Page 17 of Ravaged Wolf
“Life hurts.” The words roll off her tongue. That’s her answer, and I should have expected it. If I say I’m tired, she says everyone’s tired. If I say I’m nervous, she says you should be. She’s not going to help me. Why won’t the part of me that expects her to just die?
“Enough of this,” she says, standing and dusting off her immaculate slacks. “Go wash yourself. Brush your teeth. We’ll get you another one of my pills, and you’ll feel better.”She frowns at my room and wrinkles her nose. “When all this is over, we’ll need to do a deep clean. At the minimum, the carpet needs steam cleaning.”
She shudders and leaves, but she doesn’t shut the door all the way behind her. When her phone rings moments later, I hear her say, “Catrin? What are they saying?” And then I hear her bedroom door click shut.
I don’t have a clock or a window. What time is it? It feels late, but Dad’s not home yet. It might be Friday. At the end of the week, he always goes for drinks after work with the males he’s trying to schmooze. But would he go out when I’m home like this?
Of course, he would.
I don’t waste another second. I grab the bed to hoist myself upright. When I’m steady enough, I drag on gray sweatpants and an oversized white T-shirt and creep down the hall, past Mom’s closed bedroom, through the living room. My wolf rises to her feet, ears perking. We don’t hear or smell Dad.
We need space. Sky. Wind. We need to get out of here.
Mate,my wolf whimpers.
No. We’re not allowed. Remember what Mom said. I’m dangerous to him.
We can’t be inside here any longer, though. We’ll feel better with fresh air in our lungs. We’ll be able to breathe again and calm our racing heart. We’ll get a second wind, and then we’ll be able to hold out for as long as we have to.
Trevor brought us sodas and got us an apartment of our own. He made jokes, and he kissed so sweetly, and if I wouldn’t have gone with Dad, Dad’s wolf would have torn him to pieces. I know it. Trevor’s a good male. Mom’s not making idle threats. I can’t let him get hurt. I can wait. I just need air.
I quietly let myself out the front door, leaving it slightly ajar so Mom doesn’t hear it close.
I take the elevator because I don’t trust myself on the stairs. My wolf wants to go outside, but she wants to get Trevor first. I’m afraid that she won’t let us leave, but for some reason, once we pass his floor, she chills out about going to him. For the entire ride down, I pray we don’t stop. I look moon sick. If anyone sees me, they’ll definitely call my parents.
I go all the way to the basement. There’s an exit by the gym that leads to street level. Brynn and her friends use it when they sneak out at night. They’ve never invited me—I’m too much of a rule follower—but they tell me all about it.
I hold my breath for the thirty feet from the elevator to the emergency exit. Even though the doors to the gym are closed, the stink of male sweat seeps out along with the sound of clanking weights. The scent has grown even more rancid. Even though I’m not inhaling, my nostrils burn, and my eyes water.
My wolf urges us to flee faster, and I do, dashing down a back corridor and pounding up the flight of concrete stairs that lead to street level.
As soon as I clear the Tower, I drag air deep into my lungs, and my wolf surges to the border between us, yapping with excitement. This is right. We’ve thrown our bridle and saddle, slipped our leash, and until this moment, we didn’t even realize we wore them.
I’m scared. I’m always scared—I’mmade ofscared—but I’m also something new. I’m high, soaring, uncaged.
I’ve never seen the world like this before. I run toward the Academy, sticking to the alleys, and despite the gross water trickling down the sloping pavement and the grubby green dumpsters, it’s an exquisitely beautiful night.
Dusk must’ve not been too long ago because the scent of dew hasn’t totally obscured the hint of sunshine lingering in the air. The moon is full and low, its seas like bruises on a fat, pale fruit.
I’m not allowed out alone after dark. Only low rank females who aren’t going anywhere hang out at the marina or walk with their friends along the promenade on Friday night. I stay home and hit the books, staring at my blank, eggshell walls. I’m not allowed to tack up posters. When it’s our turn to move up, we don’t want to have to waste time repainting.
But what does all that matter now? I’m outside. My wolf closes her eyes and lets the night wind ruffle her fur.
I pump my legs harder, racing away from the buildings and the lake, and when I hit the Academy, I jog along the perimeter until I reach the woods that spread all the way to the foothills. I don’t know where I’m going. My wolf and I are soaking in the moonlight, our lungs and thighs aching, free and surefooted, and I’ve never, ever felt this way before, not even in my dreams.
This is the right direction. This is the way I’m supposed to be going, through this ditch, past this cluster of beech trees, across this dry creek bed.
My sneakers pound a rhythm on the ground, and a hundred other sounds join in a chorus, the crickets swelling and fading—crescendo, fortissimo, diminuendo, pianissimo—the bullfrogs honking their parts right on time. My heart thumps along in perfect measure.
I’m not surprised when I round a bend and Trevor is there, standing under a massive white oak, its gnarled trunk knotted and mossy and as wide around as a shed, the moon shining through its thick branches. That’s exactly where he should be.
I run right to him, stopping only when he doesn’t move, not a twitch except for the fire blazing in his eyes.
“T-Trevor?”
He looks rough. His skin is sickly gray like mine, his jaw dark with stubble, his curls sticking up at all angles. His hands are clenched in fists, and he seems bigger. The short sleeves of his maroon T-shirt dig into his biceps, and the hem rides up, showing the carved V pointing into his loose gray sweatpants.
Heat bursts through me, spinning pinwheels in my belly, surging out to the tips of my fingers and toes, spilling into my chest. Without thinking, I clutch my breasts to hold the feeling in, groaning in the back of my throat.
