Page 75 of Strays
One of the many things my brothers and I have in common is that our fathers destroyed the lives of the women — in my fathers’ case, the nyra — they got involved with. We did everything we could not to repeat their mistakes, never getting too close to a nyra who wasn’t our scent-mate, never letting things get complicated with human women.
But somehow, we managed to do the same thing they did anyway. Like it’s a curse we can’t outrun. And despite the fact that it fucks me up down to my core, I know it’s even harder on Jo.
When she first told us how different her life had been from any other nyra, back at the hospital in D.C., I saw it as a gift. An advantage.
She isn’t shy or submissive or cloistered. She has a life: friends, cookouts, hockey games, a career. And I’m still glad she has all that. But now I can see the other side. Only now is she learning what it really means not to be human in a human world. She’s not used to this shit like we are.
“I have to ask,” I say, before I can stop myself. “Do you regret bonding with us?”
It’s a pointless question since a bond can’t be undone, but I need to know.
“No,” she replies, her voice shaky. “I didn’t know what was coming when I did it, but even if I had, I still would’ve done it. You’re mine, and I’m yours. None of this would’ve happened if I’d stayed hidden behind a human façade, but I wouldn’t be whole either.”
Shane exhales, then walks to the couch and sits down on her other side. “Since you were raised human, nobody ever taught you pack rules,” he says gently. “You’ve shown us so many incredible things about your world, but it’s time we show you ours.”
I hadn’tthought about it that way before, but he’s right. Jo gave us so much: we screamed at hockey games. We met neighbors. We had fun. A life we didn’t know was possible. But we need some balance now, between her world and ours.
“We always show up as a unit,” I say, reciting.
Shane nods, approving. “We don’t crack. We’ve got each other’s backs, no matter what.”
“Even when one of us screws up,” Jay adds, serious.
A flicker of anger returns to Jo’s eyes. “So if you do something reckless or stupid, I’m just supposed to smile and say it’s fine?”
She doesn’t understand. Not yet.
“No, Jo,” I say, keeping my voice soft. “We don’t smile and pretend. But we do believe that no one in this pack would ever hurt one of us, or himself, on purpose. So there’s no reason to punish him for it.”
“Out there, when I lose control, when I screw up, Kory doesn’t jump down my throat. Jay doesn’t shame me,” Shane adds. “They steady me. Jay talks me down. Kory puts a hand on my shoulder to ground me. They don’t attack me for losing it; they help me stop losing it.”
“This is what a pack is,” Jay says. “Everyone else in the world will punish you when you mess up. They’ll shame you. Point fingers. Make you suffer for it. But we’re not the world; we are your pack. If we treat each other like outsiders would, then what’s the point of calling each other family?”
Jo covers her face with her hands and sighs. When she looks up again, I meet her eyes.
“Jay did what a lot of humans would’ve done,” I say to her. “That guy had it coming, and anyone watching would’ve said so. It’s not fair to act like what Jay did was wrong just because he isn’t human.”
“But the consequences are much worse because he’s not human, Kory!” she snaps, voice raw. “We live in the world the way it is, not the way we want it to be!”
“You’re right,” I reply. “The world tears us down for not being human. That’s exactly why we build each other up, because we’re a pack.”
She doesn’t respond. Just breathes deep, stands, and heads upstairs.
The moment we hear the bedroom door close, we slip out of the house. The town’s dead quiet at this hour, no cars, no lights, no movement. Just the wide old streets of the historic district. We run. Through sidewalks and tree-lined blocks. Feet pounding in sync. Breath sharp. Muscles burning.
We run until the fury dulls. Until the shame bleeds out and we feel steady again. Then we circle back home. Calmer, ready to crawl into the nest and hold her.
We take quick showers and settle in, but none of us sleep much. Jo is restless all night, shifting in the nest, and we feel every movement. The sweetness in her scent that usually relaxes us is gone, replaced with a sourness that keeps uswired.
When I was a kid, I remember hearing my mother say she could feel the bond with my fathers, and I never understood what she meant until now. I feel it: a cold pressure in my chest, like Jo is far away, even though she’s lying right beside me.
Every morning since the bond, we’ve kissed her good morning. Hugged her. Touched her. But today, when her alarm goes off and we all rise, she heads straight for the bathroom before we can reach her.
Breakfast is silent, and then she leaves for work without saying a word.
After the door shuts, Shane asks, “You think she’s gonna be okay?”
We’re all thinking the same thing: last night wasn’t the end of the mess, it was just the beginning, so what’s going to happen when everything else comes crashing down?
