Page 97 of Losing My Siren Luna
“No,” I say in a measured tone. “She, uh, had to retire after that night.” I leave out how she was taken as the chosen mate to one of the top warriors working directly under the new Luna.
“Understandable,” he chuckled darkly. “That's too bad.”
I smile weakly, flinching involuntarily when he presses himself up against me, holding his weight with his arm on the wall behind me. He runs his nose from my ear to my nape, breathing deeply. “You shouldn’t visit our Alpha smelling like you haven’t bathed for a week. Why don’t I take you home for aquick soak, then I can take you up to see him. He won’t be available for several hours anyway. He will be so excited to see you later.”
I paste on a smile, glad I will only beentertainingone of these men for the time being. The other 3 look slightly disappointed.
“I would like that very much,” I rested one of my hands flirtatiously on his chest, running my nails through the sprinkling of chest hair poking out above his shirt. I would rather chew my own toe off than gratify a man like this, but I see no other choice in this situation. I will just have to use my charm to subdue him.
“Maybe I can help?” The man with the rotting teeth speaks up.
“Why not?” The man before me chuckles. “It can be a team effort.”
My smile falters, and I wish again that I had listened to the boy.
~
(Third Person POV )
The young boy wailed loudly, his cries not just for himself, his tears burning as they ran down his stinging, dirty cheek, still throbbing with the pain of the woman's slap. He's crying for more than just that. He is remembering the day his mother was taken, forcefully pulled away from her family. She wasn’t alone. He and his father were walking back home with her after making a rare visit to the beach to collect shells. His father thought it would be safe since we were together as a family, the path cutting 15 minutes off their walk home. That shortcut cost more than 15 minutes of their lives. It cost his parents everything.
The guards took her, ripping her clothes from her body as they dragged her into one of the buildings to take down to the cellar. They had hurt his daddy when he tried to save her, breaking both of his legs and leaving him outside the building with his own measly knife he tried to fight them off with, forcing him to listen as they brutalized her. It was horrific for the boy. His father killed himself, hearing and feeling his mate being tortured and raped the rest of the day and all through the night. The boy went to the packhouse, begging the alpha to save his mom, but the man at the gates just laughed and told him to leave if he didn’t want the same to happen to him.
Ever since that day a month ago, the boy has sat in the same spot, all day and all night, warning women young and old not to go down the path.
Some of the shop owners around the square felt bad for the boy, offering him food periodically, but none had been brave enough to offer the boy a safe place to stay, worried the guards might soon discover what the boy had been doing and would look to punish him and those aiding him. He has been utterly alone since the death of his parents.
“Why are you crying, young man?” An older man, someone the boy had never seen before, knelt down beside him and asked. He had a different scent, not like the members of this pack. He also looked important, like someone with a lot of money. His clothing was nice and clean. His face, though scarred and rough, was kind.
“She didn’t listen,” the boy whimpered, pointing down the alleyway that the pretty woman had just walked down. She isn’t screaming yet, but the boy knows it is just a matter of time. The houses and buildings all along that alleyway belong to the pack’s single guards and warriors. No one goes that way except for them, and for good reason.
She wasn’t nice, but no woman deserves to be treated the way those men will end up treating her.
“Who?” The man looked down the pathway.
“The woman,” the boy whimpers. “The one not from here. She was going to the packhouse. I told her not to.”
The man makes a face, then whistles loudly, causing two more men to appear from a store across the square.
Both of the new men are dressed similarly to the first man, but they are considerably younger. Their scents are similar and their faces are just as kind, looking down at the boy with a lot of sympathy. One of them even reaches into his pocket and fishes out a handkerchief, using it to mop up the tears and snot all of the boy’s face.
“My name is Kent,” the handkerchief man said, his voice soothing and tender. “What is yours?”
“Riley,” the boy blubbers.
“Where are your parents, Riley?” the older man asked. When Riley's face contorted with mourning and sadness, his bottom lip quivering uncontrollably, the three men knew. He had no parents, and the older man instantly felt horrible for asking such an insensitive question.
The boy begins to cry again, flustering Kent. Kent decides the handkerchief is a lost cause, now creating mud against the boy’s dirty skin instead of helping to clean him up. Instead, he opens his arms wide to Riley. Riley doesn’t hesitate to throw himself in Kent’s arms, longing for some form of physical contact after so long. He hasn’t been held since his parents’ deaths. Kent doesn’t flinch away from the boy's grimy appearance or soiled clothing. He holds him tight, letting the boy feed off some of his strength.
“Can we bring him with us, commander?” Kent looked up at the older warrior.
“We sure as hell aren't leaving the lad on the streets with wet britches. We can get him cleaned back at the hotel, then have him on the ship before it takes off for Hidden Cove tomorrow. The captain will look after him.”
The boy gripped tighter around Kent’s neck, fearful of what they meant about the captain looking after him.
“Riley,” Kent took the boy’s hands, pulling him back slightly to look at his face. “Do you want to go someplace where there are other children that need friends like you to watch out for them? A place where you will get fed more than you could ever eat and teachers will play with you when you’re not doing school?”
“Not the fabric mill?” Riley asked, worried about where the place could be. The only place in this pack for kids like him are the mills, and the children rarely live long in those conditions.
