2. Spike

2

SPIKE

I woke up, drenched in sweat, my whole body shaking. It felt like my skin was pulled tight over my bones, as if my inner grizzly was about to burst out.

The nightmare was still vivid, haunting my thoughts. For ten years now, I'd been reliving the same dream on this particular night — Austin, his smile wide, grabbing my hand, mischief sparkling in his blue eyes.

It was a clear summer day, the air thick with the scent of pine and freshly turned earth.

Austin and I, dumb and fearless, decided to skip the weekly clan meeting and challenge fate by entering the off-limits territory.

We felt invincible, ignorant of the dangers lurking around us.

Deeper into the forbidden woods, a chill crawled up my spine. I could still remember Austin, squeezing my hand and teasing me.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Austin had asked.

Those were the last words he ever said to me. Austin's laughter vanished, replaced by terrified screams.

I felt his hand slipping away, the memory engraved into my soul like a haunting scar.

Every year, on this day, the nightmare returned, dragging me back into the darkness of that terrible place.

I sat up, breaths ragged, the room silent except for the echoes of my pounding heart.

The weight of loss and guilt pressed down on me as I stared into the darkness.

The monster living inside my skin growled softly within me. All of a sudden, my room felt unbearably hot, the oppressive heat closing in on me from all sides.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, feeling the cool floor beneath my feet. I hastily pulled on my clothes.

The monster's presence surged, urging me to move faster, to escape the stifling atmosphere.

I pulled on my leather cut, the familiar weight settling on my shoulders. Running my fingers over the Grizzly Reapers patch, I finally dared to look at myself in the full-length mirror near the door.

The gangly teenager who failed to save his best friend was no more, replaced by a man who’d seen his share of ugly in the world.

Yet, that scared boy still lingered within me. That boy would always be a part of me. Exiting my room, I descended the stairs, making my way to the bar area of the MC clubhouse.

This early in the day, the place was mostly empty, save for a few fallen-asleep bear shifters on the tables. But he was there.

Venom. The King of Monsters, as the rest of the paranormal world called him. My lead alpha.

Venom was engaged in conversation with Mayhem, both nursing cups of coffee. As I approached, Venom's piercing gaze locked onto me.

Could he sense the turmoil within me, the frustration and anger of my inner grizzly?

Two years running, I challenged him for his position, and twice, I lost badly.

My best friend Nitro had looked after me with patience, but he made it clear that he wouldn't be doing it a third time.

What was wrong with me, Nitro had asked? I wasn't too certain myself. When I issued those challenges to Venom, I knew the outcome.

Venom could have torn me apart, but he didn't. He let me live, and part of me was a little disappointed by that, but I also knew it wasn't wise to keep pushing him.

Venom crooked a finger towards me, and I halted a few feet from him.

Mayhem sipped his coffee and regarded me warily, as if I were a bomb waiting to go off any second.

I met Venom's gaze, trying to read his thoughts, but his cold merciless eyes revealed nothing.

"I don't know what's eating you, Spike," Venom said in a low voice. "But stop using me to punish yourself for whatever sins you've committed in the past."

I swallowed hard, the inner grizzly restless, clawing at the confines of my self-control.

My jaw tightened, but I remained silent.

"You've been incredibly patient with this one," Mayhem remarked, his gaze flickering towards me.

The comment bristled my fur, even though deep down, I understood its truth. Mayhem continued, looking directly at me,

"Spike, if you take on Venom again this year, it won't end the same way,” Mayhem said.

I swallowed hard, aware of the weight of his warning. The memories of the past challenges lingered in head.

Nodding, I finally managed to say, "I understand. That's why I'm taking a few personal days off this week."

"Good idea," Mayhem said in approval.

I turned away from them. Hoping to keep my composure until I exited the clubhouse, I took measured steps toward the door.

The fresh air did me some good. I mounted my motorcycle, the familiar rumble of the engine providing a comforting soundtrack.

Before I could even leave the parking lot, my cellphone buzzed in my jacket pocket.

With a sigh, I pulled it out, noticing it was a call from Nitro. Reluctantly, I answered, my voice grumpy to my own ears.

"What?" I asked, bracing myself for whatever lecture was coming my way.

"You're taking a few days off?" were Nitro's first words.

"What the hell?" I grumbled, annoyed that Mayhem had wasted no time in spreading the news. "Did Mayhem immediately call you after I left the clubhouse?"

"He's just worried, we both are," Nitro explained, his voice calm but laced with genuine concern. “I know this time of the year is hard on you.”

I rolled my eyes, wishing Nitro could see me.

"I'm just going for a ride, maybe take a road trip out of Moon Burrow," I said, dismissing the concern. "I need some time to clear my head, that's all."

Nitro sighed on the other end of the line. "Look, Spike, we get it. But running away won’t solve anything.”

I grunted in response, not wanting to continue this conversation. What was Nitro, my therapist?

"I'll be back in a few days," I muttered before ending the call, the engine roaring to life beneath me.

With a twist of the throttle, I sped away from the clubhouse, eager to leave town. When my inner demons threatened to drown me, the club offered me a new home and purpose.

Venom and the MC cared little about my past; they understood that we all carried secrets we wanted to bury.

Grateful for the sanctuary they provided, I owed them my life. But now, I needed space, a little room to breathe.

Maybe a vacation, a solitary journey, was just what I needed to clear my head of ghosts that haunted me.

The first two days, I had no direction in mind. I didn't even bother to look at the map on my phone.

I simply rode aimlessly, savoring my newfound freedom. The open road stretched out before me, but loneliness eventually crept in.

Nights were no respite, haunted by dreams of Austin’s last moments on earth.

On the third day, an unexpected pull tugged at me, and I found myself retracing a path I never thought I'd return to—Haven Brook, my hometown, and Austin's.

It was customary to give the shifter group occupying a particular territory a call or warning when dropping by, but I had no interest in reconnecting with my former clan.

Besides, my visit was reserved for a quick stop at the local cemetery. All I needed was a few minutes, maybe half an hour at the most.

I parked my Harley outside the cemetery parking lot and observed there were few vehicles around. Good. I preferred the solitude.

Stepping off the bike, nostalgia hit me out of nowhere.

The cemetery gates creaked open, and I walked between rows of gravestones. Austin's resting place was marked by a simple headstone and a single wilted red rose.

I stood there, lost in my thoughts. The wind whispered through the trees, and I could almost see him standing before me, smiling.

A pang of regret settled within me, a realization that some wounds never truly heal.

A gasp tore my gaze from Austin's headstone, and I turned around, only to be met with the intense glare of a white-haired woman.

The shock hit me like a sudden gust of wind as I recognized her. Katherine Moore, Austin's mom, stood before me, her eyes filled with a mix of disbelief and fury.

The years had not been kind to her; she seemed to have aged more than a decade since the last time I saw her at Austin's funeral.

Beside her, a bear shifter in his fifties accompanied her. Juan Martinez used to be an enforcer for the clan.

The tension radiated from him, his gaze warily assessing me. I realized he was looking at the patch on my leather cut, and then his gaze shifted to my face, his brow furrowing.

It became apparent that he regarded me as a potential threat.

Katherine's eyes narrowed as she took a step closer, her voice laced with a restrained anger. "Sean Riggs?”

When was the last time anyone called me by that name? I nodded, swallowing the lump that had formed in my throat.

“Katherine, Juan," I greeted, making sure my tone was courteous. "It's been a while."

Her eyes bore into mine, as if searching for answers or perhaps blame.

"You disappeared, Sean. Vanished after the funeral without a word,” Katherine said.

Guilt washed over me, and I found it hard to meet her gaze.

"I needed to get away after what happened,” I muttered and immediately regretted what I just said.

Dang it, but I’d never been good with words. Juan's gaze remained fixed on me, suspicion lingering.

"Why are you here, Sean?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

My inner grizzly surged to the surface, not liking the challenge in Juan’s voice. A growl slipped out of my throat and Juan tightened his grip on Katherine’s arm.

I reeled my beast in, aware that my presence might be unsettling for them.

"Just paying my respects," I explained, gesturing towards Austin's headstone. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

Katherine's glare softened, replaced by a mix of sorrow and understanding.

"We miss him every day," she admitted.

Juan's gaze, however, remained guarded.

"Be careful, Sean,” he warned, a hint of the enforcer he used to be lingering in his tone. "Not everyone is as forgiving as Katherine."

With a nod, I watched as they walked away, leaving me standing alone by Austin's resting place.

"Sorry, buddy," I told Austin, my voice carrying the weight of regret.

"Maybe it wasn't a good idea to come here, but I just wanted to see you, hoping..." I trailed off, the words catching in my throat.

What did I hope to accomplish by coming here?

Did I think that visiting Austin's gravestone would somehow put an end to the nightmares and the relentless guilt that haunted my every step?

Shaking my head, I turned away from the gravestone. The cemetery held a solemn silence.

As I walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that Austin's spirit lingered in the shadows, watching over me.

Mounting my motorcycle, I felt a prickling sensation on the back of my neck, a sense of being observed.

Maybe Juan had informed members of the clan about my visit. Regardless, no one approached me as I revved the engine, preparing to leave Haven Brook behind.

The quiet town held too many memories, too much pain.

"What I need is a drink or two," I muttered to myself.

My cellphone beeped in my pocket, and seeing it was a text from Nitro, asking how I was doing, I sighed.

Nitro was persistent, like a dog with a bone. Most of the time, I appreciated his concern, but he needed to learn to back away sometimes.

"I'm fine, leave me alone," I typed with a touch of frustration, then sent the text. I pocketed my phone.

I glanced up the closest watering hole on my phone.

"The Dirty Stallion it is," I said. With that, I finally left the cemetery behind.