhouse—Rooster's home—was in danger. Someone was planning to attack them, someone the plants recognized as violent, threatening.
I remembered the intruders from the previous night, how they'd moved with such purpose, how they'd nearly overwhelmed the club members. Could this be another assault? Something worse?
The image of Rooster collapsed on the ground, blood streaming from the gash on his head, flashed vividly in my mind. He'd been vulnerable then, injured. If another attack came while he was still recovering...
I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them as I had so many times before when I needed to think. The logical choice was clear: stay away. The club's problems weren't mine. I'd survived this long by avoiding other people's conflicts, by slipping away at the first sign of trouble.
Fifteen years of hard-won survival instincts screamed at me to retreat deeper into the forest, to find another territory, another feeding ground. The Soldiers of Fortune had enemies—powerful ones, apparently. Getting involved would only put me in the crosshairs.
But even as I tried to convince myself to leave, another voice whispered in my mind. Not the plants this time, but my own thoughts, surprising in their clarity and insistence.
Rooster had fed me for months without asking anything in return. He'd been patient when teaching me to use a fork, gentle when explaining shifter society. He'd given me space, respected my boundaries, offered shelter without demands.
And when those men had attacked the clubhouse, I'd chosen to fight for him. Not because I had to, but because something inside me couldn't bear to see him hurt.
I pressed my fingers against my temples, trying to sort through the unfamiliar emotions warring within me. Fear of the claiming bite still churned in my stomach when I remembered Rooster's explanation. But was I afraid of the bite itself, or what it represented?
Those boys years ago had used their teeth to mark me as property, to take away my choice, my freedom. But everything about Rooster suggested he valued those very things—choice, freedom, dignity. He'd even said he wouldn't rush me, wouldn't force anything.
"I've waited a long time to find my mate," he'd said, his voice rough with emotion. "Most shifters pair up in their twenties or thirties. I'm forty-two. Started to think maybe there wasn't someone out there for me."
The memory of those words sent an unexpected warmth through my chest. He'd waited decades for a mate—for me, specifically. Not just any stray he could control or own, but the one person who fit him somehow.
The trees around me shifted, their energy changing from urgent warning to something like curiosity. They sensed my internal conflict, my indecision.
Choose-path. Stay-or-go.
I breathed deeply, centering myself as I considered my options. If I returned to warn Rooster about the danger, I didn't have to stay afterward. I didn't have to accept the mate bond, the claiming bite, any of it. I could deliver my warning and disappear again—choice still mine, freedom intact.
But a deeper truth was emerging as I sat there in the growing light: I didn't want to disappear again.
Not completely. Something about Rooster, about the way he'd looked at me with such wonder and care, had awakened a longing I'd buried years ago—a desire for connection that went beyond the silent communion I shared with plants.
Maybe there was a middle path. Maybe I could accept some kind of relationship with Rooster—and the club—without surrendering the independence that had kept me alive all these years. Maybe "mate" didn't have to mean what those street boys had tried to make it mean.
I could set boundaries. Could make it clear that while I might stay, I needed space, freedom, respect. No claiming bite—not until I was ready, if ever. No ownership, no possession.
The pine tree at my back seemed to respond to my shifting thoughts, its energy warming slightly against my spine.
Brave-one. Choose-strength.
I smiled faintly at the tree's encouragement. Plants didn't think in terms of emotions like humans did, but they recognized patterns of energy. They'd felt my fear give way to resolve, my indecision crystallize into purpose.
I rose to my feet, brushing pine needles and dirt from my clothes. My muscles ached from running and sleeping on the forest floor, but the pain felt distant, unimportant compared to the clarity of my decision.
Pressing my palm against the pine trunk one last time, I sent a silent thank you to the forest that had sheltered me. The branches above rustled in acknowledgment, needles shifting to release their resinous scent—a forest blessing.
Return-path clear. Follow-light.
I nodded, understanding. The plants would guide me back to the clubhouse by the most direct route. They'd help me avoid any dangers along the way, as they had so many times before.
I turned my face toward the direction they indicated, where thin streams of golden light were beginning to pierce the canopy. Dawn was breaking, painting the forest in shades of amber and rose. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the cool morning air, and began to walk.
With each step, my resolve strengthened.
I would return to the clubhouse. I would warn Rooster and the others about the danger the plants had sensed.
I would face my fear of the claiming bite, not by submitting to it, but by making it clear that my cooperation had conditions.
My body was my own. My choices were my own.
If Rooster truly saw me as his mate—not property, but partner—he would understand that. He would respect it. And maybe, in time, I could learn to trust him enough to consider more.
As I walked, the rising sun broke fully above the horizon, its rays finding paths through the trees to illuminate my face. For perhaps the first time in fifteen years, I moved toward human connection instead of away from it. Not out of desperation or necessity, but by choice.
The plants whispered their approval in rustling leaves and swaying branches. Ahead lay uncertainty, danger, the complicated tangle of human relationships I'd avoided for so long. But also, possibly, something I'd never allowed myself to imagine:
A home. A family. Belonging on my own terms.
I quickened my pace, golden eyes fixed on the path ahead, determined to reach Rooster before whatever threat the forest had warned me about could find him first. I would protect what was mine—not because fate had declared it so, but because I had chosen it for myself.