Rescued by the Beast

~ 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 mine, and I saw an inner glint of defiance within them.

A genuine smile stretched my lips, and I took another sip of my cocoa, feeling the knotting ball of anxiety begin to dissipate.

"You are such a wonderful boy, Kian. Don't ever let the misfortunes of life hold you back. Everything you have ever wished for is right there for the taking. You just have to want it badly enough." Her words struck a chord inside of me, and it was at that moment that I made a promise. One that I vowed I would carry with me until my last breath on this earth.

"One day, I'm gonna make you proud of me. You'll see. I'm gonna try really hard to make something of myself. Then I can take good care of you, and Mom, and Dad too. I'll take care of everything, I promise."

Mrs. Banks chuckled, swiping the pad of her finger under her eyes. "You're a good boy," she spoke with benevolence. "How about I fix you some dinner, then we'll go take a look at the situation next door?"

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

I read through one of Charlie's books while waiting for dinner to cook. The mouth-watering scent of fried bacon wafted past my nose, causing me to salivate. A little while later, she brought in a plate full of waffles, bacon, and eggs.

"Say when," she urged as she poured lashings of maple syrup over the top.

I giggled in the hope that she'd keep it coming. "Kian, that's plenty," she advised, making a tsk noise as she shook her head in amusement.

My hands shook as I picked up the cutlery and began cutting up the food. That first morsel to hit my empty stomach felt like a brick landing onto concrete, plummeting with a forceful smash. Hunger pains twisted my insides, forcing me to eat slower, taking my time to ease the discomfort.

"Did you eat any lunch today?" Mrs. Banks asked, noticing me squirm.

"Mom forgot to buy groceries," I told her, offering a half-truth.

Mom never stocked the kitchen with groceries. She would usually send me to the store with a few dollar bills, and that was how we ate most nights.

"And I bet you don't have much time for breakfast either, do you?" she asked in a way that suggested she knew the truth. That there was no breakfast, and that I'd go all day without anything to eat.

"That's no good at all," she muttered, sounding irked. "Going hungry like that. I want you to call here on your way to school. I'll make you some breakfast and pack you some lunch."

I don't know what I ever did to deserve a kind old lady like Mrs. Banks looking out for me the way she did. But if it wasn't for her, I don't know how much longer I could've survived. She was my guardian angel, and I thanked the heavens for sending her to me.

After dinner, I helped to wash up the dishes. I was nervous about going home as well as nervous about school tomorrow. The second I knew it was time to leave, all my anxiety came flooding straight back.

The yellow glow of the hall light shone through the half circle pane of glass at the top of the door. Mrs. Banks knocked firmly, and then placed her hands on top of my shoulders while we waited for an answer.

Footsteps shuffled from somewhere within the house, then the door was ripped open abruptly. My father stood there with a cigarette in his mouth, his hair wild and unruly as if he hadn't combed it in days.

His eyes flashed from Betty, then down to me. "Boy, have you been bothering Mrs. Banks?" he asked, his gruff, accusatory tone sounding clipped and abrasive.

As I shook my head vigorously, Mrs. Banks answered for me. "No, quite the contrary. This charming young man has been keeping me company."

The tip of Dad's cigarette glowed orange as he took a deep drag, eyeing her with a cocked eyebrow. He made a hmph sound, scoffing at the "charming" comment as if he found that unlikely.

A small stab of hurt pierced my heart at that. Why was it so hard for him to believe that there was good in me? Wasn't he proud to have raised such a decent son like me? Wasn't I good enough?

Mrs. Banks gave my shoulders a reassuring squeeze, and then she patted me. "Off you go. Get a good night's rest, and I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning."

I twisted around to face her. "Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Banks. Good night."

She flashed a warm smile, then gave a stern glare in acknowledgment of my dad. That cheered me up, knowing she wasn't intimidated by him because most people were, especially with the fierce reputation he carried around. As well as fulfilling his ranger duties, Dad was well known in the underground for all the illegal fights he took part in. He missed his last shot at defending his Cage fighting title, all because he couldn't lay off the booze. Now the illegal fights were all he had left.

They nicknamed him "Razor" because his teeth could cut through fur and flesh like butter. I remember the one time he brought me along, saying I needed to toughen up and learn to be a man. All eyes watched me that night. Corrupt, greedy eyes from out of the pits of Whitehaven's underworld. Those guys stayed beneath the radar of the leaders. They even managed to evade the clutches of the Alpha wolf, the five-century-old Lycan, Alec White. They were the type of criminals who could wipe you out in the blink of an eye and not even your own momma could sniff out where they buried your body.

Those were the wrong kind of people. Worse still, those same nasty people all wanted a piece of me, "the son of Razor". Whatever promise they thought I possessed, they were wrong. I would never take a single step inside my daddy's shoes. I was gonna be somebody. I wanted good grades and then a shot at a scholarship. Then from there, I wanted to land me a job in the construction industry because that was where Forest Hills accumulated all its wealth. I would build a house for my mate and me, and we would live happily ever after. Mrs. Banks, Mom, and Dad would all be taken care of because I would earn enough money to get us by and then some.

See, I had it all figured out.

~ Kian ~

I 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 crept down the stairs. Cigarette smoke curled through the kitchen doorway in soft wisps. I peeped through and saw Mom sitting at the small wooden table that was littered with crushed beer cans. She flicked her cigarette ash in one of the empty cans, using it as an ashtray.

"Morning," I acknowledged her sitting there. She groaned in response, scrubbing a hand over her pallid face.

Her brown eyes were heavy, sunken, and gaunt. I had seen pictures of her in her younger years, long before she met Dad and had me. She used to be beautiful. She had long, brown hair with bouncy curls. Her cheeks used to be plump with dimples on either side of her full lips. Her teeth weren't blackened, and her bones weren't protruding through her skin like sticks beneath rags. The drugs Mom pumped into her veins had robbed her of vitality. She looked back at me with empty eyes, her fingers trembling as she brought her cigarette back up to her lips.

"You're going to school early today; what gives?" she asked with a vague curiosity creasing her brow. Her face was momentarily distorted under a cloud full of exhaled smoke.

I could sense what her problem was. She was all out of gear, and she was hoping to catch me early so she could try and persuade me to go get her some. It was more than my life was worth. Dad would tan my hide if he caught me doing that.

"I didn't do my homework, so I have to make up for it." I shrugged, coming up with an excuse and not wanting to tell her about Mrs. Banks looking out for me.

"I already told you." Mom narrowed her eyes as her tone turned sour. "Schoolwork should be done at school."

"I know, Mom," I added quickly, "but my teacher asked if everything was all right at home."

Mom's cursing caused me to recoil, scared that it would wake up Dad. "Fuck, Kian, what did you tell her?"

"I didn't say anything. I ran home. I heard you and Dad fighting, so I stayed and ate dinner with Mrs. B." I told the truth, hoping to placate her.

Mom huffed in agitation. "So that's who called last night," she muttered under her breath.

Dad's heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs, then he entered the kitchen, brushing past me on his way over to the fridge.

"Problem?" he asked in his gruff tone.

"No," Mom spoke with a sigh. "Just school, poking their noses into our business."

Dad dragged a can of beer from the shelf, then let the door fall shut with a rattle. Using one finger, he cracked the ring pull, which then made a hissing sound as the gasses escaped.

"It's simple. We'll just pull him out." He shrugged as if it was as simple as that.

Panic froze me, scared shitless of the future I dreamed about being ripped away. "But I wanna go to school!" I squeaked fearfully.

Dad chugged his beer, unaffected by my distress.

"Why, Kian? Don't you wanna do something more useful with your time?" Mom asked me, then looked to Dad for some backup.

Dad let out a silent belch before answering. "Tomorrow morning, you're coming down to the Cage with me. You're gonna get your first taste of what it feels like to be a man."

"But I promised Jaxton that I'd hang out with him tomorrow," I whined with disappointment.

Dad rolled his eyes. "You'll both be there. It has all been prearranged. You and Jax are of age now. It's about time we begin training you boys."

I frowned in confusion. "Training? But we have training lessons at school," I told him, referring to the compulsory classes which involved shifting, combat, and survival skills.

Dad scoffed as if he thought that was a load of baloney. "Not the crap that they've been teaching you at school. You wanna end up stuck in a deadbeat ranger's job like me?" He gestured at himself and then all around the grubby kitchen space. "Take a look at this place. Is this what you want, Kian?" He made a face and cocked his head to suggest that he didn't think so.

"No, sir," I agreed with him, too scared to say anything else.

"Good, then it's decided. You'll start learning how to handle yourself in the Cage first thing tomorrow." Dad's words were final.

I grabbed my school bag and skulked over to Mrs. B's shack next door.

She fed me a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausages, and toast, then sent me off to school with a brown paper bag that contained my lunch.

By the time I arrived at school, the gates were just getting unlocked. Kids piled through after waving goodbye to their parents and hurried toward their classrooms. Any anxiety I harbored was squashed under a satisfied stomach.

"Hey, Austin!" one of the moms yelled from the edge of the schoolyard. "You forgot your lunch bag!"

I turned to see a kid a few years younger than me hurry back to where his mom was holding out a Power Rangers snack pack. I recognized the lady as Dr. Rayne.

She had made quite a few house calls to Mom over the last few months. She noticed me looking and smiled. Her son, Austin, was a little shorter than me and had blond hair that refused to be tamed. His mom dressed him in smart clothes, making him look coddled and cared for. He hadn't the faintest idea how much he was envied by me. His momma took care of everyone. Yet she still made sure he went to school with a full belly and his lunch bag. That was one lucky kid, even if he did take it all for granted. He rolled his eyes as she pulled him back, squishing his face between her hands as she kissed him goodbye. I would've traded a vital organ just to have my momma care about me like that.

Bodies bustled around the halls, forming a single file outside each classroom door along the walls. Colorful pictures decorated either side where some of our best work took pride of place. I was third in line today, which was a new record for me. Usually, I wandered in last.

Miss Halloway noticed me enter the room, raising her brows with surprise. I guess she figured I'd be a "no show" after yesterday's fiasco, not show up early. The teaching assistant she was speaking with turned her head in my direction and gawked at me.