Unmarked Mates

Chapter 5: "Beginning is easy - to keep going is hard"

Brandon, Danny's mate above

Danny POV

When I think about my childhood, the first thing that comes to my mind is fear. As the son of a hunter, I was raised in fear of werewolves. That was how it was; that was how the hunters should be raised because fear is the easiest emotion to be remolded into hate, and hate is essential to make people want to risk their lives to take somebody else's life.

But in my life, the more significant reason to be afraid was my father. Even before my mother's death, he could've been violent quite often, although not that much. He was good at his job, so there were times when he wasn't at home for many weeks. I didn't miss him much; his presence meant strictness and many additional rules to follow so he wouldn't feel irritated. He could be harsh, but I was used to it, and I always thought he cared about me. It was after mum died that I finally realized how wrong I was.

Daily beatings, empty bottles of alcohol, and an empty fridge were my routine for almost a year, but I still thought, or maybe I just wanted to believe, that the only reason he didn't care was that he missed my mother. When around a year after her death, Jordan, one of the leaders of the Nightingale Clan, came to our house to make a deal with my father,  I finally understood that for my father, I meant nothing.

After another year of nightmares, my clan perished, destroyed by werewolves, and I found a new home in a werewolf's pack. Celia, Jordan's niece, and her mate Hank took me in, it wasn't easy for either of us, but we have managed to build a family, and they have managed to make me feel safe again. Do I feel safe now? I gulp, pulling down my shirt sleeve so Trist won't see my bruised arm.

"Do you think we should enter dad's room? I feel a bit scared," he says, squeezing the brush in his hand.

I smile, pushing my uncertainty to the back of my mind. I've been in Howl Pack for over three weeks already, and Trist has been a big help to me. He showed me around; he talks with me a lot because he is in constant need of attention, and I won't lie if I say I really appreciate his company since I barely have any else.

For the last week, we have been cleaning the house and have almost finished the task with success. Trist is so happy since he can now distinguish the color of the carpet in the living room that it amazes me. Nor Julius nor Brandon complain about it, probably because they are rarely home. They leave early, return late, and eat the dinner I usually prepare. Maybe that's why Trist is so eager to talk to me because I'm the first adult who has given him undivided attention in many years.

Honestly, I'm not so eager to step into Julius's room. I still don't have a final opinion about him, probably because I hardly ever see him, and yet I still think we can't just leave his room in a mess no matter what.

"Let's do it like that; we will only remove the trash, dust and clean windows and the floor. We are not looking into the drawers or a wardrobe. How about that?" I ask, and Trist nods.

Julius's room is an enormous mess in this house, and there are too many empty bottles here; in my opinion, it reminds me of my father's room and makes me feel uneasy. And yet I don't withdraw and start my job. I fill up the bags with the trash, and Trist proceeds to take them out, next he starts cleaning the windows as I take all the dirty clothes to the bathroom; I will do the laundry later. I kneel to swipe away the dust from under the bed, and something like the picture comes from it, and I pick it up. It's a photo of...

"What are you doing here?" the strong voice coming from the door makes me almost jump. I turn around to see Julius.

"Dad, we've been only cleaning," says Trist quickly, yet Julius seems not to hear him. I don't know why his dark eyes pierce through me, but I feel like I was just caught doing something terrible. I squeeze the picture in my hand, wondering if he knows I have it.