Alliance of Shadows, Book 5: LEIF

When Threats Become Reality

Conner had grown more attached to me than to Dreson, while his sister leaned more toward my fiancé. Still, I loved how accepting the kids were of their new living situation. Their nightmares had nearly stopped, and they were comfortable with the routines we stuck to. Heather was gaining confidence, and with help from Con’s speech pathologist, we were making fine progress.

Do I need to mention that they’re thrilled to go to Nana and Poppy’s house every weekend? Or that they adore playing with their Uncle Kaden, especially when he lets them ride around on his back in wolf form?

It wasn’t about proving strength or standing. It was something he chose to do, something he said would help them become accustomed to the presence of werewolves over time.

He had been right. Brilliant bugger that he is.

The kids learned quickly that their uncle and Nana were werewolves, but they knew they were in a safe place. They understood that they could come talk to any one of us, and no one would tell them to shove off or dismiss their thoughts and emotions. Bringing them to a few Gatherings, we encouraged them to become involved with the other children, forming bonds with magic users and wolf pups as they settled into their new life.

Smiling, I carried Conner out to the car, glancing over as Dreson's expression darkened. His shoulders tensed, his focus locked on something in the distance.

"I'm calling your uncle, Leif," he growled. "Seamus is getting out of hand, and it gives me the creeps. He's watching us right now."

"I know, love," I murmured. "We need to see him gone, sooner rather than later."

A thought hit me, sharp and sudden, and I glanced at the kids as we placed them in the car. Looking over at Dreson, my eyes sent the message I didn’t dare speak aloud.

His gaze flicked to mine, reading me instantly, and he nodded in understanding.

"Heather, honey, there’s a change of plans," he said, gently lifting her from the seat. "You and your brother are going to stay home for the rest of the week, okay?"

She hesitated but nodded, letting him carry her back to the house.

Our peaceful routine hadn’t just been disrupted.

It had been shredded to bits.

All because I couldn’t bring myself to open up about my past.

As if sensing my thoughts, Dreson let out a low growl, his tone sharp with certainty.

"It’s not your fault, Leif. Even if you had told me everything, he more than likely would have shown up anyway. The way we’re working on things gives us the ability to kill several birds with one stone."

I nodded. "I know, love, but it still scares the Saints out of me. I don’t want our friends and family sufferin’ because of what I’ve kept hidden."

"There won’t be any secrets left once everything is out in the open," he replied, steady and resolute. Taking Heather and Conner by their hands, he led them to the downstairs playroom rather than their own bedrooms.

The playroom—a space that doubled as a safe room. Reinforced walls. No windows. Its own power supply. A fully stocked bathroom. There was also an intercom inside, letting us keep an ear on everything the kids were doing while we worked on the days they stayed home.

Sitting me down at the table, Dreson placed a pen in my hand. "Write," he said simply before stepping away to make a few calls.

The threat of Seamus being wicked enough to hurt innocent children hung in the air like an axe ready to drop, waiting for the right moment.

******

For a solid two years, I had no control over anything that happened to me. The beatings became more frequent, and I didn’t want to give them a reason to make it worse. I was already suffering enough.

George kept me caged, drugged into a stupor, all while throwing elaborate parties to entertain his equally vile guests—men who came only to hurt me however they pleased. I understood why I had been in so much pain after the drugs wore off that first weekend.

The men at the country manor had been given free rein to assault and beat me, leaving me at their mercy. A mere child, an unwilling participant in their twisted games.

Shame sat heavy inside me, settling into something cold and hollow.

I didn’t understand why they enjoyed hurting me, why they found pleasure in something so cruel. Adults were supposed to protect children, to love them and guide them, but that didn’t exist in what was then my reality.

One weekend, three weeks after the first time, they only gave me enough drugs to keep me from fighting back while they did what they wanted. That was when I fully understood why I had been in so much pain, why I couldn't sit properly for nearly a week, why my body was littered with bruises and marks that had no innocent explanation.

Then, as they neared the second anniversary of my captivity, one of the men who’d come from another country had the brilliant idea of giving me a drug called Spedra. He assured George he would only give me half a dose, said it would make things more interesting.

In the time it took for the "medicine" to kick in, they let me eat a sandwich and gave me a glass of water. Since I was tied up, one of the housekeepers fed me, hands steady, movements precise, like she had done this before.

The girl that served my food was told to stay, but I didn’t know why.

The man who had injected me finally spoke, his voice steady, almost clinical. He explained that the drug they gave me was responsible for my reaction, a variation of something called Viagra.

Struggling against the straps digging into my wrists and ankles, I screamed until my throat was raw, cursed them until my voice gave out. The burn from my restraints barely registered. Pain was secondary to the horror spreading through me.

Rather than offering help, the housekeeper simply watched, detached, distant, like she had accepted this was just how things worked. She didn’t offer comfort, didn’t soften the blow. Instead, she told me plainly that there was no escaping the life I had been sold into.

Disheartened, I let my head roll to the side. I felt dirty, tainted by their darkness, twisted by their desires.

Slowly, my will to live was slipping away. My ability to engage in anything meaningful was buried beneath the realization that family didn’t mean unconditional love, not in my world.

I had never had an interest in the female body unless it was for anatomy purposes. I didn’t know why they thought giving me something to make me hard would help. All the medicine did was make my body burn.

By the time they were done with me, my mind was numb, my body unresponsive. I felt nothing but emptiness.

The door to the basement opened, and George walked over the stairs. "Right then, lads, that’ll do for the weekend. Let’s hope to see you all next week. Safe journey home, eh?"

He waited until they were gone to come over and untie me, but I couldn't move. Something in me had shattered, and it wasn't a bone.

Falling to the floor, I passed out despite his demands to get on my feet.

I woke to the steady beep of a machine filling the silence. Blinking hard, I glanced around, trying to shake the haze weighing me down. I was in a hospital bed, wires taped to my skin, feeding medicine into my body from a bag that hung on a metal pole.

Straining my ears, I listened as my mother and father argued with someone on the other side of the door. Their voices were sharp, cutting through the sterile air. Then I heard the sweetest sound ever.

A voice of sheer authority declared, "Right then, we’ll be puttin’ the boy in care till the charges of neglect and abuse are sorted. It all depends on what the Justice says, mind, but you might get him back in a year, maybe less."

Mother and Father cursed up a storm outside my hospital room, their fury dripping from every word, but I barely registered it. All I could think about was the small taste of freedom I was getting.

Days later, I was moved to a boys' home near the border between Wales and England. The air felt different there—less suffocating, less poisoned with the weight of fear.