Trent looked her up and down, scorn in his eyes, contempt curling his lips. “Not if this is the kind of whelp you produce.” Abruptly he spun away and stalked from the room.

Cathy turned on Jake, furious that he’d witnessed her humiliation, furious all over again that he wasn’t the child she had set out to create. She swung her open hand at his face. Reflexes made him jump out of the way. Instantly her face darkened. Cathy was furious and Jake could smell her hatred. The fetid scent permeated her entire body, right along with her cloying perfume. He had moved away too fast to allow her to slap his face, his reflexes taking over before he could stop them. Most of the time he stood stoically under her assault, but sometimes he gave himself away without thinking.

Now he knew he had enraged her when he’d dodged her too quickly. Deep inside, the other stretched and unsheathed claws, fighting for supremacy even when they both knew he had to stay hidden. The other was the special prize Cathy had wanted all along. Jake was certain if she ever found out what was inside of him, he’d be locked away with no chance of escaping, ever. He pushed the beast down, willing to take Cathy’s fury, her punishment, to look weak and frightened in order to carry out his plan. He wasn’t that far away from success. A few more years, a lot more knowledge, and he’d break free.

“What did he say, Cathy?” Ryan stepped quietly into the room and Jake’s heart began to pound. There was a look on his face, that small secret smile that terrified Jake now.

“This runt dared to be disrespectful to me,” Cathy snarled. “He’s useless to us in every way, Ryan.”

Jake found himself dragged down to his bedroom in the basement and tied to a pole where first Ryan caned him. And then, in her fury, Cathy took over beating him with the thick cane. The other snarled and fought him for supremacy until Jake was choking on the rumbles backing up in his throat. His skin itched worse than the blinding pain across his back and legs.

“Enough,” Ryan eventually decreed. “You’re going to kill him and we don’t have Agnes to blame this time.”

With one last vicious cut, Cathy threw the cane and swept out ahead of her husband, leaving Jake sagging, gasping for breath, unable to control the rising beast. Sliding his bound hands down the pole, he managed to drag the knife from inside his boot and cut the bonds around his wrist, and then he slashed a deep cut across his thigh. He had allowed them to beat him. It was his choice, not theirs. He was bigger, stronger, smarter, he just chose not to show them. Sobbing, he buried his face in the mattress, desperately trying to breathe through the pain.

His muscles contorted. The itch increased as something live moved under his skin. His fingers ached, his knuckles throbbed. He looked at his hands where knots formed, thick and aching, along the backs of his hands. The pads of his fingers hurt. His body bent forward and he went to the floor. He found himself on all fours, head down, jaw painful. His muscles contracted and locked, and once again his body contorted. His face felt funny, his jaw elongating, his teeth bursting through his gums.

Another sob escaped his throat, but it came out a rumbling growl. Tawny fur burst through the pores of his skin, and darker rosettes sprang along his back and legs. Roped muscles rippled beneath the pelt while his skull widened and thickened. Wildness rose in him and he recognized and embraced the gift, no longer afraid of it. He accepted his other half, opening himself so the other could consume him.

He thought he would disappear until he found he was not wholly human, not wholly leopard, but a separate entity altogether, with the characteristics of both and the ability to use his brain and the leopard’s senses. A steel framework of muscles ran through his body and he stretched. His bones ached and cracked in his spine, and then became supple. His body was sore from the beating, from the change, but the strength pouring into him was worth every second of pain.

The leopard lifted his head and scented the air. He could hear the whisper of voices, smelled blood and evil, and he knew in that moment that he was ten times more dangerous than the two upstairs were—that he was capable of killing and that they had created a monster, never realizing what they were unleashing with their hatred and cruelty.

Jake shifted, falling naked to the floor, his back screaming in pain, hot tears flowing down his face, sobbing for the little boy he should have been and never would be. Afraid for what he had become and what he might do. He reached up and gripped the mattress, pulling his fingers across it, leaving long, thin tears from razor-sharp claws.

FIFTEEN YEARS

“IT’S good to see you, Jake,” Jake Fenton said and held out his hand.

The smile was genuine. His great-grandfather really was happy to see him. Lies had a distinctive scent Jake had come to recognize. Jake Fenton lied when he smiled at Cathy or Ryan, but he always sought out young Jake and sat down to converse with him. Jake genuinely liked him and in a way it was frightening. The old man was the only person who was kind to him, or who ever seemed to care. And Jake scented death on him. He didn’t want to care about Fenton, he didn’t trust caring. He didn’t trust anyone, but he couldn’t help himself. He liked the old man. He enjoyed their brief times together even though it always meant a severe beating after he left.

Fenton frowned and turned Jake’s hand over, examining his arms before Jake could pull away. “What the hell happened to you? How did you get all these scars, just since the last time I visited? And don’t say you’re clumsy, Jake. You aren’t clumsy.” The old man’s eyes were shrewd.