Hereditary (A Holloway Pack Mini)

by J. A. Belfield

  “Tingling. It’s everywhere.” He shrugged me away and brushed at his skin as though fighting it off. “Like pins and needles.”

  “Tingling? What kind of tingling, Gabe?”

  A sharp gasp united with the slap of his hand to his neck. Smaller gasps followed as he kneaded the spot just below his right ear, using his knuckles like his palms didn’t hold the necessary force. Within seconds, his left hand did the same on the other side.

  Taking hold of his fingers, I pried them away. Beneath where I lifted them from, his pulse points throbbed, visible pulsations, as though something within banged for release. As I tugged his hands out of the way for a better look, his wrists came into view. The harsh boom-boom bounced against his flesh there, too, hastening in tempo as his breaths increased.

  He whipped his hands from my grasp, rubbed at his thighs. His face twisted as his complaints evolved into low moans. Tugging up a leg of his shorts revealed that even his femoral artery had joined in the act.

  The static buzz of anxiety swarmed inside my head until dizziness and tunnel vision vied for the space in there. “Gabe, please let me call for help.”

  No response—other than the sweeping crackle of friction from his rubbing hands and the ragged breaths sending his chest in a manic up and down dance.

  “Gabe, this is bad.” Discouraging words never helped anyone—but control of my emotions had taken a hike.

  Still, no answer.

  “That’s it!” I headed for the phone. “I’m calling an ambulance this time. No argument.”

  He grabbed my arm before I could reach it, his fingertips digging in with the power of a vice.

  Trembling, I turned back to him.

  His eyes shone bright, his brow had slicked wet, and … something was wrong with his face—something pulling his expression out of order, stretching the skin taut across his bones.

  A shake of his head accompanied his, “No!” and I almost stumbled backwards as the word left him as a ragged, guttural growl.

  Despite the tremors weakening my legs, I reached up for him. The moment I did, he plummeted.

  He hit the carpet on all fours. His body bucked and thrashed. Retches left his throat, yet no vomit arrived.

  What I witnessed could never be described with accuracy. Something was happening to my son, something bad, unnatural, something … evil.

  Bone crunched, and muscles stretched, distorted.

  I took a step back, followed by another—until the wall faltered my escape, and I just stared in horror as my son became possessed from the inside.

  Throughout the deformation, he grew even broader, shoulders expanding, tearing at the seams of his shirt. Even his shorts ripped as they became filled to capacity and beyond.

  With each onslaught to his body, my son cried out—agonized screeches, beseeching shrieks.

  Between those, he called for me, over and over.

  My feet refused to take me nearer.

  Vision blurred and abstracting the scene before me, I left my back slide down the wall, whilst sobs shuddered my body to the point of convulsion.

  I swiped away tears, and the clearing of my eyes revealed hair—Gabe’s bright blond—growing, lengthening, sprouting, covering his body in a dense golden coat.

  His shrieks and cries became yelps and growls.

  I reached out a hand but with no intention of approaching, and more tears arrived, urged forward by my sobs of despair.

  I remained that way until the room fell silent but for the sound of our breaths.

  At a shuffle to my left, I brushed away droplets and turned to see Mia.

  Standing just within the room, she fixated on that before her, staring for seconds before another footstep brushed over the carpet.

  How much she’d seen, I didn’t know.

  “Mia?” Her name blurted from me like a thick mess of sound, but she didn’t answer.

  She seemed entranced, unable to turn away from what captivated her so.

  I turned my head, followed her gaze.

  Gabe was as I feared—some kind of creature, coated in thick shagginess. He’d yet to raise his head. Only his deep shuddering breaths announced his existence.

  Another few steps, and Mia lowered to her knees.

  As though sensing her presence, what used to be my son’s head lifted until what used to be his face came into view.

  That was when I knew he was still inside there somewhere. There could be no mistaking the intelligence of his eyes. The blue of them sparkled as they connected with Mia’s.

  Stretching her fingers toward him, she whispered, “Gabe?”

  Breath snorted from his nostrils.

  I studied him harder. Not just some kind of creature. Not a beast. My son had become a wolf—a huge freaking wolf.

  Mia swung around to me, accusation in her stare. “Why?”

  I frowned.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Why wasn’t I told?” She spun back to Gabe. “I thought I meant something to you, Gabe. How could you keep something like this from me?”

  I found my voice. “We didn’t know.”

  Gabe took a step forward, pushed his muzzle against Mia’s hand.

  She whipped it away. “What the hell is he? What are you, Gabe? What are you, a … werewolf?” Her piercing tone penetrated my heart as she slammed the back of her hand across her mouth like she’d uttered something she shouldn’t have. “This is insane. They aren’t supposed to be real.” Her breaths came quicker as her pitch heightened. “There’s no such thing as …. What is this, some kind of sick joke?”

  “Mia, please, we didn’t know,” I said, my sense seeming to return in a rush.

  Pushing to my feet, I raised my palms in request for her understanding—though, how could I ask a sixteen year old girl to understand something I could barely grasp myself?

  “No!” she screeched, shoving to a stand and taking a step back. Her finger pointed at me. “No, Shelley!”

  She stumbled as she whirled and threw herself to the door she’d come through, hysterics bubbling into her mumblings that, ‘This isn’t right, you bloody lied to me, this is all wrong ...’

  A howl stabbed through her words.

  Mia halted.

  At the long, deafening, soul-destroying tune, she slapped her hands over her ears, as I covered my own, and she spun back.

  Gabe’s cry faded away, evaporating into a series of low whimpers. His gaze seemed to hold Mia steady as he approached her.

  She didn’t move. She didn’t even flinch when he nudged her lowered hand with his dark nose. As though sensing his need for her, she dropped back to her knees, whatever apprehension she had vanishing as her arms embraced his bulk. When her fingers slid into his coat, he gave a rough purr that vibrated within his chest.

  They remained that way for hours.

  ***

  Now, six months later, Gabe no longer changes in the house.

  The transformations mostly come fortnightly, but occasionally his body will dictate they arrive sooner.

  Each time, as tonight, we head to Haughmond Hill.

  Mia is with me. At the weekends, she’s permitted to ‘sleepover’—though, none other than the three of us know the true reason why.

  Gabe has headed off to the brush, to claim his natural fur blanket, as the two of us shiver in sleeping bags, leaning against the makeshift support of a fallen trunk. It’s dark, apart from the moon seeping through naked overhead limbs. But for the wind’s taunting, icy whisper, only quiet meets my ears.

  A rustle ahead reveals Gabe’s position as he crosses bracken and leaves decorating the ground in an autumnal shroud. His eyes glint as he comes into sight and the air condensates as his breath merges with the coolness.

  A low whimper is sent our way.

  “Go on,” Mia tells him. “We’re fine.”

  A second whimper and deep inhalations into his upturned nostrils precede a final step toward us, as though to double check—before he takes off into the woods.

 
Watching his flight, I take a sip of my flask and send Mia a reassuring smile through the dimness.

  The expression is returned and she takes my free hand.

  We already know it could be a long night. Last time, we were here until dawn.

  We don’t mind, though. Gabe has yet to master the art of timekeeping whilst as wolf, so he isn’t to blame.

  The only one to blame for all this is me.

  ***

  Note from the Author

  Hey, you made it through to the end! o/

  Hereditary was originally written as an investigation into characters introduced in Resonance of the Holloway Pack series and featuring in other, following titles of the series. To begin, I wrote this short to satisfy my own curiosity. However, I liked it enough to story-fy (it’s a word) it, to give it a title, and Hereditary went on to be featured in the online magazine Golden Visions in the summer of 2011. Since regaining the rights, it has taken a while for me to put it out there this way, but it’s my responsibility to make my stories as available as I’m able for my readers, and so here it is.

  So, whether you’re a Holloway Pack fan come to discover more about (now) familiar (to you) characters, or you’re not a Holloway Pack fan but figured you’d try it anyway, or if you just thought ‘Hey, it’s free, why not!’ … however you have come to be reading this tale, I hope you enjoyed it.

  Acknowledgements

  As usual, my initial thanks goes out to my family. Mr B: You’re my rock, dude, and my rock dude—love ya to pieces; without your support, I wouldn’t get to write, which means my readers wouldn’t get to spend time with The Pack and I would probably go insane from incessant characters yelling in my head or my brain would swell until it blew up into a million pieces ............ To The Boy and Mini-me: You’re both cool beans (if a little noisy at times). Stop growing up, though—you’re both starting to take up too much room.

  To my publisher for the Holloway Pack series, for supporting me when I approached them about wanting to do this.

  To Aimee Laine, who endured my nagging and created a cover for me that matches the rest of the series: Thank You!

  To my fantabulous street team: Jen, Rachel, Ambur, Melanie, Sheryl, Maghon, Keri, Sandra, Lola, Stephanie, Terri, Wendy, Denise—you all take some of the load off, which is why I’m able to do something like this. THANK YOU!

  To the folk who have beta read this over the years: the good folk of Scribophile (mostly my original team Pens Sisters. Still love you girls, even though I’m skulking in the shadows); my sister; my bestie Carla (she has no choice—I MAKE HER read everything, heh); and more recently, Terri, Lola, Wendy and Rachel.

  And finally to YOU. For picking this book up. For reading. For making it to the end. Thank you for taking the time.

  About J.A. Belfield

  Best known for her Holloway Pack Stories, J.A. Belfield lives in Solihull, England, with her husband, two children, two cats and a dog. She writes paranormal romance, with a second love for urban fantasy.

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  Read on for a glimpse at the first chapter of Caged: Holloway Pack 3

  1

  “… from the Shropshire area. Following Carly McDowd’s disappearance on the fourth, and Andrew Doherty’s on the seventh, this is the third incident this month …”

  I turned from the square-jawed newswoman on TV to Dad, where he sat in his corner armchair.

  His attention remained on the screen, a frown across his brow.

  “… the duo of friends were first reported missing late last night by their parents, after they discovered neither of the teenagers …” The newscaster’s voice infiltrated once more.

  Images of a couple of lads flashed side by side on the screen. The one on the left had the appearance of any late teen, with shaggy overgrown hair and the twinkle of mischief in his expression.

  From the other image, brilliant blue eyes stared out at me from beneath a shock of pale blond curls.

  “Oh, shit!” I pushed to my feet, took a step forward. “That’s …”

  “Nineteen year old Gabriel Lewis was believed by his mother to be staying at Colum Delaney’s since Friday evening, whilst Colum’s parents …”

  Dad stood, his fingers retracting his mobile from his jeans pocket as I worked my own out. He paused, nodded to me. “Go on. You make the call, Ethan.”

  Shelley Lewis’s number had been saved in my phone book since the beginning of the year, right after we met for the first time. I hit dial and paced to the window. September sunshine, of the early morning variety, blinded me as my phone rang.

  It took only a few trills for her to answer. “Ethan?” Her voice held hope, as well as a heavy weariness and the thickness of tears.

  “Is it true?” I’d promised to support her—a lone parent, a female no less, raising a werewolf son with no guidance. So far, I’d delivered on that promise.

  The sob hitting my ear gave confirmation enough. “Oh, Ethan.”

  “Hold tight, Shelley. I’m on my way.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Dad said, as I hung up and spun to him. “Shout Sean, too—in case we need to do any scouting. I think I heard him stir upstairs.”

  “What about Connor’s lot?” The Larsen’s made up the other half of our eight-wolf pack, but lived separately to us on the south side of the forest.

  Dad shook his head. “I’ll update Connor whilst you deal with Sean—”

  “And Jem?” I asked with a lifted eyebrow.

  Dad’s lips twitched, but he continued as though he hadn’t noticed my reference to his buck-passing. “Just the three of us will go. Connor and his boys can spend the morning here and stay close to Jem and your mother unless we need them.”

  ***

  “Oh, come on.” Jem waddled after us down the driveway to the truck, her outstretched arms doing a crazy windmill dance. “Let me come.” She turned to Sean, my brother—her mate. “Baby, let me—”

  “No, Jem.” He stepped forward, sweeping a hand across her swollen mound of a stomach. “Gabe is the seventh werewolf to go missing since middle July. Seven in seven weeks. You expect me to allow you out in public whilst this is happening?”

  “Jem?” Mum called from the doorstep. “Let them go.”

  The set of Jem’s jaw clammed her lips together as she turned. “You’re not helping, Beth.”

  “That’s because I agree with them.” Mum descended the steps. “And don’t think I won’t be keeping a close watch on you this time.” The previous time Jem had been left in Mum’s care, she’d snuck out to come find us; Mum had not been amused. She linked her arm through Jem’s. “Let them go.”

  Jem’s mouth opened and closed. She went back to Sean and tugged on his arm. “Don’t be long, okay?” The resignation of losing the battle showed in her tone.

  “I won’t be.” Something stirred within me as Sean squatted down and placed a kiss against her navel. “Take care of our boy.”

  “Or girl,” Jem murmured.

  Sean smiled. “Our bambino.”

  ***

  We arrived at Shelley’s just before nine a.m.. Like she’d been looking out for us, the front door to her house opened the moment the truck drew to a stop. I didn’t have to get close to see the panic in her eyes and the deep blush of unrelenting emotions in her face.

  The slam of my door drowned out her delicate steps along the path to greet us. Her hands reached out, as if she considered us her lifeline, before she pressed her fingers against her lips. “I can’t thank you enough for coming.” A shiver jerked her tiny shoulders as she spoke; three singular tears rolled down cheeks still red, probably from an earlier batch.

  “Come on.” I slid my arm around her and drew her to my side. “Let’s go in.”

  Her crown barely reached my armpit as she leaned into me and allowed me to guide he
r toward the house. Behind us, Sean and Dad’s feet hit the path.

  The brightness of the day gleamed through the window, bathing Shelley’s magnolia-coloured home in warmth and light. Four dirty mugs sat beside her mobile and house phones on the coffee table. A burgundy throw, which matched the deep shade of her hair, lay scrunched into a heap on the sofa as though Shelley had spent the night there on constant vigil.

  I walked her across the room and sat her down, but she pushed back up.

  “Please don’t make me sit.” She worried at the nail on her thumb. “I’m so sick of sitting and waiting for everyone else to do their job.” Her gaze met mine. “Do you think it’s like those others?”

  “When did you last see him, Shel?” I asked.

  “Friday.” Her fidgeting feet brushed over the carpet as the two armchairs creaked beneath Sean and Dad’s weight. “Friday dinnertime. Is it like the other disappearances?”

  I frowned. “Friday was four days ago.”

  “He was staying at his friend’s. He wants more independence—doesn’t like me hassling him all the time. I thought he’d be okay.” Her eyes beseeched me as she tilted up. “He promised they’d be indoors before dark. Col’s parents were away the weekend—”

  “Colum Delaney?” The other kid from the news.

  Shelley nodded.

  “Is he …” Rubbing a hand across the crick forming in my neck, I lowered myself onto the sofa and took Shelley’s arm to draw her down with me. “Is Colum a wolf, too?”

  Her head shook as she balanced on the cushion’s edge.

  “Human?” Brow lifted, I angled toward Dad, who frowned, and turned back to Shelley. “And there’s no sign of him either?”

  “No. Dave and Lisa … Col’s parents—they came back last night from their break. That’s why Gabe stayed over—they had the house to themselves, had plans to … I don’t … but Dave said they came home to the back door wide open, the coffee table smashed, take out trashed on the carpet …” She sucked in a deep shuddering breath, wringing her hands together.