he’d just made to them. A dark, ugly confession, full of blood and sin and evil. And in their eyes, no doubt, embarrassment—at least as much as they were able to process. He didn’t for a moment think they would mourn the loss of the human life he’d taken, or the one that’d been lost because of him. No, compassion for humanity wasn’t in their makeup. Hell, compassion for anything was beyond them.
But his lack of control would be the thing that proved difficult for them to face. To Jerry and Miriam Connors, control meant everything. There was nothing, nothing in this entire world, that they believed in more.
As pure-blooded werewolves in the Silvercrest Lycan pack, Elliot’s parents could have easily been one of those arrogant, racist couples who despised anyone and anything they deemed beneath them. Humans, the half-breed Bloodrunners who protected the pack, and any Lycan who mated with a human. For most purebloods, these groups were not only deemed inferior, but often abhorrent.
His parents, though, were different. The thing they hated most in this world was emotion, in any form. As orphans who had been raised with foster families, his parents had suffered for lack of attention and he’d always wondered if that had forged them into such cold, calculating adults. But, in truth, he didn’t honestly know. The only certainty he had when it came to the two Lycans who had given him life was that emotion in their eyes meant weakness. And what was a loss of control but the absence of logic in the face of extreme emotion? Passion, love, devotion. The concepts were no doubt as foreign to them as guilt would be to a sociopath.
God, no wonder he’d been so attracted to Marly, with her kind smiles and her natural warmth. She’d been the kind of girl who could make even the shyest introvert feel welcome, and he’d been drawn to the warmth of her human soul like a moth to a flame. Only...Marly hadn’t been the danger. Elliot and the world that he came from had. And now it was too late. Marly was gone, his seventeen-year-old soul was blackened and there was no one to blame but himself.
From the look on his parents’ faces, he knew they blamed him, too.
Reaching for the cup of coffee that sat before him, his father took a sip of the steamy beverage, then lowered the mug. His dark eyes, so like Elliot’s own, narrowed with decision, and in a calm voice, he said, “You made mistakes that could have easily been avoided had you been willing to control your more primitive urges, and then you took refuge with the Runners. It seems logical that your place is with them now. We’ll expect you to have your things out of the house by the end of the day.”
Well, that was no fucking surprise. And yet, he couldn’t quite swallow down the lump that had just lodged its way into his throat. “Yeah?” he choked out. “So that’s it?”
His mother’s tone was as bland as her expression as she turned her attention from his father to him. “What more did you expect, Elliot?”
A husky, bitter laugh left his lips before he could stop it. “I suppose a heartfelt ‘We love you and will stand by you’ would be asking a bit much, huh?”
“And what place does love have in this life that you’ve chosen for yourself?” his father asked. “How can love exist for something as ill-disciplined as you?”
He kept his gaze focused on his mom, feeling like an idiot for hoping for something that would never be there. A flash of regret. A flicker of guilt. Instead, she was like a beautiful china doll, and just as lifeless. He idly wondered if she would shatter like dropped porcelain if that wide mouth of hers ever tried to curl in a smile or a sneer...or an impassioned defense of her only child. But she simply sat there, like a statue, and he forced himself to turn away before he made a fool of himself in front of them.
Heading upstairs to his bedroom, he could only give another hollow, gritty laugh when he found the stack of moving boxes they’d left on his bed. He told himself that a lot of people left home at seventeen, and that he’d be fine. But it didn’t make the ache in his gut hurt any less, or the anger firing through his veins burn any colder.
It took him little time to pack his things, his need to be gone from that place more important than organization. He shoved his crap into the boxes in huge armfuls, only taking his clothes and books and leaving the rest behind.
His parents still sat at the table, both of them reading the paper in icy, sterile silence, and Elliot didn’t even slow his steps as he made the last trip past the dining room archway and out the front door.
Climbing into the truck the Runners had let him borrow, he started the engine and got the hell out of there. The back of his throat and nose burned, but he sniffed and tightened his jaw, refusing to shed any tears over the couple who had given him life.
Not. A. Single. Damn. One.
Present day December
So this is Charity, Pennsylvania, Elliot thought, casting a long, dark look down the wide street that ran through the center of town. What a screwed-up name.
Despite the beauty of the state, this particular place was a shithole, and that was putting it nicely. In Elliot’s opinion, there didn’t seem to be a single charitable thing about it, its only redeeming feature the fact it was surrounded by thick, lush forest. As a Lycan, or werewolf, Elliot craved the scent and feel of the woods the way a baby hungered for mother’s milk. So in his eyes, the surrounding forest was the only saving grace to good ol’ run-down, seen-better-days-decades-ago Charity.
Not even the haggard Christmas lights flashing down the sides of the street could make the place look cheery.
“Dude, what’s up with the look on your face? You step in some yellow snow, or just thinking about how long it’s been since you actually made an effort to get laid?”
The questions came from the pain in the ass standing beside him, his Bloodrunning partner and best friend, Max Doucet. The two of them had met nearly a decade ago, at the lowest points of their lives, and somehow found their way through the nightmare together. Max had once been human, before he was attacked by a rogue wolf and turned. And Elliot... Elliot’s nature had been forged in the jaws of hell itself.
And now they worked as Bloodrunners alongside the men and women who’d saved them all those years ago. Max had been fortunate to have the Runners’ support because he was an innocent who’d been caught up in the pack’s troubles, and Elliot because he’d acted on instinct and saved the life of Torrance Dillinger when she was attacked by the group of rogue wolves he’d been involved with. Her husband and mate, Mason, had told the frightened, traumatized young Lycan Elliot had been back then that they’d helped him because they could tell he had a good heart. Such simple words, and yet, he knew it was their faith in him that had made the difference. That had kept him in the light, when he could have easily slithered into a cold, emotionless existence that would have been too much like his parents’ way of living.
Thanks, but no thanks.
Given a second chance, he’d held on to the Runners’ belief in him with a white-knuckled grip as the years went by, while still holding himself back from the things most men craved. Holding back, until he finally reached a point where he’d started to believe he could trust himself as much as they did. And it was then that he’d started to let his body and mind want more.
And, yeah, by more he meant a woman.
He might not have any experience, save that one hellish night all those years ago,
