The Grace of a Savage

by Collette Carmon

  “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to know your daddy, Lyric. Nothing.” Merle assures him, and Sterling clears his throat. Something he doesn’t have to do, because Merle’s honed senses most likely picked up Sterling’s steps before they’d reached the bottom of the staircase.

  His blue eyes glance up, acknowledging Sterling before he says. “I’m gonna let you talk to the man now, seems like he’s got some things to tell you.”

  Sterling doesn’t want to say anything. He wants to get in his car and go as far as he can from all of this mess, but the image of Tallulah’s face keeps him here.

  Can’t be a coward now.

  28

  Lyric

  When Merle leaves them Lyric chews on his bottom lip. A long, pregnant pause envelops him and Sterling. During their quiet Lyric is able to observe this man he still doesn’t know, the one his grandpa just got done telling him he looks like.

  He’s your blood, but as you’ve seen from Savages—blood don’t mean much.

  “So are you, uh, leavin’?” Lyric asks, awkward despite having been in Sterling’s presence for the last thirty or so hours.

  “I will be,” Sterling confirms. His deep voice is gruff with the weight of problems Lyric can’t see. Problems they share and some Lyric might never understand.

  “I just wanted to come and talk to you about some things before I go.” Sterling moves closer. Hesitating for a moment beside the bed where Lyric is seated. Deciding, instead, to take the chair that’s in front of the room’s cramped desk. Sterling looks at Lyric with an earnest and open expression.

  “Did you come home to meet me?” Lyric asks, breaking the fragile moment between them. Might as well ask the question that’s been eating a hole in his gut since Sterling’s feet landed in Abita Springs.

  “Yes.” Sterling admits, his tone full of gravel. Large hand brushes over the short, golden hair on Sterling’s face. Hair that’s grown thicker since that first time Lyric saw him in person.

  It’s been such a short time but feels as if a lifetime has passed in those hours.

  “Did you know my mom was pregnant when you left?” It’s been another burning question in him, since Lyric sent that foolish Tweet. A gnawing thought that makes the hidden, worried part of Lyric wonder if he wasn’t enough for his father to stay.

  Was my existence too much for you?

  “I knew you might be a possibility.” The words leave Sterling slowly, molasses he has to force off of his tongue.

  Rage explodes in Lyric, overshadowing the want of a father. A desire he’s been full of since Lyric first realized his family was different than a lot of families around him. Sure, parents weren’t always together in his small world, but everyone had a dad. Everyone but him. Now that Lyric has one he’s not sure he wants this father.

  “Why’d you leave then?”

  Sterling sighs, “It’s complicated.”

  “You callin’ me stupid?” Lyric hisses, putting every bit of anger he possesses into his words.

  “No.” Sterling’s expression is one Lyric cannot decipher.

  “Then tell me what’s complicated, Dad.” He spits the title as if it’s a poison he needs out of his mouth.

  Sterling closes his eyes—breathing deep—he appears to be centering himself. “I left because I didn’t want to die.”

  Lyric furrows his brows. “What?”

  “I always talked a big fuckin’ game about standin’ up to my old man, but when it came down to it…” Sterling trails off, his prominent Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. A dry swallow that sends the same discomfort through Lyric as nails on a blackboard—a grating sound. “I couldn’t love her more than I loved breathin’.” A hollow laugh leaves Sterling. “I couldn’t love your mama, or you, more than I loved myself.”

  Fuck you, Sterling.

  Lyric glares, “Uncle Tanner was right.” When Sterling looks into his eyes he adds, “You ain’t worth knowin’.”

  Sterling nods, a bemused smile on his handsome mouth, “He ain’t wrong.”

  “Leavin’ didn’t save me or my mama from your daddy.” Lyric twists the knife in Sterling’s tender pride. Standing, he swallows while he thinks about when he saw Tallulah’s heartbroken expression. Lyric’s jaw trembles while he looks down at his clenched fists.

  “Last thing I said to my mama was that I hate her.” Sterling’s head jerks up with a sharp movement, and he stares at Lyric in disbelief. With tears filling his vision, Lyric turns to Sterling and says, “You better bring her back alive, so I can make that right, or I’m gonna hate you, too.”

  “Is that what’s eatin; you?” Sterling asks in a low, soothing way. Talking to Lyric the way a person would talk to a wounded dog—a tenderness that Lyric craves even though the tone rankles. “Knowin’ that I hate you might be the last thing you said to Tallulah?”

  Lyric doesn’t answer. He’s too disappointed in himself to speak. Sterling stands, clapping Lyric lightly on the shoulder with a self-deprecating chuckle.

  “You’re a lot more like your old man than I expected.” Sterling tells him. Lyric’s question doesn’t have a chance to be born—Sterling interrupts the words with a solemn promise. “I’ll bring her back to you. Just so that you can tell her you didn’t mean it.”

  “What if she doesn’t forgive me?” Lyric asks, tears slipping over his cheeks while his voice cracks. A weakness he wishes he could hide from Sterling, but Lyric’s pride is a dry well. “What if she hates me now?”

  Sterling pulls him into a warm hug. His strong body like a blanket that Lyric hadn’t realized his cold soul needed. “She won’t hate you. You’re the only part of me Tallulah will always love.”

  He crushes Lyric to himself, holding him harder, as if this is the only chance he will have to hug his son.

  “And believe me, kid. Your mother is full of graces angels don’t possess. She knows you didn’t mean it when you said those things. Just like she knows I didn’t mean them when I said them.” Sterling sounds like he needs to believe those words more than he needs Lyric to believe them.

  Lyric wants to ask what Sterling means, but his throat refuses to work. Instead, he clings tighter to the faded black denim of Sterling’s jacket. The one covered in old Rock n’ Roll band patches that have seen better days. He breathes Sterling in. Comforted by the scent of him—leather, musk, faint traces of smoke and something earthy.

  Sterling’s fragrance is home.

  Same way Tallulah’s is home.

  Lyric sobs into his shirt wondering if he will also be robbed of this comfort.

  “Save my mom.” He whispers, after long minutes of Sterling patting his head and holding him close.

  What Lyric wants to say is please don’t die.

  Yet, he can’t.

  Lyric knows it’s enough just asking for Sterling to save Tallulah.

  “I will, kid. I promise.”

  I’m tired of promises.

  That thought whispers through Lyric while he watches Sterling exit through the narrow bedroom door.

  Gone again.

  29

  Tallulah

  Tallulah counts forty cracks in the ceiling of this abandoned house. The one where Birdie has her imprisoned. Hoping that the distractions of those details will help Tallulah maintain her sanity.

  Tallulah is finding it hard to separate herself from the pain in her body. She’s certain her arm is fractured, and the cuts in her skin burn at the slightest touch of air.

  Yet, what hurts her most is the words Birdie whispered against Tallulah’s ears. While the vile woman etched each future scar into Tallulah’s skin.

  Sterling never loved you, that’s why he left you. Look at him…leavin’ you again. Tallulah closes her eyes, but she cannot escape the whispers. They sting more than any brand Birdie left in her. You’re a disgrace of a wolf. That’s why you can’t keep a man as simple as Sterling. He’s the least interestin’ of us Savages and you weren’t shiny enough to hold his attention.

  “Shut
up,” Tallulah tells the phantom in her mind. Hoping to exorcise the specter from her person, but Birdie is nothing if not a perfect tormentor. Even when she’s gone Birdie is there with Tallulah, feeding into her deepest insecurities.

  Now that boy has Sterling and neither of them need you. That’s why you’re here with me, honey. I’ll take care of this mess my brother left and then when he comes back with that boy I’ll train him. A dog needs a good master.

  Words the bitch spoke with the same loving caress that a mother uses to sing her child a lullaby—Birdie was loving of tone as she dug her blessed knife into Tallulah’s side. The space still throbs. No longer bleeding freely, but it feels as if Tallulah’s heart is pulsing out of her wound.

  “Don’t touch him,” she says into the emptiness of the room. “Don’t you dare touch him.”

  “Delusional already?” Birdie’s jovial voice moves through the muggy night air. “I didn’t think you’d be this easy to get inside of.” With a sharp laugh Birdie adds, “Though, you did let Sterling climb in you—so I can’t say you’re that hard to get.”

  Bitch. Tallulah looks to where Birdie is standing—appearing for all the world as if she is walking into a friend’s home. Not walking into a dilapidated farmhouse that should’ve been torn down years ago.

  Tallulah doesn’t speak, just watches as Birdie glides closer with the smile of a predator.

  “I wonder what he would do if I carved off that pretty face.” Birdie murmurs, her fingertips trailing softly over Tallulah’s face. She tries not to flinch, but it’s hard to keep still when Birdie’s presence fills her with terror. “Later, maybe. I have to go speak to my sister, she’s not terribly thrilled that I have you.” Her grin is sharp. “You Graces have always been the annoying splinter beneath my skin.”

  Tallulah doesn’t ask her to elaborate, the last thing she needs is Birdie lingering and growing bored enough to torture her some more.

  Tallulah watches as Birdie saunters back out of the room. Gone again.

  Tallulah’s grateful to be away from that particular psychopath.

  Birdie has always been odd.

  She’s the only one of the Savage children who used to go and kill random things in the woods for fun. During their youth her delights were less feral, more domesticated.

  Before Birdie finally moved out of town people were too afraid to leave their dogs outside. No one ever named her as the culprit of the animal disappearances, because they were too afraid of Beaufort. But all of Abita Springs knew Birdie was a monster with an angel’s face.

  There’s a bird who delights in eating wolves.

  Words Birdie once carved into the skin of the last dog Tallulah had. The only dog her daddy ever gifted her, when her mother passed on to the next life.

  She can still see her daddy’s face as he stared down at the lump that was Zero—terror, rage, and disgust at war on Merle’s face. Yet, he’d only whispered for Tallulah to go inside. A gentle command that was more devastating that hearing him cuss up a storm.When he’d come home, his scent was salty from tears and his eyes were red as he washed the dirt of the earth from his hands.

  The Graces haven’t owned a dog since, no matter how much Lyric begs.

  “I’m so stupid,” she tells herself now. Because not even the fear of Birdie could cure her desire to taste Sterling’s skin. He was the devil she chose to dance with and he is the devil that will be her undoing.

  Just don’t hurt Lyric. Please, please, please keep him safe.

  God never listened to those who walked her path, but she hoped there was a devil out there who was open to dealing with the prayers of a lowly shifter named Grace.

  If you’re there, please...save my boy. He never did anybody wrong. He’s too soft to serve, but he’s worth keeping around. Please…please hear me.

  30

  Jorie

  Judson stiffens at her side. Jorie follows the line of his intense gaze to the open doorway that leads to the front hall. It’s as if he heard something coming, and Jorie supposes he must’ve when two large men come through the doorway. Baby-faced men who, on closer inspection, appear younger than Judson yet somehow bigger. Possibly the biggest men Jorie has ever seen, and she’s seen big men her whole life.

  These aren’t men, they are trees come to life.

  “There’s a human in here,” the one with bright blond hair says. His big, gray eyes are on her in an instant and despite his boyish face Jorie is afraid.

  “Down,” Merle tells the stranger in an authoritative way. “She’s Judson’s and you won’t mess with her, ya hear?”

  Gray eyes slide toward where Merle stands, leaning against the wall, and the younger man says, “I don’t work with humans, Merle. You know that.”

  “Lucky for you, Colt,” Merle replies with a sharp grin. “Jorie ain’t workin’ with you. She’ll be here with Lyric.”

  Colt seems ready to argue, but a hand on his shoulder, from the taller of the two arrivals, stops his protest. A smooth, deep voice comes out of the other stranger. “Show respect, Colt. Merle isn’t a fool.”

  “Thank you, Remington,” Merle tells the other young man with a respectful nod. “I’m grateful you boys came.”

  “Dad wouldn’t let us live it down if we ignored a summons from you,” Colt replies in a manner akin to petulance. As if he’s not thrilled about being here. “He says his life debt to you means it’s our life debt, too. Us being the fruit of his loins and all that shit.”

  Merle releases the first genuine laugh Jorie has heard in the last couple of days. She seems hopeful at the sound.

  Until Sterling comes into the room.

  Colt—seeming to be the more impulsive of the two—puts Sterling against the wall in a moment.

  “What’s this?” He hisses into Sterling’s face. “Stinks like a Son of Michael.”

  “Down,” Remington tells his companion. “He also stinks like the father of a wolf.”

  Remington’s gray eyes pass over Jorie, his gaze assessing her slowly before it finally moves away. A gaze that narrows as it stops on Judson. “You know we have laws about interbreeding with humans, right?”

  It’s not threatening, but Jorie still shivers from the obvious warning.

  “I’m aware,” Judson tells him with a dry tone. “She’s not pregnant with my kid.” Her stomach flip-flops at the word pregnant.

  “Yet,” Colt hisses into Sterling’s face. Clearly annoyed about Sterling’s presence.“This one got his seed to take root in one of our women when he knew better.”

  “Let me down,” Sterling hisses back.

  Colt shoves him as he releases Sterling’s collar. He snaps sharp teeth at Sterling, and snorts when Sterling doesn’t flinch. Jorie jumps in her seat, shocked by her first contact with a half-shifted werewolf. As quickly as he changed, Colt changes back—a transformation leaves Jorie’s heart reeling.

  Thankfully, no one brings attention to her discomfort. Though she’s certain they all know Jorie nearly pissed herself from fright.

  “Tell us what’s happening,” Remington commands of Merle. Ignoring the humans who aren’t supposed to be in this safe house. “No one told us there were two humans here. One who shouldn’t know shit about this kind of stuff. And the other who should know better than to knock up a she-wolf.” A contemplative frown forms on Remington’s handsome mouth.

  Jorie would love to know what he’s thinking, but she’s too terrified to ask.

  Lyric coming into the room stops the fuss.

  A sudden silence falls on them—similar to the stillness of a forest when a bear roams through the trees and everything stops breathing.

  Colt’s eyes widen, as if he recognizes something in Lyric’s face. Yet, he’s not the one who speaks.

  It’s Remington who breaks the quiet.

  “Fuck.” Remington sighs. Turning a measuring gaze upon Sterling, he asks, “Which Savage are you? And which one has Tallulah Rose?”

  Sterling telling them his name causes Colt and Remingto
n to exchange a silent glance. Though they don’t comment.

  It’s when Sterling whispers Birdie’s name that Colt clenches his fists by his sides. “Fuck, I wish Dad was here.”

  “So do I,” Remington agrees with his brother. Sliding another look in Jorie’s direction Remington repeats, “So do I.”

  31

  Sterling

  The two young men who arrive are men Sterling immediately recognizes when he comes into the crowded kitchen. They are younger versions of their father.

  A man Beaufort always warned his family against.

  Fergus Lowell—a wolf with a reputation bigger than his massive body. A man fearsome enough that even Beaufort Savage—self-proclaimed last of the real Savage men—dreads meeting Fergus in a fight.

  Though he knows them from the tells in their faces, Sterling asks, “Who is your dad?” After they both discovered Sterling’s identity.

  “Fergus Lowell.” Remington answers as he runs a hand through his dark gold hair. Turning to his brother—the younger looking of the two—Remington asks. “Whatdya think? Should we call Fergus?”

  “Dad’ll kill us if we call him for something we could handle.” Colt’s immediate reply, one he speaks as he makes a motion for Lyric to come closer. Lyric shuffles to a stop before him—after a nod of permission from Merle. Colt holds Lyric’s small chin between long fingers that take great care not to hurt the boy. Even still, Sterling stays on edge.

  Lowells are dangerous.

  Colt turns Lyric’s face slowly from side to side, observing him with scrutinizing gray eyes.

  “Hmmm,” he hums at last. Releasing Lyric, Colt turns to Judson. “You got some fuckin’ explainin’ to do.”

  Remington nods in agreement, but he doesn’t speak to Judson. Instead, he turns to Merle, “How developed are the boy’s skills?”