As Cherie headed back to his grandmother’s cottage, he couldn’t shake off the buzzing feeling in his body. He came into contact with a hybrid wolf, a very handsome one. He was giddy, childishly giddy, but he toned it down when he noticed Merissa standing at the front door, arms crossed over her breasts. She did not look happy.

“I’ve ought to send you to the Father again,” Merissa growled at him, a repulsed look on her face as she stared at Cherie’s disheveled appearance. “Maybe that’ll straighten you up.”

Cherie was unable to hide his smile, lips twitching at Merissa’s scolding. “Straighten” him up—as if. He was far too gone, far too twisted to be fixed, and he knew his grandmother knew. But she was so traditional and strict that she believed a firm hand would somehow fix him. It was practically laughable. No, it was laughable. It didn’t matter who disciplined him because Cherie was a twisted-minded individual that sought after instinctive impulses that no one could rein him in.

Merissa caught his smile and her expression turned furious. She grabbed Cherie by his ear and yanked him inside, causing him to stumble. “You’ve done it now. You stay here while I get the Father.” She pushed him into a chair and pointed a finger at him. “You move and I’ll make you recite the Bible from start to end.” She left the cottage, fuming.

He grumbled to himself as he set the basket of berries down on the counter. He leaned back into the chair, staring at the clock that hung on the wall. It was an odd, old clock, the numbers replaced with different phases of the moon and four wolves. He didn’t get the clock, didn’t understand how his grandmother obtained the clock, but it was fun to stare at.

The front door opened and he sank deeper into the chair, groaning softly. The Father was here. He flinched when he saw the Father enter the kitchen, his gray eyes landing on Cherie with a look of quieted anger. But despite the anger in his eyes, the Father had an amused smile on his lips as he sat down in the chair across from Cherie.

“Cherie,” the Father mused, lacing his hands together, gray eyes locked with Cherie’s.

“Father,” Cherie said in a clipped voice.

“It hasn’t even been a few months since I last saw you,” the Father reminded him, voice low and dark. “What have you done this time?” His amused smile turned ominous as he met Cherie’s impudent gaze.

Cherie set his jaw tight, scowling at the man. He knew where this was going. The Father was going to get him to confess his “sins” and punish him for it, castigating and warning him that he was going to wind up in Hell for his “impure” thoughts.

“I went to Willow’s Perch,” Cherie said, aloof. There was no point in mentioning the hybrid wolf. It wouldn’t be like the Father knew—after all, he was still human, and not a deity, no matter how holy the man claimed to be.

“Went to or was in, because, dear Cherie, there is a difference,” the Father pointed out, smiling, but his eyes were livid. He pulled the chair closer so Cherie and he were knee to knee. “I suggest you be honest if you want this to be quick.”

Cherie stared at the Father in dismay. He didn’t like where this was going. Oh, goodness, no. The Father definitely was going to hound on him if he lied to him. But he couldn’t tell him about the hybrid wolf, no. The Father would probably flay him alive if he told him.

He could still lie—it wasn’t hard to lie. But the Father knew Cherie for years and knew when he was lying…but not always. After all, if Cherie schooled his expression right and kept his tone soporific, he could get away with his lies.

“I was in Willow’s Perch,” Cherie confirmed, trying to keep his voice monotonous as he met the Father’s judicious stare.

“So you lied to me,” the Father said softly as he gripped Cherie’s thigh, gray eyes flaming with ire.

“Rather than lying, I merely misspoke,” Cherie countered in a smooth voice. “See, by me saying I went to Willow’s Perch, I believe you would understand me as I went in the forest.” That, however, was the wrong thing to say because before Cherie could process what had happened, the Father had struck him hard across the face.

“You dare treat me like a fool?” the Father seethed, fisting Cherie’s shirt and yanking him close. “I know how damn clever you are with your tongue. Don’t make me cut it out. Don’t dance your way around your ways just to get out of this. You have yet again broken the rules and you will be punished severely for it.”

Cherie set his jaw as he kept his gaze steady when meeting the Father's infuriated glare. He knew if he looked away, he'd lose—this was a game, a challenge. The Father was trying to control Cherie, and Cherie knew that. They both knew it. As much as Cherie wanted to snap back at the Father, he kept his jaw locked.

The Father then pulled back, his expression almost placid. He steepled his fingers and he gave Cherie a grim smile. “You know what to do, don’t you?”

“I refuse.” Cherie said stiffly, glaring at the Father. He knew this was a bad move to do but he didn’t want the man to treat him like an object anymore. Even if it meant getting the shit beaten out of him, he didn’t want to give the Father a chance to humiliate him once again.

“You bastard,” the Father bristled as he stood up fast, knocking the chair over. He grabbed Cherie by the throat and squeezed hard, sneering, “I’ll fucking skin you alive and have you pray for the Lord’s Holy mercy upon you. You are the Devil reincarnated and if it means burn you to cast the damned sins out of you, so be it!”

He couldn’t breathe; the Father’s fingers were digging tightly into his esophagus, cutting off his airstream. His vision went fuzzy around the edges but he didn’t dare struggle—that’d be too much fun for the Father. It wasn’t until Cherie’s vision began blackening did a surge of faltering panic built inside of him, his hand wrapped around the Father’s wrist, trying to pry the man’s hand off his throat.

But the Father’s grip was relentlessly, continually choking the air out of Cherie, leaving him sputtering and struggling. When Cherie felt himself nearly slipping unconscious, the Father let him go and Cherie gasped for air, coughing, rubbing his throat.

“See what happens when you don’t listen to me?” The Father sneered. “Insolent brat.” His gray eyes went to the basket full of berries and he had a disapproving look. “You really are an idiot, going into Willow’s Perch. You can’t find half of those berries in Driftholde.” He knocked over the basket and the berries went scattering over the counter and spilling onto the floor. The Father then stepped on the berries and the dark juices splattered on the wooden floor.

Rage burst inside of Cherie and he angrily stood up from the chair, fuming, “What the fuck was that for?!”

The Father shoved Cherie up against the wall and held him there, spatting at him, “Don’t you dare raise your voice at me, boy!”

“You have no clue how hard it is to gather those berries—” Cherie began heatedly, but the Father grabbed Cherie’s jaw roughly, forcing him to be silent.

“You’re not supposed to gather those berries in the first place,” the Father cut Cherie off fiercely. “You’re supposed to go to Driftholde to get the common berries and not these…exotic ones.” He kicked the basket hard and it broke when it hit the wall. “When will you ever learn?” He shoved Cherie onto his knees and glared down at him. “You better repent now.”

Cherie sneered, “Fuck, no,” which caused the Father to slam his foot forcefully against Cherie’s crotch, sending spasms of pain throughout his body.

“Fucking…bastard…” Cherie gritted out, his hands covering protectively between his legs as he glowered at the man.

“Don’t make me repeat myself: repent.” The Father demanded icily. He crouched down so he was eye to eye with Cherie. “Before I force you to.”

A growl rumbled in Cherie’s throat as he fought back the urge to imprecate curses against the Father. He kept his gaze studied before gritting out, “I…apologize…for my behavior, Father.” But the Father wasn’t taking it. He slammed Cherie to the ground and drew back a fist, ramming it into Cherie’s jaw. Blood spurted in Cherie’s mouth and he gave off a pained cry, trying to push the man off of him, but the Father was too strong. All Cherie could do was use his arms to cover his face from the Father’s punches to his face.

Perhaps the punching lasted an hour, or maybe even for a few seconds, but when the Father had finally ceased the onslaught of vicious punching, Cherie felt numb all over. He curled onto his side and groaned, coughing up dark blood.

Fuck… He felt like his head was underwater. Cherie tried pushing himself off the ground but his arms shook and gave out under him.

“Pray tell me,” the Father sneered as he fisted Cherie’s red hair and tugged him upwards so they were face to face, “why were you in Willow’s Perch?”

“To gather berries,” Cherie spat.

“You must think I’m fucking stupid, don’t you, boy?” The Father grinned icily as he squeezed Cherie’s throat. “You must think you can bullshit your way out of this, don’t you? But guess what? Your lies don’t work on me. Either you fess up right now or I will get the pliers in your shed and pull your fingernails out one by one.”

He kept his jaw locked, unwilling to reveal to the Father that he had gone to the forest to see the hybrid wolf. What was the point of him telling? If he told him, it wouldn’t be like the Father would let him go. In fact, the Father would merely humiliate and abuse him further.

“Ten…nine…eight…” The Father began counting down, gray eyes furious as he continued his hold on Cherie’s hair and neck. “Don’t make me say one, boy—”

“I wanted to see the Musk Hirschs,” Cherie muttered, and the Father fell silent. “You know… because they’re rare to see. About this time in season…they are out…” Cherie glanced at the Father, wondering if he bought his lie.

“The Musk Hirschs, hm?” The Father said softly, releasing Cherie from his iron grip. “I haven’t seen one in years as they rarely stray from the forest. How do I know you wanted to see the Musk Hirschs and not those damned beasts?” The Father tilted his head in question.

“I was walking around the edge of the forest when I happened to see one. Then I decided to follow after it and I stumbled upon a clearing with berries so I picked them.” Cherie glanced at the Father, wondering if he was buying his lies. However, judging by the Father’s dubious looks, Cherie realized that he was still trapped in the nest of his lies, and he doubted the Father would let him go now.

“Musk Hirschs,” the Father repeated, gray eyes glancing at the clock. He looked at Cherie then smiled coldly. “Next time, bring one to me. Afterall, aren’t you a hunter, Mr. Hodge?”

Something shifted inside of Cherie, a primal urge to choke the Father to death. He hated it when people referred to him as “Mr. Hodge”. He could never be Mr. Hodge, as Mr. Hodge was his father—his perfect father. A real hunter. A savior, a star. Cherie kept his jaw shut and stared dully at the Father whose smile grew more mockingly.

“But that bow I got you to use,” the Father murmured low into Cherie’s ear. “It’d be a shame to let such a bow go to waste after what you went through.” He tilted Cherie’s chin upward and his gray eyes flashed. “Be a good boy.” He ruffled Cherie’s hair and he left the house.

Cherie went to the broken basket and picked it off the ground before throwing it into the fireplace.