Chapter Two
Jay
A week after Colin was killed
Aweek ago, we lost Colin to the hybrid queen. Now, those of us left have suffered without his leadership. We are tired and on the brink of starvation. We have lost any connection to the crown’s alliance to easy access to food and water. Our provider sometimes had little access to resources.
Colin may not have always been the most consistent with his moods, but he wasn’t a monster. At least, not to me. All of us were broken. Just like we were all outcasts when he took us in. He ensured we had permanency somewhere.
Colin never said exactly why he decided to harbor a bunch of misfits like us, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.
Colin knew firsthand what it was like to be unwanted.
His own family found his neurodivergence to be a liability that threatened their “flawless” reputation and, ultimately, their chances at the throne.
To think his family thought of him as unstable baffled me.
Colin only ever provided us with stability.
He made sure we had somewhere to sleep something to eat and a place to exist. And he didn’t have to do any of it.
He was selfless like that. But now we’re paying for it.
We relied too heavily on his generosity because we’re falling apart without him.
Ever since we lost him to the hybrids, nothing has gone right, and none of us know what to do.
We were recruited by Colin into his horde because we couldn’t rely on anyone but ourselves.
None of us knew how to lead, much less follow.
We’re different from a pack. Our intentions are different.
Packs aim to keep the majority alive. They hunt to feed everyone, but our hunts secure enough so none of us have to share.
Sounds greedy, but it’s hard not to be when you know what it’s like to have nothing.
We’re only trying to survive in a hostile environment.
Packs are also different from us because most have a special commonality, like the Crescents, for example.
They are known for their fighting because of their king’s telepathic reading.
The Bloodhounds have their hunting skills allowing for a lavish feast every fall—something Colin told us in his pep talk before we attacked.
It didn’t sit well, knowing they had so much while we struggled.
Besides, none of the herd belongs to a pack or clan. We aren’t similar in any way. A lack of commonality makes us special.
The looks pack members give when they see us, it’s either pure hatred or fear. Sometimes it’s both. They don’t understand us, and people are conditioned to be scared of those they can’t understand.
There are two types of people: those who understand common courtesy and honor it and those who abuse it.
Packless wolves cherish common courtesy rather than abuse it, unlike prim and proper sheltered wolves.
In my experience, my chances of survival have been greater with whom packs would consider the weird and strange creatures.
They’re afraid we’ll taint their perfect image. They see us as savage and uncivilized creatures. Which is ironic because they are the ones who are ill-mannered for casting out their own.
Colin understood that. Hell, he was cast away by the most pretentious of the vampire clans with potential claim to the throne. This fueled his plan to change things for us.
Colin almost succeeded. He was about to bond himself to his queen, Alaina.
Colin promised he would win over the people with her at his side.
Doing so would allow him to incorporate us into society, so we would no longer have to hide, steal or commit other heinous sins to survive.
But Colin’s heart was his downfall, and his dream of us living among the rest died with him.
Just like he predicted, our request to exist in the absence of discomfort threatened the packs’ and clans’ comfortability in familiarity.
In other words, they said fuck the outcasts, forcing us to continue living in the shadows.
Colin failed his mission, but he didn’t fail us. He tried. Which is more than I can say for anyone else.
He found me when I was alone in the woods, practically bait to the next creature to come along. The herd took me in, and although I never felt a sense of belonging, I was never made to feel unwelcome. At least not by them.
I’ve never belonged to anything or anyone, much less know how to help others believe they do. But I owe it to Colin to not let his legacy die with him. So, I continue to stick with the herd.
Colin and I were close. My leading many of his attacks earned his pride, most noticeably after I killed the alpha.
The only praise I didn’t care for. Killings were rare in those raids, so I didn’t have to do them.
Colin’s praise mattered more than the thought of my soul ascending to heaven.
Those moments were the only times I felt I was doing something right.
Unfortunately, my legendary kill created more problems for me. I’m not paranoid, but someone is after me. Ever since I killed their alpha, I got the sense someone is watching me and a looming feeling that I’m in danger.
The other problem is that my big kill made the herd believe I’m worthy enough to lead in Colin’s absence. When I told Colin I didn’t want leadership, he respected it and let Jeff Spears take credit for the kill that rescued Alaina.
Jeff is a rogue who is more than willing to be a leader. People were better off following him.
If I had led them, I would’ve disappointed the entire herd. They want to believe I’m a soldier proud of their kill. I merely did what I had to do. If it made Colin proud of me, then that was a nice bonus. But his praise didn’t outweigh the moral dilemma I wrestled on a daily basis.
I always told myself I was better than the monsters in my story, that I was nothing like them. I only ever killed because they made me. And I swore never to take another life again.
Not even for Colin.
Telling myself it was justified doesn’t stop me from thinking about the alpha’s injured leg.
And that is where I doubt myself. Maybe I could’ve gone another route?
I go back and forth on whether my kill was warranted.
Yet the outcome was achieved. Jeff was alive.
It’s a rollercoaster of the same distorted cycle of thinking.
I’m justified.
No, I’m not.
I’m a monster.
No, I’m not.
But one consistent fact brings me down: I still did it. No one else made me. Which means there’s no one else to blame.
Before my so-called greatest achievement, I probably would have said yes to taking over for Colin. Even though Jeff knows I don’t want to lead, he still seeks my advice on how. Just like now.
“Should I take us North or South?” Jeff asks.
I bite into an apple from Jeff’s hidden stash. The juice squirts onto my face. Like the lady I am, I use the back of my hand to wipe my mouth.
I’m civilized like that.
I take another bite, and with my mouth full, I answer, “North. If you go South, you’ll run into Bloodhound’s territory.” Something I could never let myself forget.
We were several miles from the pack’s territory, and it still wasn’t enough to ease my mind.
I’d like to move us, but this location is the best. Our herd is in a hidden valley beside a river that runs for miles.
The valley is self-sustaining, requiring little to no attention from us.
It’s also protected by the high mountain walls covered in lush evergreen trees and steep rolling hills.
The dew and mist create a perfect fog to conceal us from predators.
Despite fertile soil, tall trees, and towering mountain walls block sunlight for most of the day, making crops hard to grow.
My herd hunted what’s in the valley, so they have to leave our campsite for food.
I call it a campsite because we never know how long it’ll be before a pack finds us and forces us out.
Then we’re faced with either fighting back to stake our claim or flee.
There’s no way a pack would agree to coexist peacefully.
No one wants outcasts as their neighbors.
Jeff scratches his head as he studies the map I created to outline all the territories in the realm. It crinkles. “Tell me again why I don’t want to take over Bloodhound?”
I look over at the sparkling river. I’ve got a book in my lap.
One leg is bent at the knee and tucked into my inner thigh.
The other is draped over the edge of the hammock, rocking gently with its movement.
“Because they’ve had months to recoup since our last visit.
” As I reread the passage, Jeff spouted several questions.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right.”
I ignore him and turn the page. The pages with only a small paragraph before the next chapter are my favorite.
I appreciate the immediate gratification I get from finishing, so I can quickly consume more.
Pretty details on the chapter page feel like a reward.
This one has a Victorian font with intricate dots and swirls surrounding it.
They are more beige than cream, and the book is bound in brown leather and gold lining on the spine and front cover.
It’s a philosophy book. It’s not my preference.
I love a good, fantastical romance, but at our last pack raid, I judged this book by its cover and grabbed it instantly.
Unused and unloved, it was collecting dust, unfulfilled in its purpose.
Utilitarianism would justify stealing because it brings me joy, and the clan’s untouched library suggests no harm was done.
Pierre-Joseph Proudhon would argue all ownership is achieved by dominance.
If it’s not being used, then am I not justified in my effort to give it purpose?