Full Moon Feral (3 page)

“Don’t try to handle me, Dalton.” Brendan got in his friend's face, the feral growling menacingly on the other side of the cell. They were upsetting the feral and that was making Brendan more pissed off about his friend pulling this stunt.

“I need to. Someone needs to step in and take care of you. You aren’t thinking of yourself, and you’re wasting away. I won’t stand by and watch it anymore!” Dalton yelled back commandingly.

Brendan glanced over at the feral. He was gripping the bars, staring at him. Brendan knew he wasn’t taking care of himself. He hated this. The situation was out of his control.

“C’mon, Bren. Let’s get a shower and a quick bite, then you can come back here. We’re all worried about you. Please, let us take care of you when you can’t.” Dalton held out his hand.

Looking over his shoulder, Brendan saw Colin, Sloan and Oren.

“Okay.” Brendan gave in. He turned, staring at the feral. “I’ll be right back. Okay?”

Nothing. No acknowledgement that the feral understood. If only Brendan knew his name. He walked back to his cell, Dalton next to him. He went straight into the cubby of a bathroom that each cell contained. Big enough to take care of his needs but easy enough to seal up when in lockdown during the full moon. He stripped and turned the water on, not caring if it was hot or cold, then stepped into the spray. Cold water sluiced his skin, and he cleaned, washing his hair and body, doing everything mechanically. He was thin to begin with, but staring down, the sight of his ribs beginning to show through his skin made him frown.
It had only been a week? What had I eaten?
Nothing substantial, for sure. Shrugging, uncaring, he finished up. Stepping out, Oren stood holding out a towel.

Brendan grabbed it, muttering a “Thanks.”

Oren was another one of his friends who had yet to go through his shift. He still had a couple months, but the Omega had a laissez-faire approach to it, so he wasn’t sure if his friend was nervous or not. He was the spitfire of the group, and Oren was good at always making Brendan laugh. Now, Oren stood there, gazing at him in concern.

“Bren, you want company tonight when you sit with him? I’ll pull out my mattress, and we can sit together.” Oren grabbed his towel and began rubbing Bren’s brown hair vigorously.

Brendan didn’t have it in him to protest and just stood there while Oren grabbed a pair of jeans and t-shirt for him. He dressed without saying a word to Oren, not answering his question. He wasn’t sure if he wanted company or not. It hurt too much to even make decisions right now.

Oren led him out of his cell, friends waiting for them. Staring at each one, concern in each friend's eyes, he felt overwhelmed. He didn’t want them to worry about him. Hell, he always wanted to fly under the radar, go unnoticed in this place.

Hand trembling, he reached out for Oren. “You’ll stay with me tonight?”

“I will.” Oren grasped his hand, sure and firm.

Brendan took in a quivering breath as he walked with his friends to the cafeteria. Brendan couldn’t help but notice they took the long way, avoiding his feral’s cell. Upon entering, the smell of breakfast wafted toward him. He knew he needed to eat but couldn’t help but feel nauseous as a large plate of bacon went by.

They walked into the buffet area, and Oren grabbed two plates while Brendan stood lost in his own thoughts, trying to keep his feet planted so that he didn’t turn and run back to the feral.

“This way, Bren,” Oren guided him by the elbow to a table where Dalton, Sloan and Colin were already sitting.

Brendan plopped down, picked up his fork and pushed his food around as his friends talked around him. He tried to pick up the conversation, hearing a few snippets of words, but his thoughts kept pulling him away from the table and down the hall.

He was about to give up and go back when he heard Colin speak. “I saw the doctor this morning, and they’re not sure what the effects will be for me shifting so early. Sloan’s blood kick started my shift, but they just don’t know if something will happen long term.”

“I’m sure you’re going to be fine.” Sloan rubbed Colin’s back before leaning over and giving him a soft kiss.

Brendan could hear the fear in Sloan’s voice, but there was something more. A puzzle that stood before him, but he couldn’t see the whole picture.

“What do you mean Sloan’s blood kick-started your shift?” Brendan asked.

Heads turned, looking surprised that Brendan actually spoke up. He didn’t care.

Colin glanced at everyone before answering, “Sloan’s shifter blood caused me to shift early, bringing my wolf to the surface. They had heard of it happening before, but it’s rare. So rare and so long ago, they had to test me to see if there were any side effects to it. They haven’t found any yet except it woke my wolf up.”

“But how?” Brendan furrowed his brow.

“We think it had to do with us being mates and exchanging blood.”

Brendan nodded, and the conversation switched, but he couldn’t let this go.
If a mate’s blood could kick start a pre-shifter into changing early, bring a wolf to the surface, what could my mate blood, specifically my Omega blood, do to a feral? Omegas were known to bring a pack to unity. Could my blood draw the feral from madness? Would I have to take in the feral’s blood to make the mating complete? Would it hurt to try? Would it even make any difference?

Pushing his food around, he thought that this was stretching it a bit. That his heart was reaching for a cure where one didn’t exist.
But really, could it hurt? And if it did, would it matter anyway since I am going to lose my mate? A mate who I never got to know, hold or even touch.
Sorrow filled him at the thought that he never really had the feral. He had a horrific picture that he could only gaze upon as his heart was ripped to shreds.

Determination filled Brendan. He didn’t want that future, hated the thought of that future with a passion that filled him with an inner rage that knew no bounds.

Brendan stood, pushed back his chair and ran out of the cafeteria, straight to his feral. The cell was destroyed. There was nothing left of the mattress except tattered remains. His feral was heaving, out of breath, centered on the destruction he caused. Sweat coated his muscular chest, and his gray eyes were wild and unfocused.

Brendan approached the bars and clasped them. He swiftly glanced to the side, watching a guard down the hall as he walked away from them, but he would soon be turning and coming back in their direction, which would stop what he was about to do.

A growl ripped into the air, and Brendan’s eyes widened at the feral who was just on the other side of the bars. He had moved so fast that Brendan hadn’t even tracked him.

Extending his arm through the cell bars, Brendan murmured, “Bite.”

The feral growled as he yanked on his arm. His shoulder strained under the pressure, but the feral made no move to bite him.

“Bite!” Brendan commanded, and the feral struck his wrist.

Unbelievable pain coursed through Brendan’s body, and he let out a silent scream. He tried to pull away, but the feral was so damn strong, it was utterly useless. Dots appeared in his vision, and he thought he might just pass out. In the background, he could hear a shout.

The feral finally pulled back, crimson blood running down his chin to dribble on his chest. An insane roar filled the entire cell, and Brendan tried one more time to pull away. Gray eyes flashed, staring right into his own gaze, and then, a large, muscular arm shot out of the bars, gripping him by the back of the head.

His forehead smacked against the bars, causing another flash of pain and his eyes to tear up. Through blurry tears, he watched the feral savagely bite into his own wrist; Brendan was sure it was to the bone. Before he could do anything, the wrist was shoved through the bars and into his mouth.

Choking and trying to get away, Brendan gagged as coppery blood flowed into his mouth. Another triumphant roar filled the air, and Brendan was forced to swallow.

Shouts filled the air, and Brendan felt several people surrounding him. One tried to pull him away, and Brendan felt the feral jerk before hearing the sound of a connecting punch right next to his ear. More hands grabbed a hold of him, and finally, he was set free.

Brendan stumbled to the ground, wiping the blood that covered his face. He stared back in horror at the feral.
What have I done?

The feral reached out for him, screaming…more human now? Brendan looked up into the wild gray eyes, and he saw something…different. There was recognition. He recognized him.

Brendan clambered up, trying to get back to the bars.

“Brendan, what the hell is wrong with you? Stop!” Malach yelled.

A heat began to penetrate Brendan. A fire was building inside Brendan, and it was bubbling, volcanic. Something was wrong; his breathing quickened. His skin crawled, and he pulled away from Malach, wobbling on unsteady feet as his friends surrounded him, watching.

Panic bubbled and an anguished pain filled his head. Too much…Too damn much.

He was losing control. With the last of his strength, he turned to stare at the feral whose eyes were widened in panic as he shook the bars.

Limbs working against him, brain ready to explode, his body came alive, and he fell into the darkness chased by his own screams.

Voices drifted in a distance, and Brendan tried to grasp one, but they continued to float away as he drifted in the darkness. He was restless, tried to move his limbs, but they wouldn’t cooperate. He felt restrained, and that, in and of itself, caused his lids to blink blurrily open. He was irritable and growled until a very familiar face appeared before him, worried and cleaned up.

His feral stared down at him, expression worried as he chewed on a full lower lip. Brendan tried to move his arm to stop that lip from being tortured and found himself bound.

Pissed, he pulled at the chains. “What’s going on?”

The feral cleared his throat, Adam's apple moving up and down. “Something happened to you when you took my blood. I’m so sorry…I…”

Brendan’s entire body shivered at the low, hoarse voice. A voice that sounded like it hadn’t spoken words in a long time.

All that was forgotten with the one thing that Brendan wanted to ask the most. “What’s your name?”

The feral rubbed a rough thumb over his hot cheek. “Ripley.”

Ripley had no fucking clue what was going on, but he knew that the very stability of his world lay in the bound man with beautiful brown puppy-dog eyes.

Clarity was slow in coming, but as the hour went on, his mind came back to working order. There was a big void in his memory, he was sure of it. The only thing he remembered in the long memory lapse was the sad brown eyes before him, compelling him but always just beyond his reach. Ripley sighed as the edges of memory seemed to elude him.

There were others around him asking questions and trying to give him answers, but right then, all his concern focused on the man who was restrained with Ripley’s blood still smudged all over his face. That he knew he did. Guilt ate at him for causing him harm.
Nice fucking first memory.

The last thing he remembered before that was walking into the office for the day, feeling sick and nauseous. After getting worse, he was unable to finish the day and went home early. He didn’t remember much of anything after the sun went down.

Ripley wasn’t sure of the date, where he was or why his body and mind felt like they were continually fighting an inner battle that he never knew existed. All that he knew was the little the other men there had told him as Ripley tried to focus on the man lying on his tattered mattress. That Brendan, the strikingly handsome man, had been hurt, blood had been exchanged, and a lot of
I don’t knows
along the way.

Trying to drown out the unanswered questions, he stared down at the slim man beneath him, feeling drawn to Brendan. Ripley had always been attracted to men, but this one made him want to lash out at anyone who dared come near him. A side of him he'd never known before.

“Now that he’s awake, the doctor wants to come in and recheck him. Are you going to behave, Ripley, or do I have to put the chains on you?” The guard who had helped the two of them when all hell broke loose stepped forward with thick chains. Malach—Ripley thought that was what he'd said his name was.

Ripley nodded, his throat painfully sore. However, he wasn’t stepping back. Brendan was vulnerable right then, and no one was going to take advantage of that situation with Ripley around.
I’m being protective over a complete stranger. What the hell?

The doctor came in, young looking with wavy auburn hair. “Hi, Ripley. I’m Lachlan, one of the many doctors on staff at Moon Compound. I prefer just to be called Lachlan, no need for formality here. I’m just going to check his vitals and get some blood. If it’s okay, I’d like to do the same with you.”

Moon Compound?
He had heard that name mentioned a couple times in the last hour.

Lachlan stood at the cell doors as if he expected Ripley to attack him. Fogginess clouded him and irritation built. Hell, maybe the doctor had a reason to be cautious. Ripley didn’t feel at all like himself.

He nodded his consent, and two huge guards came in, holding cattle prods. Without thought, he began to growl.
What the…
A deep savageness built up in him as he crouched before Brendan. Body reacting before mind, Ripley was ready to do battle with anyone that came near Brendan with a possible threat to do harm.

“Now, Ripley, you said I could come in and take vitals.” Lachlan’s hand trembled on his medical bag.

“You, not them. I want them out of here.” Ripley jerked his head for the guards to take a hike.

“It was against my better judgment to let Brendan lay in here with you while he was unconscious. My own personal feelings clouded my decision of taking him to medical when you begged me to keep him. I’m not letting the doctor in here without protection from you. You still have no fucking control,” Malach gritted out.

Ripley hated what he was going to say but growled out, “You need to chain me then.”