Rescued by the Beast のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

Kian"My teacher knows that something's wrong at home," I confided.She exhaled heavily as she sank into the chair opposite me. "And she told you as much, did she?" Mrs. Banks commented, cradling her own mug of cocoa.As I nodded, a worried frown formed across my brow."This can't go on forever, Kian. Folks were bound to find out sooner or later," she spoke gently, airing out the truth.It seemed so final coming from her lips, which wasn't much comfort at all."Can I live here, with you?" I asked, clinging on to a shred of hope.The corners of her wise old eyes crinkled as she smiled. "I'm almost eighty-five, and we're not blood-related. The clan leaders would flat-out reject it." She shrugged, stating what I already knew deep down. "But then they would have to peel you from my withered fingers before I'd hand you over to them." She gave a hearty chuckle, throwing her head back."What's the worst they could do to me at my age? Force me into the pit to face clan justice?" Her eyes met

KianI knew they meant well, but if they really wanted to help me, then they'd drop it. Sometimes, it was better not to shake the bee's nest if you didn't want to get yourself stung. Back home, there was a two-hundred-pound grizzly who was just itching for an excuse to pull me out of school. I came here intending to keep my head down, and maybe I would finish school with a fighting chance of a future instead of earning a future by fighting.They watched me with analyzing eyes as I placed my lunch bag down on the wheeled trolley along with everyone else's. The lunch ladies would collect them up later and wheel them away to the kitchens.I then took a seat at my desk, waiting patiently for rollcall. I could be a real golden boy when I wanted to be. My mask of angelic innocence had been rehearsed to perfection. That came in handy for a kid like me. Most of the time I could blend in, just like everyone else.The scent of Miss Halloway's floral perfume wafted past me as she made her way ov

KianWe arrived at the old, abandoned warehouse standing above the Cage. Dad knocked on the heavy iron door in some secret code, then waited.There was a scraping of metal, and then a strange pair of eyes appeared behind the open slit in the door."State your name and your business here," a male voice commanded in a blunt, gruff, Hispanic accent."Razor, and I brought my boy for the inauguration," Dad replied.The viewing hole was slammed shut, and a moment later, the door was pulled open. "Go on through," the same guy spoke.He was dark and exotic, and his eyes were like pools of molten amber with black vertical slits for pupils."Is he a . . .," I whispered to Dad."Shh, Kian; yes, he's a cat shifter," Dad answered, keeping his voice low. "Mind your manners," he reprimanded. "It's rude to point and stare.""I've never seen one before," I chatted excitedly.That was the truth; I hadn't. What I had learned at school about the cat community was that their numbers were few. They were hi

Kian "You're up next, little bear," she muttered sadly, turning her gaze away. I locked eyes with my pal, Jaxton, who was standing over by his father, the President of the Roughnecks biker gang. His nickname was Throttle. I didn't ask why. A wide grin stretched across Jaxton's face as he bounded over to me. "Kian!" he called out, looking happy to see me. I slid down from the stool, clearing the short distance to greet him. "You suit your hair short like that," he remarked, pointing to my scalped head. "But I don't." He gestured to himself with an indignant scowl. "I look like a boiled egg," he complained. Jaxton's blond hair used to hang in wavy strands, reaching down to his shoulders. His momma let him grow it long so he could tie it back in a hairband. Just how his dad wore his. Now a mixture of light versus dark was being swept up from around the stools to where it was all pushed into a shaggy pile against the wall. "Dad says we're gonna be fighting each other in the Cage," J

Kian Dad was always saying how he hated growing up dirt poor. He gave it his best shot, but drink always got the better of him. I hated living in poverty too. Maybe Dad was right. Maybe getting good grades wasn't enough. The rich stay rich and the poor stay poor. Nobody was going to give me a handout in life. Those of us who live in the slums of Forest Hills were regarded as “the scumbags of society”. You didn't see the clan leaders investing any cash into our neighborhood. We were out of sight, out of mind. We didn't get the fancy parks and picnic greens like the clean part of town did. Kids here played out on the streets, drawing over the pavements with chalk or smashing bottles at the side of the road. Those said roads were not maintained like the ones in town. Ours were crumbled and full of potholes. Around the picture-perfect suburbs, they had convenience stores, bakeries, a cafe where people would sit outside and chat. Over at our side of town, we had one corner store that sto