Kian Jones
"Now, does everybody understand?" our fifth-grade teacher, Miss Halloway, asked, searching among the class.
"Yes, miss," we all answered in unison, mumbling in an unenthusiastic drawl.
She cupped her hand around her ear, displeased by our response. "I'm sorry, what was that? Repeat it so I know you've learned something."
There was huffing and groaning from the class, but I remained silent. My teacher's eyes were on me the whole time, and I was embarrassed about that.
"Tell an appropriate adult if someone approaches you with drugs," we all muttered out of sync.
Her green eyes held my gaze a moment longer, and I noticed an element of concern lingering within them. The home bell startled her, giving me the chance to scamper away.
I snatched up the tatty satchel that my next-door neighbor, Mrs. Banks, gave to me last year. It used to belong to her son, Charlie, when he went to school fifty-seven years ago. She was like a grandmother to me and always made sure I had at least one decent meal every day.
I barely made it past my desk when I heard Miss Halloway's voice calling me back. "Kian Jones, could you stay behind for a minute, please?"
My heart plummeted into my stomach, playing havoc with my anxiety. "Yes, miss," I replied timidly as I clutched the worn satchel strap.
She waited until all the other kids had left before perching on the edge of her desk. All the homework papers had been placed on top of one another in a messy pile. All except for mine. This was the second week in a row that I had failed to complete the assignment.
"Where's your homework?" she asked, even though I could tell that she had already second-guessed my answer.
My excuse lodged in my throat, strangling my voice. "I left it at home, miss," I lied, hating how sour it tasted in my mouth.
What else could I do? I couldn't tell her that I spent most nights cleaning up after my mom. How I struggled to drag her to her room after she passed out cold on the bathroom floor, high as a cloud on heroin. How was I supposed to explain I had to clean her up after she threw up all over herself and almost choked on her own vomit, or how she had pissed herself at the same time?
Miss Halloway sighed, moved her long, brown hair over one shoulder, then folded her arms across her chest."Is everything all right at home, Kian?" Her voice was drenched with concern, and I hated it.
I hated it because she was right. I hated it because when she asked me that question, the truth scraped against the bone, and I was scared. Fear clenched my lungs, crushing them tight. She can't know. No one could know.
"Yes, miss," I replied, my own voice trembling at this point.
Tears threatened to swell in my eyes. I could already feel them starting to burn, then distort . . . damn, too late, it was happening.
"Hey, it's all right." She edged forward and brushed her hand against my shoulder, attempting to comfort me.
My breath skipped in my throat as I snatched in a gasp of air.
"You can talk to me; I'm worried about you," she said, bunching her brows.
I sniffed, wiping my snotty nose on my sleeve. My clothes were dirty, having worn them all week. Mrs. Banks let me bring my laundry around to her house on weekends. Our washing machine had given up the ghost months ago. Dad had promised to fix it but never got around to doing it. Then again, he was never around in general.
"It's just . . ." I hesitated, finally blinking away the moisture to meet her gaze.
"Go on," she encouraged, prompting me in her gentle tone.
Why couldn't Mom be more like her?
Spooked from almost admitting what was happening out loud, I ran from the classroom, grimacing with tears. I made it across the schoolyard, running for a farther two blocks before breaking down beside the park gates.
The gilded iron creaked as I pushed it open, and then I slipped through, taking the shortcut home. My ragged sneakers nudged the leaves that covered the footpath in shades of red, brown, and orange. Autumn was on its way, and it brought a brisk, chilly breeze. I shuddered, feeling the cold raise my hackles. Usually, shifters could brave the elements, unaffected by the weather . . . but not me. I was malnourished and exhausted thanks to my worry-plagued thoughts.
I tensed at the sight of Dad's ranger Jeep turning the corner of our street. I raced it home, unable to stop the sickening dread from consuming me. If he walked in on Mom shooting up a hit, the shit would hit the fan. Handling my drugged-up mother was one thing, but calming down my alcoholic father was another, especially if Mom had spent all our money on drugs. On more than one occasion, he came home to a trashed house. If Mom accumulated debt, then the dealers would take whatever valuables we had.
Part of me didn't blame my dad for turning to drink, and then again, part of me did. If only he was as strong-willed as he was physical, then he could beat whatever demons haunted him. Then he could find the strength to help Mom. But instead, they would rather destroy one another. I hated being caught in the crossfire, but I was unable to choose between them. If I were strong enough, I would walk away and never look back.
How far would I get on my own at ten years old, and where would I go?
I arrived home in a thundering of footsteps, my chest heaving for air. It was too late; I could already hear them screaming. The sound of shattering glass made me flinch, and I paused at the edge of the yard, knowing the chaos that awaited me.
"Kian, honey." Mrs. Banks beckoned me to come next door. "Why don’t you sit with me for a while?"
Betty Banks stood inside the open doorway of her rundown shack. The flyscreen rattled against the wall, knocking chunks off the peeling woodwork. Our side of town wasn't pretty, but those of us here made the best of what little we had.
Mrs. Banks wrapped the oversized knitted cardigan around her frail body, and then stood aside in her slippers. She wore the same ankle-length skirts and baggy blouses she always wore.
I glanced at the house and swallowed hard. The perspiration that coated my skin turned cold rather quickly. I had two options: to venture inside the mouth of Hell or seek sanctuary with my kind-hearted savior. It really was a no-brainer."Thank you," I replied gratefully.
She ushered me inside and into the warmth of her sitting room. Flames danced in the stone fireplace, the heat licking my skin as I took a seat. The floral couch nearly swallowed me whole, swaddling me like a soft, comforting hug. Betty handed me a steaming mug of cocoa, and my fingers trembled as I reached out to take it.
"This should do the trick," she muttered as she shuffled to the single armchair. It was green and had a firm seat cushion and a tall back for posture support. She covered the threadbare armrests with crocheted wool and placed matching pieces beneath the house plants on the windowsill. "Get it down you, son, you look as if you've had one heck of a day," she urged.
I blew the dark liquid before taking a sip. The intense temperature scorched my upper lip, but I didn't so much as flinch. Instead, I savored the bitter, velvety taste like I did whenever I was given such luxury. Times like these were rare. Folks around here barely had a pot to piss in."Well? A problem shared is a problem halved," she said, observing my reaction with worldly wise eyes.It was easier to open up to her. Here in her cozy little sitting room, along with the decades-old furniture that had lived through the best of their days, I felt somewhat safe. I knew that Mrs. Banks would rather let me sleep here on her patched-up couch than call the authorities. Forest Hills had its own way of handling wayward shifters, and I didn't want my parents to face clan justice or end up exiled. Nor did I want to be dragged off to the kids' home down in the neighboring town of Lakewell.
Whitehaven was a state exclusive to shifters and the occasional human mate, but where children were concerned, we had a similar system as the humans. I just didn't want to wind up stuck in it. I'd be eighteen by the time I could walk out of my own accord, and who would take care of Mom in the meantime? Dad? Nah, somehow, I doubted it.
Kian"My teacher knows that something's wrong at home," I confided.She exhaled heavily as she sank into the chair opposite me. "And she told you as much, did she?" Mrs. Banks commented, cradling her own mug of cocoa.As I nodded, a worried frown formed across my brow."This can't go on forever, Kian. Folks were bound to find out sooner or later," she spoke gently, airing out the truth.It seemed so final coming from her lips, which wasn't much comfort at all."Can I live here, with you?" I asked, clinging on to a shred of hope.The corners of her wise old eyes crinkled as she smiled. "I'm almost eighty-five, and we're not blood-related. The clan leaders would flat-out reject it." She shrugged, stating what I already knew deep down. "But then they would have to peel you from my withered fingers before I'd hand you over to them." She gave a hearty chuckle, throwing her head back."What's the worst they could do to me at my age? Force me into the pit to face clan justice?" Her eyes met
KianI woke at the first sign of sunlight, my eyes stinging raw with fatigue, having hardly slept a wink. The deep rumbling snores coming from my parents’ room was enough to tell me Dad was still here. That meant Mom was somewhat stable, or so I hoped.Tossing back the sheets, I dangled my legs out of bed to sit up. I stretched and yawned, then rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Tomorrow was Saturday. I just had to get through one more day of school, then I could hang out with Jaxton.He was the only friend I had who was my age. Jax was home-schooled, and our dads were mutual friends. They introduced us during a Cage fighting match, and we became great friends ever since.It took me no time at all to shower and change, not wanting to spend a moment longer in the grubby bathroom. Brown scorch marks stained the edge of the tub from where Mom would prepare her next fix. I could still smell it faintly in the air, even after I opened the window to let out the steam.The house was calm when I c
KianI knew they meant well, but if they really wanted to help me, then they'd drop it. Sometimes, it was better not to shake the bee's nest if you didn't want to get yourself stung. Back home, there was a two-hundred-pound grizzly who was just itching for an excuse to pull me out of school. I came here intending to keep my head down, and maybe I would finish school with a fighting chance of a future instead of earning a future by fighting.They watched me with analyzing eyes as I placed my lunch bag down on the wheeled trolley along with everyone else's. The lunch ladies would collect them up later and wheel them away to the kitchens.I then took a seat at my desk, waiting patiently for rollcall. I could be a real golden boy when I wanted to be. My mask of angelic innocence had been rehearsed to perfection. That came in handy for a kid like me. Most of the time I could blend in, just like everyone else.The scent of Miss Halloway's floral perfume wafted past me as she made her way ov
Kian At some point during the early morning, my exhausted mind succumbed to a dreamless slumber.I didn't hear Dad calling me from the doorway, nor him stalking into my room to shake my shoulder. It was the shock of the cold liquid drenching me that ripped me from my serene-like state."Huh? Dad! What the hell?" I spluttered, aghast.He gave a gruff hmph, scowling down at me, clutching an empty glass in his hand. "I've been calling you for the past twenty minutes," he complained."Sorry," I grumbled, rolling out of bed."We leave in ten minutes," he mentioned, widening his eyes seriously before stalking out of the room.I rolled to sit on the edge of my bed, hearing the front door open and Dad's Jeep engine roar to life. The guy had zero patience, and I knew better than to keep him waiting. After hurrying into the bathroom to do my business, I washed, scrubbed my teeth, then dressed quickly. Mom was still sound asleep when we left."First things first," Dad mumbled as we were nearing
KianWe arrived at the old, abandoned warehouse standing above the Cage. Dad knocked on the heavy iron door in some secret code, then waited.There was a scraping of metal, and then a strange pair of eyes appeared behind the open slit in the door."State your name and your business here," a male voice commanded in a blunt, gruff, Hispanic accent."Razor, and I brought my boy for the inauguration," Dad replied.The viewing hole was slammed shut, and a moment later, the door was pulled open. "Go on through," the same guy spoke.He was dark and exotic, and his eyes were like pools of molten amber with black vertical slits for pupils."Is he a . . .," I whispered to Dad."Shh, Kian; yes, he's a cat shifter," Dad answered, keeping his voice low. "Mind your manners," he reprimanded. "It's rude to point and stare.""I've never seen one before," I chatted excitedly.That was the truth; I hadn't. What I had learned at school about the cat community was that their numbers were few. They were hi
Kian My eyes focused on my reflection in the grubby, mottled mirror, ignoring the dark clumps of hair that fell to the floor like feathers from a plucked turkey. The noisy vibration absorbed through my skull each time Lexi dragged the clippers over my scalp. When she was done, I ran my hand over the millimeter-long stubble, feeling the coarse texture against my palm. The boy staring back at me was skinny and gaunt, like some sick kid in the hospital who only had months left to live. "You look bad-ass," Lexi complimented. I eyed her with intrigue, trying to work her out. "Thanks," I replied, unsure how best to respond to her comment. She met my gaze in the mirror and smirked. "What?" She pressed me for an answer, seeming wise to my silent analysis. "Just come out and say whatever it is you want to say, little bear. Don't be shy because it doesn't suit you." She placed a hand on her cocked-out hip, delivering a bucket-load of sass. "Little bear?" I scrunch my face, highly offende
Kian "You're up next, little bear," she muttered sadly, turning her gaze away. I locked eyes with my pal, Jaxton, who was standing over by his father, the President of the Roughnecks biker gang. His nickname was Throttle. I didn't ask why. A wide grin stretched across Jaxton's face as he bounded over to me. "Kian!" he called out, looking happy to see me. I slid down from the stool, clearing the short distance to greet him. "You suit your hair short like that," he remarked, pointing to my scalped head. "But I don't." He gestured to himself with an indignant scowl. "I look like a boiled egg," he complained. Jaxton's blond hair used to hang in wavy strands, reaching down to his shoulders. His momma let him grow it long so he could tie it back in a hairband. Just how his dad wore his. Now a mixture of light versus dark was being swept up from around the stools to where it was all pushed into a shaggy pile against the wall. "Dad says we're gonna be fighting each other in the Cage," J
KianMy feet rooted to the spot as he began to circle us, pacing the ring with observational eyes, scanning for any sign of weakness. "Your fists and shoulders should be up, with your chin and elbows down, eyes up," he barked out the instructions.I swallowed away the dryness as my eyes locked onto his, distrusting and cautious."Good," he voiced confidently. "Always keep your eyes on your opponent. Because if you don't . . ." He twisted his body in a sharp turn, taking a swipe at Jaxton. Jax must have watched him in his peripheral vision and managed to nimbly dodge out of his way."Smart move," Ricochet praised. "Now, I want you all to form pairs and face one another." He walked around us, correcting our posture. "Place your feet diagonal, a little more than shoulder-width apart and bend your knees. Your strength is here, in your core," he coached while tapping my midriff. "Better balance equals greater mobility." He began to demonstrate using actions. "Dominant hand forward. Take sh