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My mother filled me in on my father’s family last night, and I relayed most of that information to my brothers. It seems likely that my father is also Scratch’s father, considering the condition my father gave me is something that is rare, but I do not wish for my brother to know his father is a terrible person who abandoned him to his death.
“He looked younger, but maybe that was just the pee stains, or the fact that he’s a regular shifter.”
“It is because he was quick to retreat. A real man does not run in the face of danger.”
I turn back to the doorway when Scratch’s gaze drifts from me.
The man who stands there is tall and muscular, like I remember.
His son is standing in the doorway, holding onto the frame behind him, staring out.
I can practically see him shaking in fear.
It is an odd sight to witness from someone who is supposed to be an Alpha.
“Go back inside, Apollo,” William Masters orders his son. “Close the door.”
The kid does what he’s told, and his father walks away from his house, coming down the path with no hesitation in his step. He only stops when he gets within two feet of the gate.
“Sol, is it?” he asks, his cold blue eyes regarding me with no hint of emotion.
He begins to roll up the sleeves of his collared shirt as he watches me, waiting for my response.
He stands tall and acts as if I’m not two foot taller than he is, with claws that could tear him to shreds.
He has not changed one little bit.
“I go by Scar now,” I tell him. “Thanks to the permanent gift you left me.”
I motion to my scarred chest, to the wound that will never fully fade because he made it with a silver coated blade.
My mother called me Sol. I will not allow him to do the same.
“It is somewhat impressive that it didn’t kill you,” he tells me. “Scar. I do not like that as a name, but it does not matter. You will be drowning in your own blood soon enough. I will be happy to put you out of your misery.”
I let out a huff of laughter. There is no way he will best me in a battle.
“What?” he asks. “You think because you spent decades in that spirit trap, laying those old ghosts to rest that makes you ready for a real battle? You may as well have died the night I slashed your chest open. You are nothing more than a ghost.”
My anger bubbles over at his taunting, but I do not allow him to goad me into attacking.
He must first accept my challenge and choose his form.
“We will see who becomes a ghost when this is over,” I snap. “Accept my challenge or die a coward’s death.”
He smirks at me. “Oh, I accept your little challenge, my son. I am ready to make you bleed. Do not worry about that. I will make sure I take care of your brother, too, while I’m at it.”
“Choose your form,” I growl at him, motioning to Scratch to move back.
“I am getting to that,” my father says, making a shooing motion. “Step away from the gate.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but I move back, and I keep moving back, as does Scratch, until we are almost three times as far away from him as we were when he was standing in front of us in his yard.
“That should be far enough,” he says, as he loosens his tie. “Let’s see now … human is out. Much too vulnerable to those teeth and claws. Wolf … well, that’s a little predictable, now, isn’t it?”
His smile twists and grows too wide for his mouth as his skin ripples beneath.
This looks like a deception, likely of the magical variety.
