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Prey For Me: Pt. 2

Brother's Keeper

By Stephen BillerPublished 6 years ago 7 min read
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"This will be the last time, he thought to himself. No longer would he chase his brother through the night. Logan could just take care of himself."

“Why, Logan?” Skeagan looked at his brother. “I just don’t understand why.”

Logan’s friend Evann had been delivered safely home. Through a second-story window, Skeagan had noticed. Apparently, Evann’s family did not know of their son’s nighttime expeditions, either. The brothers now sat on a high branch of a 50 foot pine tree near their family’s country home. Logan sat closest to the trunk, leaning back against it. His eyes were closed, but Skeagan knew he wasn’t really asleep. The younger boy sat mid-branch, his feet dangling. The chilly wind that had been blowing earlier was now little more than a breeze, playing absently with Skeagan’s hair.

“I want an answer, Logan.” his tone held more authority than most fourteen-year olds could muster, but there was still a crack to it.

Logan grunted and moved his shoulders.

“A shrug! That’s it—that’s your answer? You nearly got a mortal killed!”

Logan half opened his eyes. “We’re mortals, too.”

Skeagan just looked at him for a second before replying, “Well, our life expectancy is much longer than other mortals. And this discussion is beside the point. What would you have done if I hadn’t come? What was your plan?”

Logan’s eyes were almost closed again, but there was a sly sparkle just below the long, dark lashes. His mouth turned up slightly in a smug smile as he answered, “But you always come.”

That was it! Skeagan jumped up and slammed his feet down on the branch. Logan’s eyes shot open in surprise as he lost his balance and went crashing for the ground. It would serve him right if he broke an arm or leg, Skeagan thought. He laughed when he heard a slight moan from the ground below. In several quick motions, he climbed down the tree, jumping the last twenty feet. He landed lightly on the dead grass and pine needles beside his brother. Logan lay on his side, his back to Skeagan. His left hand gripped his right arm.

“Don’t be such a baby, get up!” Skeagan said easily. He was tensed for when his brother twirled over and tackled him.

Instead, Logan grunted angrily and rolled onto his back. He turned his face towards Skeagan. There were several reddish-black scrape lines, like cracks in his face, where tree branches had dragged against his skin—skin that should be nearly unbreakable. In a few spots, a chunk of skin had simply fallen off like broken pottery. His right arm was misshapen, and his right leg was bent awkwardly. He grimaced, and his eyes glowered with hate at Skeagan.

An electric jolt of fear shot through the younger boy. “Why aren’t you healing?”

He reached a hand towards his brother. Logan growled menacingly. He started to say something, but was overcome by pain.

“Logan, we have to do something! Let me see your injuries.”

“You’ve done enough! I’m healing, it’s just taking longer.”

Then something clicked in Skeagan’s head. He looked at Logan, a mixture of surprise and disgust covering his face. “The alcohol…it’s slowed your ability to heal.” Skeagan murmured, almost to himself.

“I am healing—just slowly.” Logan growled, then closed his eyes in a grimace as pain shot through his body.

“We need to get you straight so you heal right. Your leg—” Skeagan leaned forward. His older brother hissed, his lips drawing back from sharp fangs.

The response was so feral, so much like an animal instinct, it truly frightened Skeagan. His chest tightened as he backed away still on his hands and knees. He had heard of their kind losing themselves completely in the underlying hunter. The conscience self curling up into the soul and leaving the physical being to the control of their instincts. It took something dramatic—a fall from a tree? Skeagan looked at his brother who was now cradling his arm, his eyes closed. What should he do? Go for help and leave Logan? What if the injured teen took off? What if he really was turning wild?

He had a sudden idea, and started crawling back towards his brother. Logan’s eyes flew open and a low growl came from his throat. He bared his teeth. Skeagan stopped crawling and stared into his brother’s chipped and cracked face.

Then he spit. He was aiming for Logan’s mouth. It hit the corner, some splattering against his cheek, but most reaching its intended mark.

Score, Skeagan said to himself.

Logan stopped growling in surprise. He just continued to stare at his brother in wild anger. Skeagan stared back, but not in anger. He watched with nervous tension, hoping his idea would work. Time seemed to slow down, but in reality only seconds passed as Logan’s eyelids began to droop, then shut completely. He sunk backwards onto the ground, a peaceful smile replacing the snarl.

All right! Skeagan got to his feet, a grin of triumph on his face. His saliva—and that of his family’s—had a chemical make-up that caused peaceful oblivion in others. Under ordinary conditions, it would have been powerless on any member of their family. But in his weakened state, Logan’s system could not resist it. Now, Skeagan could try to right his wrongs, literally. Quickly but carefully, Skeagan straightened his brother’s leg. He could feel the resistance from the bone and tissue where it had already began to set in the contorted way Logan had been sitting. The arm gave a pop as Logan straightened it. The sound made him grimace; he had never intended for this to happen. He shouldn’t have let his anger get the better of him. But it had made him so angry when his big brother had taken him for granted.

This will be the last time, he thought to himself. No longer would he chase his brother through the night. Logan could just take care of himself.

He looked at his older brother’s face, the skin slowly growing over the raw muscle. The cracks coming together and sealing over smooth, without the slightest bump of a scar. Logan’s eyelids flickered but remained closed. Skeagan knew he would go out again. Like it or not, he was his brother’s keeper. Until Logan decided to act his age and accept responsibility, Skeagan would hunt him down each night. Rescue him when he needed rescuing and clean him up when they got home, if for no other reason, then for the sake of their clan.

After all, Grandfather would not live forever. Logan, as eldest grandson, was next in line for the position of Head of the Clan. This did not seem to matter to Logan at all. But in Skeagan's mind, it was imperative that Logan be ready and able to take on Grandfather’s mantle when the venerable man finally returned to ash.

If only tonight would have taught Logan a lesson, and he would give up this nighttime debauchery. If only. Skeagan lifted his older brother easily, despite the size difference that still remained between them. In a few leaps, he was standing on the porch that wrapped around the back of the large farmhouse. Several glass doors led out onto this porch, and the spaces between these doors were filled with large windows. Each door led to a spacious bedroom, and Skeagan carried Logan into the one they shared.

It was a comfortable room, decorated in the colors of the ocean—blue, green, and brown. Skeagan loved his bedroom. The crackled effect on the walls; the hand-painted Americana seascapes; the solid, pine furniture—all of these came together to create a relaxing shelter. Logan had helped their mother decorate the room a few years back. Before he had gotten mixed up in the mind-deadening pastimes he now pursued. Before he seemed to give up on art, life, and pretty much everything else that had once been important to him.

Skeagan laid Logan on his large bed and threw a blanket over him. His older brother’s face was almost completely smooth now, with only a slight dent where the deepest cut had been. He shook his head with a sigh before crossing the room to his own bed. He kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his shirt. Throwing himself across the bedspread, he put the past three hours into that place at the back of his mind where he kept unwanted memories. It was how he coped with the stress and found solace at night. With a deep sigh, he closed his eyes.

It was not long before the darkness overtook him.

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About the Creator

Stephen Biller

I'm a freelance writer who needs a little coffee to fuel a lot of imagination. Follow me on social media @oldmanbiller.

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