Chapter 471 It's Not A Nice Story

“Gorn’s… property?” Peter asked. “What…what does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” Myka sighed. “I was owned by Gorn when I was still a part of Spring.”

Peter tried desperately to swallow the lump in his throat but was struggling.

“I need something to drink,” he said.

“I have water in the tent,” Myka replied.

Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, right, I’ll take the other stuff.”

Peter moved away from the fire and entered the tent. It was small but big enough for the two of them. There were two blankets laid out like a bed. Myka had never been a fan of sleeping bags. He found them too restrictive.

A large carafe and a jug were on the other side of the blankets.

“There we go,” Peter whispered, grabbing the jug and pulling out the cork. He tipped the jug back, taking a large swig.

“Careful, it’s strong,” Myka warned.

Peter smiled as he swallowed down the bittersweet liquid.

“I’m good, but you said something about being the property of the recluse Alpha of Spring? Let’s dive into that one.”

Myka lowered his eyes. He sat down on the ground; he looked down at the tattoo, and took a deep breath.

“It’s not a nice story,” he said softly.

Peter looked carefully at Myka. He could see his hurt in the memory of his life in Spring.

His conversation with Alice in the car suddenly came to mind after she told him that Myka was a Spring wolf.

“He’s the one that closed himself off to me,” Peter growled.

“And did you tell him where you came from?” she asked.

Peter’s eyes widened, and he looked at her with surprise.

“I know a little bit about a lot of things,” Alice replied to his unasked question. “I haven’t shared it, and I won’t. But you should. Just like he should share with you.”

She was right. Funny, that seemed to happen a lot.

If Peter expected Myka to share and trust his deepest truths with him, shouldn’t Peter do the same?

“Ya know, Myka, I think many of us have one or two ‘not a nice’ stories in our lives,” Peter smiled. “So, why don’t I tell you mine first? Then, if you want to, you can tell me yours.”

Myka lifted his gaze. He gave Peter a soft smile and a nod.

***

After Peter had shared his experience with the rogues, they took a break. Peter took a short walk in the trees, needing to shake off the guilt.

Myka had tried to comfort him with a touch and a word here and there. But Peter wasn’t quite ready to see his guilt as something to be settled.

When Peter returned, Myka was sitting on the blankets, waiting. Peter sat down across from him; he didn’t say a word. He had told Myka it was his choice to share his story, and he meant it.

“Torgen… he was after my time in Spring,” Myka began with a sigh. “But his training methods….”

Myka bobbed his head sadly.

“Those I’m familiar with.”

Peter felt a knot forming in his stomach. He wasn’t sure what to expect from Myka’s story, but something told him that he wasn’t prepared for what was coming.

Myka took a deep breath and began his story.

“Most adults in Spring are controlled through one drug or another. Their ability to withstand pain or their reactions in a fight, whether to run or keep fighting even as they bleed to death, is entirely dependent on the will of their master.

“Because of that, it is difficult to train against other wolves. If your entire people don’t express pain or are willing to simply stand still as you bleed them out, how can you know what an average wolf will tolerate?”

The knot in Peter’s stomach turned into hollow weight at Myka’s words.

“Simple,” Myka said with a bitter smile. “You need wolves that haven’t been trained yet, that haven’t been drugged or programmed to accept orders.”

Myka swallowed and looked away from Peter.

Peter couldn’t find words, his heart pounded loudly in his ears, and his lungs felt too small to hold the air he needed to process the anguish in Myka’s eyes.

He reached his hand out, gently touching Myka’s wrist.

Myka sniffled.

“Have you ever been to Spring?” he asked.

“Not properly,” Peter whispered. “My parents and I only skirted the borders of the great packs.”

Myka nodded and took a deep breath.

“There is… a small village,” he continued. “It’s pretty deep into the center forest, away from prying eyes or curious members of visiting packs. That’s where families go when they have small children. Birth to the wolf.”

Myka smiled and swallowed.

“I remember how pretty it was. A lake, small fields of fruits and vegetables, and flower gardens. I remember chasing butterflies with my mother. My father taught me to skip rocks on the lake. I had friends. We laughed, we played.”

Myka paused, his expression pained. He took another deep breath.

“I was eight when I got my wolf. There was a celebration for me and several others. My parents explained that since I was their only child, we would all be moving into the main city. For the others that got their wolves, their parents stayed with their younger siblings. I remember I felt so lucky not to have to be separated from my mom and dad.”

Myka sniffled and clenched his jaw.

Peter moved closer, grabbing Myka’s hand and squeezing it gently.

“You don’t have to tell me everything now… if it’s too hard,” he whispered.

Myka smiled and looked up at him with tears in his eyes.

“It won’t be any easier later,” he replied in a sad whisper.

Peter swallowed and nodded.

Myka took another deep breath and looked away.

“When we reached the city, it was like a switch had been flipped. I never saw them smile again. I never heard them laugh; my parents were gone. I had felt lucky to remain with them, but the others… were the lucky ones. As lucky as any of us could be.

“They were treated to the same experiments and tests that I was. None of us could escape that. But at least when the others were beaten, drugged, and cut open, it was by strangers in white coats and masks.”

Myka paused, clenching his jaw and then licking his lips.

“I had the added bonus of watching my mother slowly bring the hot iron to my ribcage. Forever branding me as one of Gorn’s personal test subjects. I got to continue begging and pleading for the shells of my parents to stop hurting me for more than a year.”

Tears streamed down Peter’s face; he swallowed the sob that threatened to escape his lips. His heart ached for Myka. He wanted to comfort him and make the pain stop. But there was nothing he could do to erase the past for him.

He pulled Myka to him, holding Myka’s cheek against his chest and gently petting his hair.

Myka sniffled.

“I’m fine,” Myka whispered.

“No, you’re not,” Peter whispered with a sniffle and kissed the top of Myka’s head. “But I’ve got you now.”

Myka closed his eyes, feeling the heaviness in his heart. He hesitated but finally gave in to the need and wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist.

“Gorn told them to cut me, and they didn’t hesitate. Not once,” Myka whispered. “They were… empty. My parents never existed. It was all just a dream.”

His voice was straining under the weight of the pain. He had tried so hard to shove it inside himself for so long.

Peter continued stroking Myka’s hair, fighting against the anger and sadness he felt about the situation.

They were quiet for a few minutes, each processing their thoughts and feelings.

Finally, Peter broke the silence.

“How did you escape?”

“I didn’t,” Myka replied. “I was rescued.”

“By who?”

Myka pulled away from Peter and turned to look at him. He smiled sadly.

“By a broken doll.”

“Alice?” Peter asked with furrowed brows.

Myka nodded with a smile.

“She couldn’t have been more than… fourteen? Fifteen at that time?”

“Something like that,” Myka nodded. “From what she told me recently, getting me out of the lab was her first conscious choice after becoming the doll.”

Peter was blown away.

“She saw the tests they ran on me; it bothered her. Then one day, she walked into the lab by herself during an electroshock treatment. She took the probes out of my father’s hands and put them on his temples, turning the dial all the way up as she freed me.”

Myka looked back down at the ground.

“She tried to cover my eyes as we left the room, trying to keep me from seeing his seizing body and the foam that pooled from his mouth. Or my mother’s body just outside the lab, stabbed with a small knife, blood everywhere.”

“I guess covering your eyes didn’t work too well,” Peter said gently. Inside he was terrified and unsure how to respond to Alice’s actions or to Myka’s calm reaction.

Myka looked up with concern.

“Don’t tell her,” he said. “To this day, she thinks I didn’t see. It would hurt her to know she couldn’t protect me from that. And I think it might disappoint her to know that I was thankful for it.”

“For… seeing them… like that?” Peter asked.

Myka nodded.

“I think if I hadn’t…I would have always looked over my shoulder, wondering when they were coming for me.”