LOVING THE MADMAN

Scars at Supper

Later that evening, I decided to join Fugrak and Mara for dinner rather than eat alone in my room.

For a while the three of us ate in silence, until eventually Fugrak broke it.

“How’s your Alpha, Zephyr?” he asked in a cold tone. “We haven’t heard from him in a while. I guess the time hasn’t come when he’ll need our help.”

Fugrak was a loyal ally to the Wrath Pack. Zephyr had known him long before he’d ever known me… long before the day of his Alpha coronation ceremony, when our paths first crossed.

I’d been hired back then by one of the many Alphas hungry for his title, sent to assassinate him.

I had a dark, shitty past. After leaving the Accursed, I became an assassin, selling every skill the pack had beaten into me. It was during those years that I'd earned names like “The Madman” and “The Butcher.”

But Zephyr spared my life instead of taking it, even when others demanded my head. And when he learned I’d been raised by the Fugrak… well, small world.

“He's alright,” I replied.

Fugrak stopped eating. “Why are you here, Troy?” he demanded impatiently.

Mara glared at him in warning, but he ignored her.

“Ten years,” he went on. “You leave this place… your people, the ones who raised you… And now you show up out of nowhere. What. Do you. Want?”

I kept my eyes on my plate, pushing the food around with my fork. “Where’s Miles?” I asked finally.

I sensed Mara stiffen.

“Why do you care?” He scoffed.

“I need to see him,” I said, finally looking up.

“Well, he’s dead,” Fugrak snapped.

Silence spread across the table.

I stared at him blankly as a strange hollowness opened in my chest.

I’d looked forward to facing Miles again someday, not as the weak coward I was as a youth but as myself. Now that chance was rotting in a grave somewhere.

“It happened three years ago. Blood infection,” Fugrak muttered, crossing his arms and looking away. “Even his wolf couldn’t heal him.”

Miles had been a barbaric bastard. Hearing he’d died from a blood infection didn’t surprise me, knowing the kind of cannibalistic filth he’d been. But it still hit me, not out of grief, but because I’d at least wanted the chance to face him again. “Sad,” I said flatly.

Fugrak let out a harsh guffaw. “Oh, don’t pretend it means anything to you.” He leaned forward. “Why. Are. You. Here?”

“The nightmares won’t leave me.” I admitted it at last, and Mara let out a sigh.

“It clings to me like a disease… this f*****g place. The f*****g torment.”

I dropped my fork on the plate. “Every nightmare, every scar on my back, every feral instinct to break a neck before I even think… it all started here. With you.”

My eyes locked with his. “You taught me to kill, even when it wasn’t called for. How to survive. How to assert dominance by spilling blood. How to handle my anger by spilling blood. How to resolve anything… by spilling blood.” My jaw ticked furiously.

“But you never taught me what to do with the rage when there’s nothing left to kill.”

“I’m sorry, are you trying to blame me?” Fugrak sneered. “I made you what you are.” He jabbed a finger toward me. “That name they call you… they call you it because of me. You should be thanking me.” He slammed a fist into the table, rattling the dishes. “You’re a legend. Wolves fear you. And what do I f*****g get? Blame. You ungrateful wretch. I carved you out of nothing.” He bared his teeth. “And you dare spit in the hand that forged you?”

“Fugrak!” Mara’s voice cracked as she interrupted. Her eyes glittered with tears she was fighting to hold back.

“The scars I bear on my back.” I continued. “Were they necessary in ‘forging’ me?”

“Mere injuries.” Fugrak scoffed, relaxing in his chair. “They healed, didn't they? Even as a young Lycan stray in our werewolf pack, you survived, didn't you?”

“Did you think they’d fade from my soul just because the skin healed?”

“Oh, Troy…” Mara was weeping now. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered.

I turned to her, my voice softening. “You were kind to me, Ma. There's no need to weep.”

Then, I looked back at Fugrak. “I came here to at least try to understand why you put me through all that,” I said. “But it’s obvious already. You’re just a heartless bastard with no soul.”

Fugrak pushed his chair back, rising to his feet in anger. I stood too.

“If anyone's a bastard here, it's you!” He roared. “Or have you forgotten how we took you in? Saved your life?!”

Mara’s face fell into her hands as she shook her head.

“And you wonder why you have no child?” I lashed out brutally. “I’m certain Selene herself cursed your loins, and by doing so, she spared innocent lives. I just wish you hadn’t dragged Mara into your mess, you filthy pig!”

Fugrak’s entire body shook with rage. “You watch your mouth right this instant, or I'll…”

“You’ll what?!” I challenged. The air burned with tension. “Beat it out of me again? Call your guards to hold me down while you carve silver into my back?”

Dregoth raged inside me, begging to be unleashed, but I kept him caged. My eyes, however, shifted to his colour.

I pressed my palms into the table so hard it left a dent in the wood.

“I dare you.” I growled.

Fugrak’s nostrils flared, his claws digging into the wooden table.

For the first time, he hesitated.

I saw it as my cue to leave and turned.

“Mara should’ve left you to freeze to death!” he yelled, his voice cracking behind me. “Your own mother didn’t want you!”

I stilled for a moment, the words ripping into me like a silver whip.

“The closure you’re looking for…” His voice rose like a maniac. “...you’ll never find it!”

I stopped walking to glance over my shoulder.

“I already have,” I said quietly. Then I walked out.

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Later that night, a rattle at the window woke me up. I got off the floor, drawing out my claws as I moved toward the sound.

Maybe Fugrak, petty as he was, had sent someone to attack me after our earlier fight.

Before I reached the window, someone jumped inside, landing quietly, their face hidden in the shadows.

I rushed at the intruder, raising my claws and ready to strike.

“Easy there, Baby Fangs.”

My hand hung in the air at the familiar voice.

“Akira?”

She pulled back her hood, exposing her face, and smiled, whistling the tune from our childhood. “Troy”

I took back my claws. “What sort of person breaks in by this time of the night without the intent to steal or harm?”

Her eyes moved over the room, taking in the bed that was unslept in and my duvet on the floor.

She shook her head.

“And what sort of freak chooses the floor over the bed?”

I smirked.

Her attention returned to me. She gave me a slow once-over, smiling in satisfaction. “Someone’s aging well.”

I was shirtless, wearing only shorts. “So are you.”

Akira was tall and strong; her dark hair, which used to be long, was now in a pixie cut. Tattoos covered the full sleeve of her left arm, with multiple piercings on both her ears.

She wore a sleeveless hooded vest with baggy pants and was barefoot.

I couldn't help but smile lightly. She looked exactly the same as I remembered her… confident, and a little rough around the edges.

“I still haven’t forgiven you for leaving,” she said, running her fingers down my arm as she circled me. “We heard about you after you left. Even though Fugrak was bitter, he was proud… especially of your kills, of the name you built for yourself.”

I moved away. “It’s not something I’m proud of.”

“Why not?” she asked, following me with a small frown. “It’s a good thing. Nobody dares to cross you. You’re a predator.” She smiled. “The Madman.”

“Don’t call me that,” I said in a serious tone.

“Someone's testy tonight,” she teased. “What happened to you? You used to be fire. Now you’re ice.”

“Violence isn't everything,” I replied.

Her face blanched in surprise. “Now you sound like one of the weak ones. Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Ryder.”

Akira’s tone had changed to a seductive one. She drew closer until her scent invaded the air between us. Her fingers slid up my chest, then lower, till they reached the band of my shorts.

I shifted.

“You know you don’t have to pretend with me,” she said softly, staring up at me. “It’s been so long, but I remember what you like.”

Dregoth stirred, the old hunger starting to rise. And then Athena’s face flashed across my mind… silver hair, blue eyes.

As her hands dipped low and she leaned up to kiss me, I turned my head away, catching her wrist.

Surprised, she frowned. “Why'd you stop me? Is there someone else?”

I let go of her wrist, not responding.

“Troy?” she called out.

I let out a breath, looking down at her.

“Yes.” I said. “There is.”