Authors: Unknown
“Then shouldn’t you be asking what’s my favorite book or favorite music or something along those lines?”
“I am curious about those subjects, but right now, I want to know your sexual history.”
“Sophie, I’ll tell you what you want to know, but I will not discuss my sex life with you, past or present.”
“So you have a present sexual partner?”
“No, I don’t. But I will not discuss that with you. It is none of your business and I don’t view my past sexual experiences as stories to tell around a campfire. They are personal and private.”
I felt like an idiot. It was definitely wrong of me to pry into his life like that, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to know who I was up against. And that’s a stupid thought. I wasn’t in competition with anyone. Love shouldn’t be about competition. It should come naturally and with ease. If it doesn’t, then it’s not love, it’s only lust and selfishness.
So many people confuse the two. Just as I was doing.
The Hummer pulled into a rock-filled driveway and my head just lightly bumped against the car ceiling. Through the fog that was now settling outside, I saw Ms. Jean’s home. I always thought she would live in a trailer but she didn’t. Her home was an old-fashioned farm house painted yellow with light blue porch columns. Green ferns lined the porch like street lamps as the windows on the second floor glistened in the early morning light. All around her home, instead of a yard and flowers that one would normally associate with a house like hers, were several dozen trailers. She did live in a trailer park, one that was built around her home.
It was a very odd thing to see. Not only were there steel trailers that had every color of the rainbow around, but behind the home, was a dense forest that spread out into a swamp.
I had been to Wikiva Park a number of times and I never realized how close the forest was to suburbia. It all seemed wrong somehow like a city under the water. It didn’t belong, it didn’t seem right.
As I stepped outside the vehicle and felt the left over pitter patters of rain drops, I smelled the rich, intense and dormant forest breath around me. I could the smell the old Spanish moss that hung loosely on an Oak tree filled with squirrels. I smelled the hundreds of saplings trying desperately to gain a foothold in the muddy ground; I smelled the countless lizards and bugs; I smelled the stench-ridden bog; and finally I smelled the gun-powder sandalwood of the Hunter standing beside me. He seemed out of place in this natural woodland habitat. Being a Hunter he should have smelled more like the forest, so that his quarry wouldn’t smell him coming a mile away. Instead, he smelled oh so human and oh so male.
I took another deep inhale to draw more of him in but instead I caught that ancient and otherworldly scent of rosemary, sage, and decay.
I had wondered why the forest hadn’t moved, wondered why the squirrels weren’t chirping away, wondered why the lizards weren’t catching their prey and here was the answer. The neighboring trailers hadn’t frightened the woods, instead, the killer had.
Chap
ter Thirteen
When I was in the Hummer, I felt safe. I knew the Hunter and I were going to hopefully discover the culprit, I knew we were going to chase the big bad and stop him, but I didn’t realize we were going to
really
chase down the bad guy. The full realization never hit me in the car, instead, it waited until I was in the dark, in the quiet and still trailer park that rested in front of very gloomy forest.
It wasn’t a great time to discover that I was in a dangerous situation nor that the only person I could rely on was a Hunter.
I pricked my ears again and felt the lobes twitch in the silent early morning air. I listened intently to the woods, to the person in the closest trailer flushing a toilet, listened for animal sounds and forest sounds but heard nothing except the grumblings from the next door neighbor.
I had heard this calm before; I felt the heaviness weigh upon me; I knew
he
was here. When I had been at Charlie’s apartment, I had felt him. When I had been attacked two years ago, I felt that unfathomable depth of power roll over me like so many waves of rancid humidity.
So, I knew this feeling. I knew the silence.
The Hunter shut the driver’s side door bringing my attention back to the other dangerous creature within a fifty yard radius. He looked at me questioningly, his perfectly trimmed eyebrow raising itself into his forehead. He was a Hunter and I knew he could read body language. Mine must have been screaming and fearful because that’s how I felt.
“Sophie,” he whispered quietly, “what’s wrong?”
My breath caught in my throat and I couldn’t speak. I didn’t want to draw the killer’s attention to me although I knew that thing was watching me. I could feel his eyes moving slowly across me, occasionally darting to glance at the Hunter and then finding their way up and down my body.
“Sophie?” The Hunter asked again.
I don’t know why I hadn’t told anyone how scared I was, I especially don’t know why I never told Matt that the killer was my attacker. Why couldn’t I bring myself to speak the truth? Why did I remain silent?
“Sophie?” he asked again coming to my side and placing his fingers gently around my shoulder. I shuddered. I knew I shouldn’t have, not in front of the big bad, but my body couldn’t resist. His touch sent a pleasant wave of warmth and safety through my being and for a split-second, I relaxed. For that small, teeny-tiny bit of time, I was calm and then as soon as his hand moved, I felt the raw surge of my creator’s power slam me back into the present, back into the state of fear.
“I’m fine,” I managed but I wasn’t. I wasn’t fine. I was scared, frightened, and panicked. But I couldn’t bring myself to speak openly on why I was scared on what waited in those woods. Hell, I couldn’t tell myself what waited in the woods even though somewhere deep down, I knew. I just couldn’t face it. So, instead, I watched as the Hunter nodded and began the walk towards the tree line, “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to look around. If he was here, there would be tracks of some sort,” the Hunter replied.
“Why?” I asked stupidly.
The Hunter somewhat paused and looked a bit amused, “So I can find some clues. Let me guess, you’re not a morning person?”
I dawned a smile so fake I should have been crowned Miss Universe and giggled, “You got me there. I don’t do mornings.” Which was a truthful statement. I’m a nocturnal creature; it goes with being werewolf, being a slave to the moon.
My muscles finally broke their frozen state and I slowly stepped two feet in front of me. It was difficult to walk, even more difficult to force my steps closer to my attacker. I knew he was here. I knew that power, knew that smell and still I walked slowly. I didn’t run. My flight instinct wanted to kick in and sending me running like a bat out of hell, but logically, I knew my attacker was cursorial, he only chased if something was worth chasing; he only attacked when the victim moved. Somehow I knew that so I tried my hardest to keep still and not show my fear.
I may not be showing my frightened state of mind, but I knew he could smell it. I knew he was drinking my scent in like it was life-giving water.
I took a deep breath and took another step forward. I may not trust the Hunter completely, but if a more dangerous wolf came out of the woods, I knew the Hunter would try to disarm the attacker or perhaps kill the attacker.
“Mr. Black,” I said not wanting to run to catch up with him but not wanting the Hunter too far out of sight, “have you found anything?” The last few words were high-pitched and frantic and I knew I was sounding scared.
The Hunter’s long legs loped towards me and his dark brown eyes stared into mine, “Sophie, is it here?”
“How would I know that?”
“Sophie, is it here?” he asked again more severely.
I rubbed my hands down my arms and realized I was cold. Chill bumps erupted all over my skin causing me to shiver. I don’t know why I was suddenly cold because I was still sweating. A few beads of sweat dribbled down my temples and rested in the crook of my neck. I wiped them off and felt my teeth chatter uncontrollably.
The Hunter threw his arms around me and started rubbing his hands up and down my back, trying desperately to warm me up, “Why do you have cold sweats?”
“I don’t know,” I managed through my clattering teeth.
As the Hunter squeezed me tighter, a surge of liquid hot power flowed through the air. It burned and bit at me like sharp fangs piercing the skin. I wanted to scream, to writhe and I knew my body was shaking violently against the Hunter. I felt the strong pull from the creature in the woods and my beast stirred. It could hear the thing calling, howling and it wanted to run beside the attacker, to be with the attacker.
My hands gripped the Hunter’s shoulders and dug in deeply into his skin. I was desperately trying to regain control, to force the beast back into that dark, starlit ridden cave, but I couldn’t.
My body fell to the ground and I felt the cold stings of gravel tear up my back and my shirt but that would be the least of my pains if my beast fully came out.
I saw my jackal run up that tunnel, it faced me, stared me directly in my eyes and howled. I wouldn’t be able to stop it, I had no control over it any longer.
I looked up to the Hunter who was delicately multitasking; in one hand his black painted pistol was showing in the light purple sky and my hand was fully grasped in his other, “Damon,” I said with a loud growl that I knew was not my voice, “gather up…my…pieces…” and those would be the last words I would speak for the next few hours.
I screamed out loud and through the rumblings of my beast I heard several lights turn on, heard car alarms ring in the distance and knew everyone would be here to see this. I was crying and screaming as the Hunter dragged me into the woods, away from prying eyes, away from sirens.
Through the blurry haze I saw intricate details of leaves and watched as chlorophyll was absorbed into the delicate stems and green leaves. I could see the termites shuffling around in the decaying log and knew they were happily eating it away.
I screamed again and heard it muffled as my tongue licked the hand covering my mouth. The Hunter tasted so good. I wanted to keep licking him, to break his skin and drink him up. I wanted to rip the flesh from his bones and feel his last pulse jump against my lips.
Shit. The beast is coming and I can’t stop it.
My heart raced uncontrollably, throbbing and banging against my chest. My lungs broke into several seizures and for a few moments, I could no longer breathe. I glanced down at my arms and watched with obscene horror as my skin started to split apart and explode chunks of red flesh and white fat and crimson blood all around me.
My screams turned into howls as the rest of my body plastered itself against the Hunter and the trees.
I sniffed around my body parts and wanted to eat them up, but something special was calling me. I looked to the Hunter who had a gun pointing at me and I growled. He didn’t move, but I could hear his heart beating steadily with an occasional skip of fear. But he wasn’t afraid of me, no, he didn’t smell like a trapped fawn in a meadow full of lavender, no, he smelled of sweat and desperation. He was afraid
for
me, not
of
me.
I pawed around him and looked back into the dark woods. The Hunter did not interest me. No, a larger beast was out there, calling me. I could hear his howls in the distance, taste his power in the air like a thousand corpses were blowing in the wind.
I stuffed my snout into a few bits of my human’s flesh and knew I had to eat them, but I couldn’t resist that call. It was too powerful. I glanced back at the Hunter and knew he would put the most important pieces in a bag and save them for later. Ha! My human body was being put in a doggie bag. How ironic.
I lifted my head and looked towards the nearly full moon and let a howl that would haunt the most courageous knight and then darted into the thick and unmovable underbrush.
For anyone else, they would have been lost, trapped, alone and scared in these woods. But I wasn’t. Trees and branches spread before me like I was a hot knife through butter. I ran in and out of thickets occasionally feeling a few thorns graze my sides and my feet.
My paws danced easily on the murky, swamp ground and I bounded gracefully through the muck and the mud. Everything shifted around me giving me an easy trail to follow so I ran faster than ever before. My tongue hung sloppily outside my mouth occasionally scraping against my very sharp canines. But that wasn’t pain. That was just running with an open mouth.
I leapt into the center of a boggy water hole and allowed the very warm water to cascade all over my black fur. A few bugs landed on me and bit me, but I didn’t care. I just rolled onto my back and scratched at them, knocking off the bugs by grazing against a log.
I shook off the water and let my fur air dry as I took a deep inhale. I knew my maker was here in the forest, but I couldn’t find him. All I could do was run. And it felt so good to run. The human keeps me locked up in a makeshift prison for most of the month; it’s cruel and unusual punishment. She doesn’t understand that I need to run, to be able to chase squirrels, rabbits and cats. Why won’t she let me chase cats? I hate those things.
But more to the point, where is my creator?
I sniffed again and tasted the decaying air, the swamp air that always smelled like death. I knew the maker smelled of death so being in this death-filled air wasn’t helping me to track him. I ruffled my haunches and tried to feel for his power, that unbelievable and unmovable power that rolled off and hit me like a pile of bricks.
I couldn’t feel him. I couldn’t smell him. My paws paced on the swampy ground, frantic and desperate just to get a whiff of that glorious rosemary and sage scent.
So I listened. I pointed my ears forward and stopped panting. I had to be quiet to hear everything, to hear every detail. I focused on listening and then, a soft howl called from miles away. He was already on the edge of the other side of the forest. I couldn’t keep up with him. He was running too fast. Even for me.
I howled into the night sky and allowed my panting to once again continue. I just wanted to be close to him, to touch him, to feel his muscles ripple close to mine. Was that too much to ask for? He was my master, he was supposed to take care of me.
A sharp whistle exploded behind me forcing my attention towards the sound. I closed my mouth so I could better hear. The sharp high-pitched sound erupted again and I ran towards it. I wanted to kill whoever was driving that insanely shrill noise deep into my ears. It was a loud, annoying sound like a damn mosquito biting in the same place again and again.
I bounded through the woods intent on tearing apart whoever was making that noise when I came face to face with the end of a gun barrel. It smelled like fire and smoke and I knew that it could hurt me. I didn’t know how I knew it would hurt me, but I did.
I snarled my teeth at the gun and then the unmistakable scent of my human washed through me. I could smell the metallic blood seeping inside the cooler and I rushed towards it. I knocked the man over and ripped into the plastic carrier. My teeth chipped as I fought desperately to get inside it, to eat my human.
Once the lid flew back, I saw the most beautiful body parts gleaming and stewing in their own juices. My drool washed over the heart and lungs and I swallowed them whole. I was in ecstasy. The muscles were so perfectly raw and tender and the bits of bone and fat made for the most refined au jus. Every single part of her tasted so good that I wanted to wallow around in it, lick each part delicately, but I couldn’t help myself. I just stuffed it in my mouth unaware that I was being locked away again as the human came forward.
For some reason, I could never remember not to eat myself, because if I did, the human would return and I would be caged again in that dark cave. Next time I come out, I won’t be tempted back inside. I won’t let her cage me again.