Maisie

There are instances when the mind shields us, completely erasing a memory it thinks we’re not ready to process, only to bring it back when we least expected it.

In my instance, it was a dream.

***

I was twelve.

I’d had a nightmare about black, hulking beasts surrounding me with violet blue, green, amber and ice blue gazes. Their maws parted and they were going to eat me alive.

"Dad!" I shrieked, running out of my shared bedroom with Lana. She didn’t stir. She had always been a heavy sleeper.

There were muddy footprints sailing across to the kitchen. Surely, it had to be Dad. Mom always chided Dad because he never bothered to clean his shoes before coming inside.

I followed it. I wasn’t sure what it was that made my footfalls quieter. But when I turned the corner into the kitchen, Dad was in a heated argument with someone.

The figure was hooded and I couldn’t get a glimpse of his face, but I remembered when his head moved, there was a terrifying gleam of red in his eyes.

Rogue.

"You can’t take them," I heard Dad say. "They’re only twelve."

"Another year and they’ll be old enough," the other voice grunted. "You may keep the blonde. We want the brunette. It’s stronger in her than the other. A bite should be more than enough to effect the change."

"No," Dad snarled vehemently. "They’re mine, as much as they’re hers. You will not touch a single hair on either of their heads."

Red eyes blinked slowly and the rogues head cocked at a predatory angle. "It was not a request."

He jerked his chin, eyes meeting mine over Dad’s shoulder, and only then did I notice there were two more rogues lurking behind him. "Get the girl."

Rough hands clamped around my ribcage and I opened my mouth to shriek, only to have another rougher hand close over my mouth. I thrashed, eyes wide as I looked over at Dad, trying to get back to me.

But he wasn’t fast enough.

Neither were his senses are sharp as they should’ve been, or maybe he would’ve sensed the danger sneaking up behind him. He was an Omega, after all.

"Dad!" I screamed hoarsely into the palm in warning, sinking my teeth into the salty, sweaty skin, but it only earned me tighter lock over my mouth and nose, until I was deprived of all air and began to choke.

I watched with terror as the rogue Dad had been speaking to materialized behind him and brought a dark claw to his throat.

I saw a dark smile lift his mouth as Dad thrashed, calling my name, reaching for me. But the rogue was strong. Unbelievably strong, even for a wolf.

His sharpened claw dug into Dad’s neck and began to slit it, slowly, with the lightness of a lover. "Look at her, Richter. Take your last breaths knowing your sacrifice will serve for the greater good of our race." Blood poured down Dad’s neck. He began to choke on it. But the fear in his eyes were only for me. There was sadness. There was pride. And there was love.

"Oh and," the rogue added with cruel laughter. "Her Highness sends her greetings."

He jerked his claws in too deep, gouging Dad’s throat wide open.

A wet sound escaped him as he fell, clutching his neck like he could hold it together to make it heal faster.

There was so much blood, and even a child, I knew the wound wouldn’t heal nearly as quickly to make it matter. They held me in place, ensuring I watched him die as I screamed for Mom, the sounds muffled.

I saw the light drain from his eyes.

Only then, did they take me out of the house. I didn’t make it easy. I lashed out. I grabbed things. I kicked things. I didn’t understand why Mom hadn’t come down yet.

Something sharp punctured the skin on my neck, pushing something that felt like fire through my veins and soon, a pleasant heaviness sank into my bones.

"We’ll be home soon," the foreign voice said, almost gently, but his oily fingers ran along my face, lingering for longer than they should’ve.

My head grew fuzzy, and I hardly remembered the walk from the house to the woods. I remembered that the moon was full and red. And that the man who had killed my father wiped his blood of his trench coat with a disgusted scowl.

I slipped in and out of it.

As my consciousness drifted further away from me, I heard a startled cry, followed by an enraged roar that shook the woods, the very earth beneath my feet.

The attack was a blur. I didn’t recall much of it. There was something in the woods. No. There was more than one thing in the woods.

I was wrenched out of the man’s grip by clawed hands. The same clawed hand that tore him to pieces. And then, I was hurled across the back of a sleek black, feline creature, and it took off, running in its herd of oddly sleek creatures like itself. There were three others. Pure silver fur. Golden fur. Red fur.

The latter turned its pitch black gaze to me, and I felt a foreign presence in my mind telling me I was safe. And I was going to be alright.

I didn’t believe it. Dad was gone. Nothing would ever be alright again.

Another presence in my mind said, "Hold the pelt, malyshka. And don’t let go. It’ll only be for a moment."

Tears streamed from my tired eyes, but I reached for the soft fur of the black beast moving underneath me, and gripped.

I thought the beast might have shuddered. But I was too tired to think or really hold on. And I remembered slipping, and falling off its back.

I remembered being caught by my pajamas collar with sharp canines and fangs, and a long, pink-black tongue licking the tears from my cheeks, another muzzle pressing into my neck in a soothing motion.

The last thing I registered before the darkness took me was the affectionate of warm fingers in my hair, brushing it back from my face, and the soft touch of lips to my forehead.

"I do hope we never meet again, Adams."