Betrayal - The Matlock Pack: Book Two

Chapter 21_Part 1 - Bells

Tuesday 16 February

~*Bells*~

“Mind if I sit with you guys?”

I looked up to see Kadin standing at the end of the picnic bench where Murph, Owen and I were eating lunch. I shrugged noncommittally and returned my attention to my mediocre chicken and salad sandwich, letting Murph and Owen decide for me.

It wasn’t like I was taking part in their conversation, anyway.

As much as Owen had forgiven me for beating him so badly that he’d spent the night in the hospital, I hadn’t been able to forgive myself. Owen was back to his typical snarky self, while I had relapsed into what I had been like when the Warrior course had begun; a closed off shell of what I used to be, going through the motions of every day like a zombie.

Once again, overwhelming guilt had firmly embedded its claws into me and wouldn’t let go.

Owen had tried to lessen the weight I carried by saying he’d been beaten far worse on other occasions by husbands that had come home to find him f*****g their wives, but nothing he said would get me out of my mess of a mood.

I was making some small progress in my sessions with Casey, but it was glacially slow going. After a few sessions, he’d given me a night off from the meditations and instead explained what he thought had caused me to black out like I had.

He had called me a ‘berserker’.

After Tatum’s attack in December, I had shoved all my feelings from the incident, all the rage, all the paranoia, all the fear, so far down inside of me in order to function like a normal member of society that when I had fought Owen, the tight elastic hold I had on everything finally snapped and let everything I had been bottling up erupt to the surface.

All those weeks ago, Nat had asked me if I should talk to someone about how I felt, but I was stubborn and didn’t think there was a need to. She had been right; I had been wrong. I should have talked.

Casey told me that the berserker rage was part of me now. I had let it in, allowed it to take a stranglehold on my soul, and it was never going to go away for the rest of my life. I needed to learn how to harness it before I destroyed not only my own life, but those I loved.

Berserkers weren’t something that were taught about in high school. Sure, we knew about those from Norse mythology, but not how intrinsically linked they were to the werewolf mythos.

From what I could gather from Casey’s descriptions, it was said that berserkers were the precursor to the werewolf, the ancient ancestor that had died out over hundreds, if not thousands, of years of natural selection. Where berserkers were mindless beasts that destroyed everything in their path, werewolves had evolved over time to think and act more like humans. It was your typical demonstration of survival of the fittest.

And berserkers had lost the battle.

In modern times, berserkers were rather uncommon. Every now and then, the occasional pack would seek to create one as they could be useful weapons when wielded correctly, but they were, by their very nature, uncontrollable. Most alphas that used berserkers aimed them in the direction of their enemy and hoped for the best, letting them loose to kill whatever was in front of them. It was incredibly risky to have one be a part of a pack that wasn’t embroiled in a war of some form.

A berserker would rage violently for a time, then once the energy was spent, they had no choice but to collapse on the spot to recover, becoming completely vulnerable to the perils around them.

Packs would generally have to be beyond desperate if they considered creating one, as the process was expensive, highly scientific, and painful for the werewolf in question to endure. Only those that had a death wish or a terminal illness would entertain the idea of becoming one.

Why? Because once created, they very rarely made it past thirty years of age. Most died before they turned twenty-five.

And I was eighteen.

According to Casey, I was the first he’d heard of in over a century that had come across the berserker rage naturally.

So… Yay?

Thanks, Tatum. Thanks very much for the death sentence. I owe you one.

Casey was convinced that I could control my rage-induced berserker instincts by learning a variety of calming techniques and meditative practices.

I wasn’t so sure. It did give me a ton to think about, though.

I nibbled on my sandwich as Kadin settled herself on the seat next to me, while Murph and Owen continued their discussion about motorbike rebuilds. Murph had recently started a hobby-build with his fourteen-year-old foster brother, Blair, to see if he could get him to focus on something other than causing mischief and mayhem. It seemed to be working, but Murph often needed to talk to Owen about mechanical issues he and Blair had run into during the prior week.

“Okay, here’s what I’ve figured out,” Kadin said under her breath. She had straddled the bench seat to face me, her hands resting on the timber in front of her.

“Mm?” I eyed Murph and Owen briefly as I chewed a mouthful of chicken and lettuce, my elbows resting on the picnic table. They were so engrossed in their conversation; they weren’t paying any attention to me or Kadin.

She leaned forward to whisper almost conspiratorially at me. “You’re suffering from PTSD.”

Holding the sandwich just in front of my mouth, my jaw crawled to a stop. I raised an eyebrow and slowly turned to face her, trying hard to swallow what I’d just been chewing. “I’m what now?”

“PTSD. You have PTSD.”

I rolled my eyes and returned to my sandwich. “No, I don't, Kadin,” I said before shoving another bite of sandwich into my mouth.

“No, listen.” Somehow, she leaned even closer to me without losing her balance. “I don’t know what happened between you, Tatum, and Zelda—”

I frowned at her and let out a low growl to warn her she was skirting dangerous territory. It was all I could do, seeing as my mouth was still full.

“—but something obviously did. Something horrible enough to make you dump Nat, although I think that was a poor decision on your behalf—”

I glared at her. Seriously? She was going all out to be the next person on my attack list if she wasn’t going to be more careful.

“—and now you’re exhibiting all the classic signs of PTSD.” She leaned back to forage into her pocket for something, before pulling out a folded-up piece of paper. “There’s…” She unfolded the paper and placed it on the picnic bench in front of me, and pointed to her notes. “… trouble sleeping. No offense, Bells, but you look like death warmed up. Get some f*****g sleep.” She ignored the incredulous look on my face and continued drifting her finger down the list. “Overwhelming guilt or shame. I don’t know about shame, but you’ve been moping around like a lost puppy about Nat, so I’d say you’ve got oodles of guilt locked up in that pretty little head of yours—”

“Kadin.”

“Angry outbursts. I think we can all agree that’s what happened when you went after lug-head over there.” She tilted her head toward Owen, who was still wrapped up in his conversation with Murph.

“Kadin.”

“Always being on guard for danger. I mean, I’ve never seen anyone on such a hair trigger like you’ve been recently, so—”

“Kadin!”

She came to a stop and looked at me. “What?”

“Casey has already diagnosed me, and it’s not PTSD.”

She frowned at me. “But it has to be. All the signs are right there.” She looked at the piece of paper again. “See? Easily startled, trouble concentrating—”

“Kadin, I’m a berserker,” I said quietly, interrupting her before she started reeling off the list again. “The symptoms are very similar to PTSD, but that’s mostly a human condition. In werewolves, PTSD develops into becoming a berserker if it’s not dealt with quickly.”

She blinked several times while she took the news in. “Berserker, like grr… argh…?” She put her hands up in front of her to imitate claws.

I nodded and sighed. “Like grr… argh...” I placed my hands over her imitation claws and brought them down to the bench seat in between us. “Casey is teaching me how to control it.”

“Oh.” Kadin sighed and looked at the paper still sitting on the tabletop. “I thought…”

“I know.” I let her hands go so I could finish my sandwich. “Thank you for researching it for me, though. I really do appreciate it.”

She picked up the paper, refolded it, and leaned back to put it back in her pocket. She looked to her left to a spot behind me, her eyes widening. “Oh…” She swiftly returned her attention back to me. “That’s okay, Bells. Anything, anytime. You know that,” she said quickly, pushing herself up from her perch on the seat. “Sorry that I couldn’t be of more help. I’ll leave you to it. Bye!” She about launched herself away from me, causing me to wonder what the hell was going on.

Even Murph and Owen paused their conversation to watch Kadin flee towards the pack house. They turned to look at me to ask what had happened, when they too widened their eyes enough to look like saucers when they caught sight of something behind me.

I frowned and began to turn around to see what had caught everyone’s attention.

“No, Bells, don’t—” Murph warned, his hand leaning over the picnic table to stop me.

Too late; I’d already seen what everyone had been looking at.

I narrowed my eyes at the vision of Nat sitting with Mac in the shade of one of the huge, old eucalypts that surrounded the pack house. She was leaning into Mac’s embrace, her back to his torso, as they ate their lunch and chatted about something that had them both smiling.

I let loose a snarl when I saw Mac kiss the top of Nat’s head.

“Bells—”

I barely heard Murph call my name before I was out of my seat and flying towards Mac to rip his arms out of his sockets.

“f**k! Nat! Incoming!!” Murph yelled, alarm ringing in his tone of voice.

Nat looked up at Murph’s words and zeroed in on me, the smile fading from her face.

I felt arms wrap around my chest that tried desperately to slow my advance, but whoever it was, was failing miserably.

“Come on, Bells,” Owen said in my ear, struggling to get hold of me. “Ease up.”

My eyes were solidly on Mac’s face as a red tint came over my eyesight. I felt my lips draw away from my teeth as another snarl ripped through me.

“Bells, come on, buddy.” Owen’s arms tightened around me, and he leaned backwards, digging his heels into the ground in an attempt to stop my advance.

It wasn’t working.

Nat was up and away from Mac in a flash, her eyes narrowing as they focused directly onto mine. She held a hand out towards me, palm up. “Bells, relax.”

Mac rose to his feet and watched me with slight alarm. “Nat?”

She kept her eyes on me but raised her other hand back to hold it up in front of Mac. “It’s okay, Mac. Let me handle this.”

He glanced at the back of Nat’s head and then back at me. “If you say so.” He didn’t sound convinced.

Nat stepped in front of Mac to block him from my eyesight. I slowed enough to try to sidestep her, but she blocked me.

“Bells, you need to breathe.” She moved with me, stepping from side to side, blocking every attempt I made to get around her, to get at Mac.

My brain was on automatic pilot, with a single target in mind. Mac. The red mist blanketed everything, not letting me focus on anything except him.

I wanted him destroyed. Annihilated. Ground down to dust to blow away in the wind so he could never be whole again.

I could hear Owen grunting behind me as he tried to drag me back from Nat and Mac, but I kept dragging him along to get to my target. He’d slowed me down, but not enough to stop me.