Mom kept her rifle aimed in the fleeing avian's direction until her wings vanished through the forest's canopy. After what felt like an eternity, Mom dropped her weapon and raced to my side.

"Soren, show me your arms! Soren!" Mom demanded, her voice breaking.

"Huh?" I asked, examining them.

Hot streams of blood flowed from three deep cuts running diagonally across both my outer forearms. My skin and muscle were split open, revealing fat and slivers of exposed bone. I was numb. It was like my brain refused to believe the arms were part of me. Adrenaline kept the gashes from throbbing, but the wound still tingled as if being brushed with feathers and poked with a million needles.

Black ate at the corners of my vision. I fought to keep my body standing and show that I was strong, but my legs refused to obey. The world spun, and my knees collided with the ground. As I fell forward, Mom caught my shoulders before I face-planted.

Over Mom's shoulder, my gaze locked on the teenaged avian as the scents and footsteps of pack members filled the forest. The teen was still and limp. For a second, I was an idiot for trying to save a corpse, but he moaned. His chest began to rise and fall with slow breaths. His toes - all ending in claws - twitched. He was alive! I was a hero. But a deep green and purple bruise warping around his ankle's yellow scales made my stomach drop.

What had I saved him from? 

I need to know his (horror) story.

Pack members shot out from the treeline before skidding to a stop. They sniffed the air and darted their gazes around the scene.

"It that Gael's puppy?" one pack member asked.

"Where's Gael?" someone else shouted. "Find him! Get Gael here now!"

"We look like the aftermath of a horror movie," I mused, but I don't think the end of the sentence left my mouth. My tongue was useful as a dead fish.

Now I know what being in shock feels like.

"Don't pass out on me, Soren," Mom urged, guiding me to lay on my back. "Stay awake."

My eyelids were lead. I fought to keep them open.

Cursing, Mom ripped the bottom halves of her jeans into strips. Her arm muscles bulged from the effort.

Stinging pain shot through my gashes as Mom wrapped a band of fabric around my arm, just above my elbow. I screamed and kicked in a useless attempt to fight Mom off, but four pack members raced to hold me down. Their fingers dug into me. It wasn't much of a fight. Time held no meaning. All I could do was scream and wait for the agony to end.

"Sorry it hurts, but I'm not letting you bleed to death," Mom apologized as she finished placing the tourniquets. She used sticks to twist the fabric tight before locking them in place. I trembled and writhed the entire time.

My control over my body slipped. The world flicked on and off. My consciousness was a bad internet connection.

I vaguely remember the pack's alfa, Lin, barking orders to get the male avian down from the tree and to bring everyone to the main estate.

Mom broke into a sob when Dad arrived and slung me over his shoulder like he did when I was still a kid. Well, more of a kid. Is fourteen still a kid? Regardless, while embarrassing, I'm grateful it was Dad and not some random pack member that brought me back to the estate. I was vulnerable and my father is someone I trust.

"Soren's going to be okay. The wounds aren't life-threatening," my dad promised. "You're an amazing mother, Moray. You made it in time."

"I know, Love," Mom answered from somewhere in the void. "But what if I hadn't? What then?"

What indeed?

The next thing I knew, my throat burned with thirst. The scents of blood and unscented fabric conditioner made me sneeze. My forearms throbbed dully as I blinked my eyes open to find myself covered in a heavy duvet below the neck and laying in a bed larger than my family's RV. 

I was in one of the main estate's guest rooms.

Groaning, I tried to sit up, but pain shot through my arms and I hissed. Laying on my back and panting, I swore.

I hate feeling weak and useless.

Voices outside the room made my ears perk. When I heard my name amongst the chatter, I again commanded my body to sit up. I hissed through the acid pain caused by the movement as the duvet slid down with a rustle. I needed to get closer to the door and eavesdrop; they were talking about me after all. I glanced down. My black T-shirt was splattered in blood; both my own and the avian's. 

My stomach knotted and I gagged. I darted my gaze around the room, searching for my reflection, but there were no mirrors. However, there was a dark spot on the wall as if a full-length mirror had been taken down. 

The pack probably removed it. Meaning, I looked like shit. 

I needed to get clean. I needed a shower. 

I needed to stop panicking and get a grip. 

Catching my breath, I tried to pull back the duvet off my legs, but the outer three fingers on my right hand didn't move. They were stiff and limp. Useless. My veins turned to ice as I examined my arms. Blood seeped through Mom's makeshift tourniquets. 

Gasping and whimpering, I tried to move the fingers over and over despite the acid shooting through the wounds. I shivered and black ate at my vision from the pain. But no matter how much I willed them to move, they did nothing more than twitch.

My fingers - a part of my body - were out of my control. And they still are. Typing this is slow; I might as well be half T-Rex with my useless hand.

"No," I begged no one in particular. "No. This can't be real. I need them back. Damn it."

Hot tears traced down my face as anger bubbled in my gut. "Dame it," I swore again. It was all that female avian's fault. She took my fingers. She tried to kill her son and mate. She needed to be locked up - or worse. I pictured her exploding and disintegrating into nothing like a boss in one of my video games.

There wasn't time to wallow in self-pity. I needed to talk to the teen I'd save and start planning our revenge against his mom. Mothers don't hurt their children.

Scowling, I slid to my feet. The world spun, but I forced myself towards the door. I instinctively reached for the doorknob with my right hand, but stopped mid-grab as pain and the reality that my fingers were useless slapped me. I froze.

"Damn it," I spat. My arms throbbed as they fell to my side.

"But what if Soren lost too much blood?" my mother's voice asked from the hallway. I perked my ears again as Mom continued, "Soren's not pack."

"Soren's pack," Dad interjected. "The same way you are, Moray. This is your home as-"

"That's not what I meant," Mom cut Dad off. "Soren's not a werewolf or a human or a mer. They could have bled out in that fight. No one knows what kind of blood they'd need for a transfusion."

"Our pack's med students are driving in from the city," Lin - the esteemed Alph - added in her even and low voice. "They'll take care of Soren."

"They're students, not doctors!" Mom snapped, her voice rising. "They weren't even studying when Soren was born with a fin. They were kids when the pack told me to hand my child over to the mers."

"Moray, love," Dad said. "Calm down. Take a deep breaths -"

"No one even knows what sort of intersex Soren is!" Mom continued. "Students can't help!"

I cringed. Yeah, I'm a freak in more ways than one. But why-in-the-potatoes do so many people care about my biological sex? Who cares if I'm intersex? Can't I just exist without the confines of sex and gender?

"That's enough, Moray," Lin ordered, her voice remaining calm and low. "Soren is listening. Your pup doesn't need to take on your adult worries. Control yourself."

My cheeks heated with embarrassment. As I wondered how long Lin had known I'd been listening in, Dad swung the door open.