I let out a heavy exhale at their sense of purpose.
Mom and I had been camping a hundred or so yards from where I sat for close to two weeks, and I needed change—something to do. Thirteen, on the cusp of becoming a man, but fifty felt like a more appropriate age for my tired ass. I’d been the man of our non-house for years, the head of our 2-person vagabond caravan since I taught myself how to swing a hand axe.
While most teens probably wished for my kind of freedom, feet itching to run, I longed for a place to call our own—a real home I could ready for the coming winter like the wildlife around me.
I slouched and kicked my calloused, bare feet into the air below.
Something rustling across the creek caught my ear. Probably more squirrels.
A deliciously sweet scent—like honeysuckle and berries—ghosted past my nose, and I straightened, sucking it deep into my lungs. Fire lit inside me like a thousand sparks come to life, burning my skin, and waking a hunger deep inside me I’d never experienced before.
Talk about itching feet.
I scrambled to stand, like my body had found its first addiction, and I craned my neck while scanning left to right, breathing deeply, trying to decide which way to run to find whatever it was hitting my brain and teenage body like a hammer to the chest.
A whisper of sound focused my gaze on the creek’s other shore … a flash of red broke through the tree trunks … and another.
My heart pounded and mouth dried as I stared so hard my eyes watered.
One blink, and a young girl appeared between two trees hanging out over the water, their roots exposed as though reaching out for sustenance.
Straggly auburn hair hung to her waist, a riot of curls and leaves, as though she’d been rolling on the forest floor. Dirt smeared across her face and down her bare arms. She’d lost a shoe, and her glasses sat crooked on her nose.
I opened my mouth to ask if she was lost, but she lifted her head, her gaze landing on me. Another hammer-like thump to the chest, and I stared. Dumbstruck. Unable to utter a sound, my jaw slack.
Home.
The word rang as clear in my head as the mosquito buzzing beside my ear. I swatted the damn thing away, unable to tear my focus off the girl.
Mom’s hugs and kisses had started to annoy me months earlier—I wanted my space—but that girl, she stirred up all sorts of things inside me, longings I didn’t entirely understand. I could taste her scent in the air like a wild huckleberry straight off the bush.
My mouth watered, and I gulped, my jaw finally slamming shut.
She smiled while adjusting her glasses and fluttered her fingertips my way, her shoulders relaxing as though she’d been tensed up tight and was relieved to have found me.
“Pisoiaș!” Mom’s scream ripped through my consciousness, drawing my honed-in body’s focus off the girl. “Pisoiaș!” she shrieked again.
I blinked at Mom’s tone, a shiver licking up my spine.
Something’s wrong.
I jerked sideways, peering through the trees toward camp, but I’d gone too far to see it. My insides tightened, and I swung my head back around.
The girl peered up at me, her sweet scent surrounding me, luring me to stay, to hold her hand and show her the way back to where she’d wandered from.
“Pisoiaș!”
Cursing, I spun and sprinted toward camp, brush grasping at my ragged t-shirt, tree branches slapping my face, my heart pounding even though I felt I’d left it behind by the creek.
A man bellowed a howl. “You bitch!”
My breath seized inside my chest.
Flesh slapped—and Mom shrieked a curse.
My jaw tensed, a growl sounding in my chest as I drew close. I skidded to a halt at the edge of our camp, my eyes taking in the small clearing within a heartbeat.
Three men—one rifling through our tent, one holding Mom down on the ground by her throat as she scratched at him, the third looming over them, laughing.
“Knock her the fuck out and do it, already,” the third said. “My balls are aching.”
The man holding Mom down shot out a fist, clocking her hard in the temple, her breath rushing out of her lungs with a whoosh.
She went limp beneath him, her arms thumping to the ground at her sides.
“Gonna fuck you so good.” The man sat between her thighs, ripping at the button on his jeans.
No.
The fire I’d felt seconds earlier exploded into flames, ripping my insides apart, singeing my skin—melting my bones.
I fell onto all fours, my eyes clenched shut as pain rippled over me, settling inside my gut. A deep growl sounded from my chest—unearthly, more animal than I’d ever made before, and I lifted my head.
All three men stood peering at me, mouths agape, the second’s dick sagging quicker than anything to hang limp between his thighs.
Instinct sprang me into their midst, and one screamed, all three scrambling away from a teenage boy too tall, too wide of shoulders for his age.
I tackled the man from the tent, my teeth closing over his throat and ripping at the soft flesh. Blood splattered, the tang of copper hitting my tongue—and causing a deep hunger inside me even though it stank worse than pig shit. My muscles bunched beneath me, and I sprang forward, three strides catching me up with the man who’d taunted his friend to rape my mom. A swipe of my arm tumbled him to the ground, and he scrambled on his back, horror in his eyes.
I ripped into his throat as easy as the first, the warmth of blood dripping down my chin rushing need for more through my veins.
A sharper than normal focus cleared my vision—the would-be rapist held a gun in his trembling hands, his limp dick shriveled up to nothing.
“Hold up there, boy,” he said, his eyes wide, his tone
