8. Damsel in distress.

CONAN.

“You go on ahead, I'll text you later.” I turn to Dan, my mind on nothing but the familiar scent of anxiety, pheromones, and this time absolute fear. My wolf is restless.

“Why?” he asks.

“I think the grays are around, you don’t smell that?”

He sniffs the air and shrugs. “No.”

I try to relax my shoulders and act indifferent as I say, “Oh doesn't matter, either way, I need to turn in. It’s been a long day for this wolf.” 

He takes the cue quickly.

“Alright, I'll text you with any updates…” he pauses for a second and sends me a curious look. “Are you sure you’re, okay? You’ve been off the whole day.”

“Yeah,” I hope my voice sounds reassuring. “Totally, probably new environment jitters or something, I’ll be fine.”

Anyone that says 'yeah, totally,' is a liar." He says , before turning and leaving with a brisk bye.

One reason Dan and I work so well is because he is very good at minding his business, and I am not. Almost polar opposites, we complement each other very well. He is everything that I am not, and I am everything he will not let himself be.

The minute he is gone, I go into immediate tracker mode, opening up all my senses and finding the sent that had awakened every fiber of my being.

Still confused as to why my beta didn’t catch it, I follow the scent past my gates and towards the woods. With every step I take, the scent grows stronger, the fear becoming the strongest, and the restlessness of my wolf growing with it.

My legs seem to realize the urgency of the matter, moving faster toward the strong scent. Something feels wrong. There is so much fear… is she in danger? Would someone dare hurt her in her brother’s territory?

I almost trip on a branch in my hurry, but I catch myself in time, bringing me back to reality. As I walk deeper into the woods, my brain cannot help but wonder… where the hell is Wilda headed? Why does she have this much power over me? Why can't I seem to escape thoughts of her?

The woods grow darker in the setting sun, but that is no problem for a wolf. For a human on the other hand, the woods are as dark as midnight in a moonless night. Though Crimson Hills remains one of the safest places for both werewolves and humans alike, the woods are often crawling with wild animals.

A new scent wafts to my nostrils with the wind. Blood. Though faint, the smell is right there next to the combination that says Wilda to me. I need to find her fast.

The smell leads me to a clearing, a small feminine body crawled in the middle.

“Wilda!” I shout.

No answer.

Her heartbeat, though erratic is there. I run to her and kneel beside her. She lays on her side with her hand twisted at a weird angle beneath her. I shake her.

“Wilda,” I whisper.

Still, she does not stir. She only twitches in her sleep. Her eyes are closed tight and her forehead is creased by a frown. She must be dreaming… probably having a nightmare. Who falls asleep in the middle of the woods at this time of the night?

Her blonde hair falls across her face, and in the dark, my night vision makes it look like it's glowing. For a second, I'm convinced that whoever said they saw an angel first must have seen one of her ancestors at night.

I have often heard that the beauty of a white wolf could bring down an empire, and though Wilda, is no wolf, she inherited the beauty of her bloodline nonetheless. Without thinking, I sweep the hair off her face and tuck it behind her ear, marveling at her beauty.

It takes me a while to remember the blood I had smelled. My eyes scan her body length. Her hand, balled into a fist is the source of the iron smell. Her nails are probably digging into her palm so hard they draw blood.

Again, I gently shake her and call out her name, and again, she remains unresponsive. What the hell is this? What the hell do I do?

I try to pry my hand between her palm and fingers to stop her from hurting herself, but she must be stronger than she looks. Confused, I try again. She is just a human; how can her grip be so hard? But then again, I’ve heard that people do weird things in their sleep.

‘If you try harder, you will break her fist.’ I think.

 I look around the forest as if I could find the answer in fallen leaves and dying trees. What’s the protocol for finding a girl unconscious and unresponsive in the forest? Call the cops? For some reason, the thought does not appeal to me.

Finally, I gather her into my hands and stand up.

‘I will take her to her house.’ I decide.

And yet, when I finally leave the forest, it is not the gray mansion I head for. My thoughts judge me the whole way to my house. ‘They will say you kidnapped her.’ ‘What will her brother think?’ ‘You will go to prison,’

The thought of prison does not convince me to take her to her house. The idea of her brother on the other hand, almost convinces me to turn around. Instead, I unlock the door to my house with little difficulty and settle her on my sofa. My wolf, protective of her, will not let me take her anywhere while she is unconscious and unable to defend herself. What if something happened to her?

‘I’m doing this to protect her,’ I try to convince myself.

What on God’s green earth am I doing?

I walk to my bedroom and find a blanket. The sight of her on my sofa stops me in my tracks. a weird thought occurs to me. ‘She belongs here, with me.’ Though the troubled look is still on her face, though she still twitches with the terror of whatever she is dreaming about, her fist is unfolded now.

Somehow, I know that this is not a coincidence. I drape the blanket over her and she snuggles it close to her in her sleep, giving a satisfied sigh. I take her bloody hand in mine, collecting paper towels from the table next to me, and wipe the blood off her palm.

There is no wound. What? I wipe off more of the blood, leaving her hand clean. Still, there is no wound on her palm.

Was I wrong? Whose blood is this, if not hers? She is not a wolf, so I cannot say that maybe she healed, the only explanation is this must be someone else’s blood.

In the same second, she grabs my hand with the previously bloody hand and smiles.

“Wilda?” I call, but she does not react.

My wolf rejoices with the contact, but my logical brain will not let me bask in her light. I need answers. What was she doing in the woods? Whose blood is in her hands?

My left-hand finds he shoulder and shakes her gently.

“Wilda,” I whisper.

She sits up suddenly, with a sudden intake of air, her eyes wild. She looks around at the unfamiliar environment and opens her mouth wide to scream.

My hand finds her mouth in the same instant and muffles her scream

“It's me,” I say.

Her eyes find my face and her a look of confusion falls across her face.

I remove my hand and lift my left hand to try and show her that I'm harmless. My right hand is clutched tightly in hers.

“What am I doing here?” she whispers, her voice fearful.

She looks down at her other hand and lets go of my hand, her face mortified.

“What the hell am I doing here?” she repeats louder, scooting away from me.

The movement hurts me a little. ‘I would never hurt you.’ I want to say. But why would she believe me? She only met me today.

“I found you unconscious near my house,” I lie. “So, I brought you in.”

“Oh,” she says, her eyes downcast. “Sorry, I do that sometimes,” she chuckles nervously.

“Well, you young people move really fast these days,” a voice behind me says.

I turn to find Damian at my door.

Shit!