Roaring Up the Wrong Tree (8 page)

Dreams had always troubled Trista. Good or bad, the annoyance with them always filled her because she knew they weren’t real. She couldn’t revel in a wonderful fantasy that captured her mind as she slept because it was only a matter of time before she opened her eyes and the real world intruded. Of course, she thanked God for the knowledge that nightmares would end the moment she woke.

Unless it was a memory. Unless it was parts of her past that came calling when her eyes drifted shut. Unless it was a tiny piece of her personal hell that eased forward.

Then she was in there, deep in the middle of the bloody action.

Tonight she was thirteen and she learned, not for the first time, that pretty words weren’t always pretty, but claws were always sharp.

Trista tugged on her favorite shirt and let it wrap around her like a comforting blanket. Next were her baggy jeans and looking at her outfit, she was kinda glad she stuck to wearing black a lot. It meant her mom didn’t have to buy her new clothes for the funeral.

“Tris, you coming?” Her mom didn’t have to yell. Heck, half the time she whispered so Mrs. Montfort in 1A didn’t bang on her ceiling for them to be quiet.

“Yeah.” She raised her voice a little louder than her mother’s and then…

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Good old Mrs. Montfort.

Ignoring the banging, she slipped into her ratty sneakers and left the bedroom she shared with her mom. The apartment wasn’t much, none of theirs ever were, but it was home. For now.

Trudging through the small space, she spied the pictures of her growing up. They lined the small hallway and were scattered throughout the tiny living room. Her mom said poor didn’t mean unhappy, it just meant occasionally hungry.

Though, with Mr. Scott giving them cash, they weren’t hungry too often. They still didn’t have money for much, not with all the laws they had to duck, but they at least had food to eat.

She wondered if that’d continue now that he was dead.

Trista didn’t think so.

The second she met her mom at the door, she was enveloped in a hug, her mother’s scent wrapping around her like a snug blanket. Her mom always smelled good. Sweet and happy.

Yeah, happy had a scent. She learned that when she was younger, when she first realized she was different than other kids. It was also when she figured out that hate stunk.

For now, she’d stick with smelling the happy. She’d be surrounded by the hate soon enough.

“Ready?” Her mother’s voice vibrated through her and that weird part of her that her mom called hyena, rumbled in pleasure.

“Yeah.” Trista rubbed her cheek on her mother’s shoulder.

“Okay, then.” Her mom became all business, stepping away and snagging her purse before opening the door and moving into the hallway.

The stench of the space hit her like a truck and she sneezed, trying to clear her nose of the aroma. Blech. Someone puked on the stairs again.

Instead of commenting on it, they stepped around the puddle and kept on going. No sense in complaining when there wasn’t anything they could do about it. Mr. Scott’s money went for food and Mom’s went toward paying the rent. Since her mother got pregnant with Trista in her senior year of high school and barely managed to get her diploma, she wasn’t exactly qualified for much beyond working at the diner in Grayslake and manning the counter at the fast food joint in Boyne Falls.

And then she couldn’t even work at those all that often because of the stupid bitch in Boyne Falls. Mr. Scott’s wife didn’t like her mom, but the woman couldn’t get around the laws of visitation which meant they were safe. For now.

Who knew what’d happen after today.

“Come on, Tris. We’re gonna be late,” her mom called to her as she slid behind the wheel of their clunker. The car looked like it was on its last legs, and it was more rust than metal, but it got them around.

But why did she have to hurry? They were gonna be late no matter what.

Flopping into the passenger seat, she tugged on her seatbelt and then looked at her watch. Out of everything they owned, their watches were the most expensive.

“Atomic” watches. Ones that always kept perfect time. It was super important which was why they splurged on them. Her mom never wanted to give the local shifter “people” a reason to hurt them for hanging around too long. Twelve hours and one minute was one minute too long for them.

Well, for Trista really. Being part hyena meant
she
couldn’t hang around. That didn’t apply to her mom since she was human.

What. Ever.

Stupid furball rules. Those rules, those “people,” were another reason they were still hanging around.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the border between Grayslake and Boyne Falls, but her mom didn’t cross the line. Her mom had to juggle several shifts and really work out the timeline in order for them to go to Mr. Scott’s funeral, but she’d said it was important.

Trista didn’t see how.

Because he was your father.

Blech. It wasn’t like she’d seen him for more than five minutes in her entire life. Even his checks came in the mail and were sprayed down with some disgusting cologne. He couldn’t be connected to Trista and her mom. His “mate” wouldn’t like that he still had contact with them.

Throwing the car in park, her mom slumped in her seat, her attention focused on the road before them.

Two hyenas paced the street while a human-shaped, gun-toting man leaned against a nearby SUV.

“A welcoming party. Again,” Trista sneered.

“Well, Mrs. Scott doesn’t like us. You know that.”

“Yeah.” Trista wiggled and settled into a comfortable position. “I don’t know why she can’t just let us go already.” Not that they had the money to leave, but whatever. She sighed and glanced at her watch again. Only a minute had passed. Crap. “How long do we have to sit here?”

“Another eleven minutes.”

She sighed again and watched the animals down the street watching them. They drooled on the asphalt. Gross. Then she remembered why they were drooling—they were looking forward to making them dinner. Even grosser. And scary as hell.

Finally the wait was over and her mom popped the car into gear. She pulled onto the street and they approached the city’s border. The hyenas quit their pacing, but kept on with their drooling. Ick.

As they passed the three “people,” the human guy pointed his gun at them and the two hyenas jumped and scratched the side of their car.

She wondered if she was gonna die now, if Mr. Scott’s order had died along with him. Instead of cowering and showing fear like she had when she was little, she stared the man in the eye, kept her attention right on him. They moved forward and she remained focused on him, not breaking his gaze as they passed.

He flinched first and dropped his eyes.

Score one for her.

“You shouldn’t antagonize them like that.” Her mom’s voice was half censuring and half prideful.

Trista focused on the pride and shrugged. “Not my fault he’s weak.”

Her mom hummed, but didn’t say anything else. Not while they finished their drive, nor when she pulled into a parking spot at the cemetery.

Trista stepped from the car, only her mom… did not. She bent down and caught her mother’s attention. “Ma, you coming?”

She shook her head. “No, this is something for you alone.”

“Mom,” she whined.

“They’re your people, Trista. You need to go and pay your respects. I’m not allowed there.”

“But what if…” What if Mr. Scott’s order really did die with him?

Her mom shook her head. “No, Mrs. Scott may not like you—”

Trista snorted, but her mom continued.

“—but she will follow the law.”

“What about
Heath
?” She spat the guy’s name.

She’d call him a man, but he was hardly eighteen and still pimply-faced. God, did the guy
ever
shower? Shifters were supposed to be all heal-y and stuff and yet the kid ended up with more pimples than stars in the sky. She really felt bad for the pack. Mr. Scott was a jerk, but Heath was an asshole. Too bad the hyenas didn’t make the heirs wait until they hit twenty-five to take over the reins. Not like the bears.

“Heath knows the law. Otherwise the men at the border would have stopped us.” In mom-speak, “stopped” meant “killed.” As if Trista didn’t know.

Trista turned her attention to the gathering of “people” on the other side of the graveyard. The hyena shifter graveyard. She had no doubt the individuals milling about were other hyenas, and any minute now they’d catch her scent.

In three, two, one…

It was like they were one person. All heads turned toward her, everyone’s eyes suddenly glowing copper.

Panic assaulted her, burrowing into her heart, and she very, very much wanted to cry. And run. The animal part of her rumbled its objection. It begged to stay and fight and demand their due. She didn’t think they were due anything other than their lives once this was over.

“Trista.” Her mom’s firm voice pulled her away from the men and women who wouldn’t mind seeing her dead and gone.

“Yeah?” She gulped.

“You’ll be fine.” She shook her head and her mom spoke again. “You will. Mrs. Scott may not like you,” understatement of the
century
, “but she and Heath know better than to do anything. Harming you will bring down their Southeast Alpha and they don’t want that.”

No, no one wanted one of the territory leaders hanging around. Least of all that one.

“Now, go pay your respects and then come back. We’ve got a few hours to kill. We’ll head over to the falls.”

The falls. She’d always loved the sound of rushing water, even if her animal thing in her head hated it.

“’K.” She took a deep breath and fought for calm. Heading into a group of blood-thirsty shifters while scared out of her mind was
not
a good idea. With a jerky nod, she stepped back and pushed the door closed. She didn’t know why she was surprised that her mom wasn’t coming along. From the moment Trista was born, Mr. Scott told her Mom she wasn’t welcome at pack gatherings. Trista and Trista alone. Never a human.

Even if she’d been banged by a furball at some point.

Okay, ew, no thinking about Mom and sex. Ever.

Rubbing her hands on her jeans, she made her way toward the group, ignoring the sneers, growls, hisses, and high-pitched cackling laughs that chased her. Those laughs… They scared the shit out of her while also poking her animal. Trista couldn’t shift, couldn’t even get slightly furry, but she sure could make the screeching sounds.

She swallowed them now, pulled them deep into herself. No sense in antagonizing the “people” who could kill her without blinking.

They hated her, but still stepped aside as she approached, making a path straight to the gravesite. Mr. Scott’s casket remained perched above the hole, waiting to be lowered into the ground. She wondered if someone would throw a rose in after he’d been put down there. Or toss a handful of dirt on top like they did in the movies.

Tired of rubbing her sweaty palms on her jeans, she tucked them into her pockets. No sense in showing how nervous they made her.

Eventually Mrs. Scott and Heath were revealed. Mrs. Scott sat straight-backed in a fold-out chair while Heath stood directly behind her. Both of them were focused on Trista, their eyes the orange-tinted brown of their animals. It’d freaked her out when she first met others in the pack. Honestly, it still freaked her out.

Stopping five feet from them—Mrs. Scott’s reach tended to be about four feet—she tilted her head slightly as she’d been taught. “Mrs. Scott, Heath, I’m sorry for your loss.”

She supposed it was her loss, too, but she didn’t care.

Mrs. Scott glared at her while Heath smiled wide, exposing his hyena’s teeth.

“Trista.” His smiled grew even more. “Come, sit beside my mother. You’re part of the family, after all.”

Oh no, she really, really wasn’t. But he was Alpha now, so that meant she had to listen. Taking a deep breath and praying she didn’t end up in tiny pieces, she stepped toward the empty chair beside Mrs. Scott. A chair she hadn’t noticed until now.

Slowly she made her way to the seat and lowered herself to the surface. She perched on the edge, afraid of relaxing too much and being unable to run. Even if she did, she knew she wouldn’t make it far, but she’d try.

Her mother was sure of Mrs. Scott’s adherence to the law and that she’d keep Heath in line. Trista was not.

A large, claw-tipped hand rested on her shoulder and yanked her back, forcing her to rest on the seat fully.

“Relax, Trista.” Heath’s voice was a menacing purr, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

Relax. Right.

When his mouth left her skin, one of the other males stepped forward and stood at one end of the coffin. He was old, as old as Mr. Scott, she thought. He launched into a prayer, words asking God to send Mr. Scott’s soul to Heaven.

Trista hoped the man went to hell, but she wasn’t sure that was a popular opinion. Looking at all the others, she realized it wasn’t.

Heath’s hand tightened on her shoulder, his claws piercing her shirt and digging into her flesh. She forced herself to remain still, to not react. He’d prick her, cause her to bleed, and then laugh when she cried.

It started when she was barely able to walk and still continued today. He’d been ordered not to kill, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t maim her. At least, that’s what he said each time he caught her. Of course, thanks to being part hyena, he still hadn’t managed to scar her.

She watched the ripple of awareness travel through the crowd, the rise and fall of chests and the flaring of nostrils. They scented her, smelled her blood, and it excited them.

Nice.

The wounds on her shoulder burned, the pain sinking deep into her body and searing her from inside out. She fisted her hands, her human nails digging into her palms as the agony twisted its way along her veins.

It hurt. God, it hurt so much. It hadn’t ever felt like this before and she didn’t know why and she almost cried out when he tightened his hold even further. Usually the animal thing took care of wounds by now, but it was as if something stopped it from healing her.