Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Malcolm drove me home. The mid-afternoon sun blazed down, the sky a clear, mocking blue. But inside, my head was a mess of fury and desperation. I needed to check on Tia. Just once. Just to see if she was okay. I tried to argue with him, to persuade him that I needed to know she was safe. That was all. Just to know she was okay, and then I’d do whatever he wanted me to. I didn’t even have to see her or speak to her. He could check. If she was safe, then I could breathe.
Instead, we pulled up to the block where I lived with my mother. She was outside on the balcony—my mother, not Tia—scanning the street below. We never used that balcony. She didn’t like to, said people could watch and see us from there. My mother practically wrote the book on paranoia, or at least that was the conclusion my teenage brain had drawn.
As far back as I could remember, nothing had ever threatened us. No fights, no ominous strangers, no one shouting up where we lived and trying to snatch her or me. It never made any sense, and she never gave me a reason. Whenever I tried to ask, she dismissed me or gave vague answers that meant nothing. Or, most commonly, she got angry. I knew my mother's parents had died when she was young. Maybe that was why she was so overprotective. When you lose someone at a young age, it’s hard, but to be orphaned? Maybe. My teenage brain didn’t understand her fears. All I saw was control and oppression. Why couldn’t I go out like others did? Even Stephen went out freely, and he was the heir to the goddamn Society throne. If anyone was at risk, it was him.
When Malcolm pulled the car to a stop, she stared right at me, fury igniting my veins. I didn’t care about the debt the humans had saddled me with right then. I didn’t care how I was going to tell my mother about it. My head was with Tia and those humans. My mother was just another barrier to getting to her.
I debated just sitting there and refusing to move. I could. Maybe.
Malcolm unfastened his seatbelt, prompting me to ask, "You're coming in with me?" He wouldn’t normally. Although I’d never really been brought home by him before; I just assumed he wouldn’t.
His tone was flat and calm. Typical Malcolm. "Yes."
"Why?" I frowned. "You can just drop me here. I can go in by my—" I paused. "You think I’m going to run off or something?" I shook my head, trying not to let my emotions rise. It was right on the edge of my tongue, right there so much I could taste it—the need to quip at him, to tell him he was being just as bad as my mother. I didn’t, of course. He was alpha.
"Because your mother has seen me, and she'll want to know why I'm dropping you off and where you've been. Would you rather tell her yourself?"
I studied him for a moment and considered my answer, because it wouldn’t actually matter what I said to my mother. She'd never believe me. I could even video the whole thing and show her, and she'd find a way to tell me it was my fault. "It won’t make a difference if you're there or not," I said finally. I undid my seatbelt and glanced at my mother again. Even from where I was, I could see the disapproval in her expression. I knew that judgement like the back of my hand. "Maybe one day my mother will actually like me."
I went to open my door, but Malcolm grabbed my arm and stopped me. "I know you think this is all hard and unfair, and all those other phrases my own son likes to use. I was your age once. I know how it is. But I feel I need to tell you again. Do not go looking for that girl. You go to work, then you go to classes, and then home."
Breathing a little too heavily, I fixed him with a glare. I felt my panther bristle, then felt his tiger brush against it.
"You think I don’t understand. You think I’m old, and what would I know, right?"
"Things were different for you. You had it easier."
He raised a brow. "I did? Are you sure about that?"
I hadn’t shaken him off my arm, nor tried to get out. But I hated the way they all did that. Anyone older always claimed we didn’t know how lucky we were. Even when they tried to come to my level, recalling their own teenage years, they didn’t get it. "You were born into Society. You’re a tiger. All of that makes it easier for you. You found your mate and your place. You have everything."
I watched him, saw the tick working along his jaw—a rare display of tension. Malcolm rarely gave anything away, and if he did, it was on purpose, but this didn’t feel so intentional. Maybe a slip. Maybe just trying to show me something. His cool green eyes had the tiger behind them, and they flickered with a hundred thoughts. "But you have freedom."
I wanted to scoff at that. "No. You have freedom. You can do whatever you want." He had the world at his control. He and I were on such different sides of things.
"Being alpha doesn’t mean I can do anything I want. On the contrary, it means I can do less than I want. There are things in this world, in our lives, that you will not understand. Maybe one day you will, but for now, no. Being alpha means I have less freedom. Everything I do is watched, every move I make is carefully planned. You think your mother controls you? Try being head of every council there is." I went to speak, and he raised a hand. "I will check on the girl for you. I will deal with it, but you must not go looking for her. All you’ll find is trouble, and you have enough of that. I may be the alpha, but there is only so much bending I can manage when it comes to the rules."
I didn't understand why he was watching over me, and at that moment, I wasn't sure I appreciated it. Perhaps one day, but certainly not now. "Why don't we stand up to them?" I asked, meaning the humans. "Why don't we fight them? We're stronger than they are. We could easily overpower each and every one of them."
Malcolm let out a heavy sigh. "You sound like my son. Remember, for every one of us, there are a hundred of them. Do you think they wouldn't band together to take us down? Haven’t you learned from history? Have you not seen what they did to the witches? It feels like we walk a tightrope with them, and I assure you, I feel it more intensely than you can possibly imagine. Ask yourself, do you truly desire war with them? Do you wish to be the executioner? Because that's the path you're contemplating. We'd slaughter them, and then we would become the very monsters they depict us as."
"It would be better than this," I said.
He shrugged. "Maybe. And perhaps one day, we'll see the other side of this conflict, but for now, this is our reality."
When we reached the flat, my mother was already in the kitchen. She sat at the table, strategically facing the door, her arms crossed over her chest in a display of defiant authority. I didn’t expect anything different from her.
"So?" she said, her voice dripping with venom. "What has he done?" Although she was addressing Malcolm, her piercing gaze cut through me. That look, so intense and sharp, could truly kill if given the chance.
"I haven't done anything," I said.
She stood, her posture rigid with barely contained ire. "I wasn't talking to you."
My upper lip twitched in annoyance, and I exhaled sharply through my nose. The urge to snap back at her was overwhelming, but I managed to grind my jaw, clench my teeth, and ball my fists at my sides instead.
"If you did nothing, then why is Malcolm bringing you home?" She turned her inquisition to him. "How much trouble is he in?" Her tone was acidic when directed at me but softened slightly when she spoke to Malcolm. However, it was a fa?ade because I could feel her rage. Despite all my shields and every mental barrier I could muster, her fury pressed against me, making the air throb with tension. It was stifling. I hadn't witnessed her this incensed since I was about ten years old, when I dared to visit a friend’s house without her permission while she was at work. It had triggered a furious storm in her, a reminder of how well I should have known better. That had been another close call to moving. Actually, it had been the catalyst, I think because move number thirteen came not long after, in the middle of the night with all my things in one bag and everything else be damned.
He didn't tell her the whole truth. My heart lodged firmly in my throat. I wasn't scared of my mother, but I disliked provoking her. Her decisions when angry were irrational and invariably disrupted my life. But Malcolm didn’t reveal everything. He simply described it as me having a minor conflict with some human boys and that he had intervened to prevent further trouble.
"Why did they attack you?" she demanded. "What did you do?"
"Sure. It's always my fault," I muttered under my breath.
She folded her arms tighter across her chest. I shook my head and nodded at Malcolm. "Thank you," I said sincerely. I refused to engage further with her, not even granting her a glance. Instead, I walked away and retreated to my room.
I braced myself for her to follow, to explode into a tirade about the sacrifices she'd made for me, about all that I supposedly didn't deserve. I'd heard it so often I could probably recite her speech from memory. If I hadn't been so mentally torn over Tia and trying to connect with her, maybe I could have delved deeper into why my mother’s mood had soured so drastically. She had always been overprotective, a constant throughout my life. When I was younger, more manageable, it was simpler for her to exert control. Typically, our moves were reactionary, based on misunderstood glances or whispered words, but this level of conflict was new.
I needed to get out, to see Tia and ensure she was safe. The turmoil at home could wait. Right then, Tia was my priority. I just had to figure how to get past my mother and to her.
When I was little, she had been the perfect mother. She taught me to read and write, kept me home, and I learnt everything from her. Maybe it was just that I'd grown up, but back then, I didn't care what it was. All I knew was that I wanted a life of my own, and she was hell-bent on not letting me have one.
I think I fell asleep because when I opened my eyes, a throbbing ache pounded in my head and hunger roiled in my belly, urging me to shift and hunt. Darkness had replaced the sunlight that had been streaming through my window.
I sat up and listened for any sign of my mother, but the flat was silent. I let down my shields; silence didn’t mean she wasn’t there—she could be reading, sleeping, or simply being quiet. But there was nothing. No emotions, no anger.
Rubbing my eyes, I shifted to the side and checked the time. "Shit." It was just after one in the morning. Had I slept that long? I wasn’t even sure what time Malcolm had brought me back.
Slipping out of bed, I eased the door open, cautious, in case my senses were betraying me. The place was shrouded in darkness. There was no note on the table, nothing to indicate where she might have gone. Work, probably, but then my eyes landed on two familiar bags on the small sofa. I knew without checking what was inside. Our things. My heart thumped wildly. No, not again. I wasn’t fucking moving again. Peering into the bag, I ground my jaw. "I’m not going with you."
She was planning to run again, to take us away again. But there was nowhere for us to go, and I liked it there. We had what we needed. It wasn’t much, and we weren’t rich, but I had some semblance of a life that she let me have.
Going back into my room, I searched for my keys, which I usually threw onto the side. They weren’t there. I checked my pockets, not there either. Not in my jacket or in the lounge. "No ..." I exhaled deeply. She had taken them. She had locked me in and taken them.
Storming to the door, I grabbed the handle and was about to yank it open, but I paused. If I pulled this off, the door would break and then we’d be in trouble with the landlord, because these rooms, as small and pathetic as they were, were hard to get.
"Fine." I stepped back. "Have it your way," I said, as if talking to my mother. "You won’t keep me in here."
I went to my room, grabbed a bag, and tossed in a pair of jogging pants and a T-shirt. I slung it over my shoulder and, instead of heading to the locked door, I went to the balcony. The key was still in that door. I flung it open, climbed onto the railing, and lowered myself so I was hanging. From there, it was an easy drop down to the railing of the balcony below us. I landed there, easing myself down. Oh, the perks of being a cat. It was easy enough for me to slink down, to walk along the edge and not fall. It took no effort to keep my balance. I lowered to the next level, and down until I was at ground level.
No one was around at this early hour, and the air was cool, crisp, fresh. The old day washing away. I kept myself close to the wall and took myself around the back to where the sheds were. I stopped there, taking off my jeans and hoodie and stuffing them into a corner. Too bulky to take with me. That was why I had the small bag and the thinner clothes. I stayed in the shed among the bins, naked as I crouched down. I shifted, letting my panther take control. I stretched for a second, but didn’t allow myself much time. I needed to get out.
Slipping out from behind the shed, I raced up the hill to where the trees were. I had to be careful; there were so many areas we could run, and so many where we weren’t allowed. Most of the areas around where I lived were like that, but I knew the way. I slipped through the human streets, using their alleys. Being pure black, I could slink in the shadows, run along the edges of their awareness. I let my shields down just enough so I could sense them. Humans emitted such strange emotions; it was thick with them, deep and cold. I could almost tell by their emotions what species a person was, and it was handy as I made my way through the dark.
The university was a good run from my house, spread out over several blocks in the middle of the town centre. The student accommodations were blocks in the middle, hidden away behind the shops and lecture buildings, just near the train station. That was how I got to where Tia was. The station was close to her room. I could slink along the side, near the tracks. No trains ran at this time of night, and then I nipped through the hedges.
The snag was the main road, which was used frequently. It was the main road in and out of town, or at least, it led to it. I had to keep myself in the shadows of the bushes and trees and watch to make sure nothing was coming at all. I'd only need one human to spot me, and they’d call it in. Then there’d be a full-scale manhunt for the cat they'd seen darting across the road. And yes, they'd do that. They'd search and scour until they found me.
And if it wasn’t them, it was the sweepers, human-run pest control as they called themselves. They patrolled the streets, looking for any others who were out after curfew, and this was way past any reasonable time we were allowed to be out. When I was sure the road was clear, I dashed across it, bounding across the middle, pushing full out, sucking in air to propel me forward. I made it to the other side.
There were industrial bins there, held in a semi-shed. It had at least two brick walls. The rest was a gate, and it stank like rot and old meat, and all the other shit humans threw out. For me, that smell was much worse than any human would be able to pick up. Even as my panther, I had to keep my mouth closed and try not to breathe it in so much. But I slipped in behind the bin, pushed my panther back, willed him. He wasn't willing to go; he hadn't fed, and we'd shifted. "We'll hunt," I promised him. I pushed Tia into my head. That was what we had to do first. Make sure she was okay, and then we could shift and hunt. He relented because the sight of her had him pushing again because he too wanted to make sure she was okay. He could protect her better than I could, but not like this, not out here. We'd walk in as a panther, and the humans would shoot on sight if I walked the corridors.
So, I dropped the bag, shifted, and changed.
I had no shoes, but that was okay. I just needed to check on her, just see her.
Her room was on the second floor, third window along. Maybe in a normal life, I would have thrown something at her window to get her attention. And, if they were normal roommates, they wouldn't have minded. In fact, they’d have probably been delighted, but we were shifters, and they were human and the last thing they were going to do was help us.
Luckily, this was my university too, and while I didn’t go into the accommodations, I knew my way around. They didn’t lock the main doors to each department because there were often students working late on their papers or whatever they had to do. I could slip into the one nearest to Tia’s place and then use the corridors. The trick was not being seen on the CCTV, which was watched and monitored in the security office. I wasn’t sure how much they watched it or if it was one of those things with lax control.
I was going to take my chance, though. How much more trouble could I get into? I was about to make my move toward the doors of the arts department—the one closest—when a car pulled up.
There was a car park not far from where the main entrance was. I slipped back, putting myself around the corner and into the shadows again. I crouched low, daring to lean out a little. I knew it was Tia before I even looked. Whether it was me, my emotions, or something else, it didn’t matter. She got out of the car, pulled a hood over her head, and hurried along the path. She seemed to be clutching her arm around herself.
I whistled low, keeping the sound as even as possible. The humans wouldn’t pick up the sound, but she would. She picked it up on my second try. I didn’t want to come out of the shadows and be seen. Lights had come on in some of the rooms.
“Tia,” I whispered. I whistled again.
She frowned, looked in my direction. I had to come out a little so she could spot me, and she did.
My heart raced and my panther pushed at me, wanting to go to her. She was okay. But ...
She pulled her jacket tighter around her, and seemed to cocoon herself in it. I slinked around the wall, and instead of going into her building, she ducked and rushed to me. “What are you doing here? If you had been caught, if you?—”
“I don’t care about me. I’m fine.” I took her hand, pulled her with me, and kept going until we were out of sight and out of the way of anyone who might look and see us. “Are you okay? Did they ...?”
But she backed away from me, and I felt her. I felt pain and anguish. I felt something dark and ugly inside, and my panther raged. He roared. My panther gave a low growl in my throat as I struggled to contain him. She was alive, and she was here. We could fix the rest. “Tia?” I urged gently.
She shook her head and moved back. I didn’t go to her. I didn’t need to be able to feel her emotions to know she wanted a little distance.
“They hurt you.”
She lifted her head then, allowing the hood of her jacket to fall back. She had a cut across her face, on her cheek. She had another mark on her throat. It was dark and purple. Like someone had had their hands around her neck.
She lifted her eyes to meet mine, and we said nothing. I had a million questions in my head, none of which I could say or ask. How do you ask a woman if she's been raped? How do you say that and not sound like an arsehole? But it was what I wanted to know. Had they touched her? How had they hurt her? I balled my fists to my side. “I’m sorry,” I said, but it felt so pathetic and useless. How did my sorry fix anything of what she had probably gone through?
Her eyes welled as she watched me and she swallowed, and I had to shut out what she was feeling, because it was pulling me down. It made me want to go to her, to take all of that away. “I have to go back to my room,” she said. “I have an early class tomorrow.”
I didn’t know what to say. I had a ton of things I wanted to say, but right at that moment, none of it sounded right.
“They didn’t hurt me, by the way. I’m okay. They …” She paused. “They’re idiots. They tried to, of course, played the hard men that they were, but I ran off. After the police took you away … it doesn’t matter.” She heaved a breath. “I thought you were dead, maybe. I thought that they …” She bit her lip.
But I was frowning because she had fresh wounds. I mean, I was glad they hadn't hurt her, thrilled about it, but someone had. “Then who did that?” I asked.
She moved away.
“Tia?”
When she lifted her face to look at me, those bright green eyes said so much and so little at the same time.
“Who hurt you?”
She lifted a hand to her face, pushed her hair out of the way so I could see it. She had a black eye, too. If she had been human, that would have gone puffy and stayed for days. But she was a shifter, and it was already healing.
I went to make a move in her direction. She stepped back. “I have an early class tomorrow. I need to get in and get to bed. It’s late already. Goodnight, Raven.”
She turned from me and went to walk away, but I couldn’t just leave it there. I moved to her, grabbed her arm. “Tell me who did that. If it wasn’t the humans.”
She didn’t turn around, but she glanced over her shoulder at me. There were tears in her eyes. I lowered my shields a little, maybe to comfort her, to let her know I was there, but what pooled inside me was guilt, shame, a mixture of both all in one big ball. “Take care of yourself, Raven.” She slipped out of my grasp, and I let her walk away.