??A Howl In The Night??
?(She’s Mine)?
?From Novel r0m@n�
?Chapter 11?
Since When Was Being Kidnapped A Good Thing? ?
The afternoon air is crisp and cold, dancing along a tiny girl’s ba-re shoulders as she rolls down the windows. She shivers slightly as the air turns into a rushing wind, sl@pping at her cheeks. Angered by its sudden f0rç£, she rolls up the window quic-kly, lunging at her beautiful mother for comfort.
“Now, now, sweet child, calm down,” the goddess says, the words melting like bu-tter throu-gh herl-ips. Her hair was a de-ep ru-by red, her eyes as green as a meadow on a bright summer day. Her daughter has the same features, sharing almost no likeness with her dad. However, the girl is blessed with her father’s enchanting, hearty laugh and quiet personality.
The girl is sniffling in the woman’s embr@ce, reveling in the warmth the lady gives. Now she is not crying because of the ferocious wind, but because of the foreboding laced throu-gh the air, the foreboding only she can s-en-se. It brings with it great cold, its deathly claws sinking into the girl’s tiny b©dy.
The foreboding morphs in an instant to a bone-crushing fear, amplifying the chills that are resounding throu-ghout her b©dy, ma-king her heart ache. It is like spikes of ice are being driven throu-gh her che-st, even the air freezing from cold and raw terror.
Everything around the little girl suddenly turns black, although she can still see the green of her mother’s eyes, the back of her father’s head as he maneuvers them down the winding road. It seems to be in the girls mind, although her vision is still perfect. The girl starts screaming now, the whole world going dark before her eyes. Her mother’s arms do nothing to calm her, for she has lost all traces of sanity.
Or maybe not.
Suddenly, all these strange symptoms begin to come together as out of the darkness, a creature emerges. With a b©dy like a cloud, and truly horrendous fiery eyes, it is a thing like no other. A spirit. A ghoul.
She screams, “MONSTER!” but her mother does not see. The expression of horror on the girl’s face is not gracing her mother’s fair complexion. She is just looking at her daughter in bafflement, not at the true cause of it all. Why can’t she detect the supernatural beast?
Then, the living fear stares at the girl, terrorizing her with a single look. The eyes burn like lasers throu-gh her skin, reaching de-ep into her soul.
Throu-gh those eyes, she sees hell.
Then it vanishes, and the world slightly brightens. But the cold is still there. The fear is vibr@nt, thriving in the tiny truck. Where did it go? She can s-en-se its pres£nce, its disgusting scent hanging below her nostrils.
Suddenly, her father’s b©dy becomes as stiff as a board, and she knows.
It is then that the little girl realizes that nothing is ever going to be the same again.
?MONA?
My eyes fly open, not willing to experience the nightmare once more. The cold claws of fear are gripping at my che-st, just like it had years and years ago, the memories striking fury in my che-st. It is endless, preserved in my scarred mind, raining upon me like millions of death b!ows. Poison, ma-king me rot from the inside. Why am I suffering like this? What have I done to deserve such a terrible demolition of my chances at a normal life?
I stare out the window, watching the orange and blinding yellow ripple across the sky as the majestic golden globe rises, wondering just where the stars go when faced with such magnificent light. They just seem to fade into the background as the main attra-ction emerges, as if they don’t matter. As if the sun is more important than the twi-nkling jewels in the horizon.
There is a rustle beside me on the ha-rd be-d, alerting my s-en-ses. I turn, my mind still foggy with confusion…
An extremely handsome man lays beside me, bent in slumber. His eyelashes are long and enviable, peace befalling his flawless features. His face is unobstructed by silly facial expressions, in its purest form.
I blink, confused on why exactly this man is here. Do I know him? Why is he in my be-d?
And why is his hand wra-pped around my w@!st?
In a flash, different memories begin to fill my thoughts like a flood, everything from the night before rushing back to me. My embarras-sing moment of vulnerability. My uncharacteristic kindness. The dastardly werewolf that took advantage of my stupidity.
With all my might, I push him off the mattress, smiling in satisfaction when he collides with the floor.
“What did I do?” Xavier m0@n s, his sparkling emerald eyes squinting in pain. His blue hair catches the sunlight, ma-king it shimmer like a rainbow. I glance, awestruck, at the pure opulence before me, then quic-kly look away. I can’t be distracted by his deathly charm.
“What did you do to me? Why are you in my be-d?!” I roar, causing him to jump up and zoom to my side. He sl@ps a giant hand over my mouth, his movement so fast that it is blurry.
“What are you thinking?” he scolds in a scathing whisper, “do you want me to get discovered? Do you want to get in even more trouble? Idiot.” His eyes are fierce, demanding respect and authority.
I rip his hands away from my mouth, anger like fiery h0t sparks pumping throu-gh my blood. “Answer my question, wolfboy,” I snarl.
He shrugs, obviously amused by my accusation. “Remember last night? When you told me to get on the be-d beside you?” his voice is teasing, like chiding a child, “When you fell asleep crying into my arms?”
“Shut up,” I almost choke, “I don’t remember.”
“Yes, you do,” he murmurs with a chuckle, “I can see it in your face. You are a terrible liar, you know.”
He is right. If I think back, I can still feel the tingle of warmth that had encompas-sed me, friendsh!pin the air. I was an absolute wreck last night, and ashamed of it.
“But you didn’t have to stay in my be-d!” I protest angrily, my words ripping throu-gh the air towards his ears. He laughs genially, confusing me greatly.
“You should think of me for one freaking minute,” he demands, his voice persuasive and angered, “I was the one that endured your stupidity. I was the one that had to l@ybeside my mate for seven to eight hours, trying to resist you. You know when mates usually bond?”
Bond? What? “When?” I ask.
“The minute they are mated,” he points out, “de-sire is incredibly strong between two mates until bonding occurs. Then, after that, they are somewhat subdued. My pu-ll towards you is so great… it takes every ounce of my strength to hold back.” He looks pained as he speaks, not looking at my face.
I wish he would have clarified what he meant by bond. I’m not sure I un-derstand.
I feel a twinge of sorrow as I emit these next words. “Well, I’m not a savage wolf, so you will probably have to wait much longer,” I snap, rather bitterly.
“You could have just said thanks,” he looks at the ground. “It’s not a big deal, anyway. It’s only a k!ss. I… I just couldn’t do it to you. Not in your sleep.”
A k!ss? On thel-ips? No way! Never! A blus-h appears on my cheeks.
“What are you thinking about?” He asks, wi-nking at me. I scowl in indignation.
“I have no idea what was up yesterday,” I think with pain towards last night, bafflement in my features, “why I was acting that way.”
“Remember?” he prods, “the Shifter?”
In a flash, everything returns as his words trigger remembr@nce. The ghost from my dream, the pack of pla-yers. The fact that I am a… Seer.
And that I can take revenge on the murderers of my parents.
“Oh yeah,” I murmur, thinking of the fiery eyes that haunt my mind, encompas-sing all of my thoughts.
Xavier halts, his form perfectly still. “Someone’s coming,” he expresses in a frustrated whisper, “because of your big mouth.” I open my mouth to protest, but he just shakes his head. There is a blur of motion, the sound of a hand turning the knob, and…
Ms. Penn s£nds the door flying open, a crash resounding as it collides with the wall. “Why are you disturbing the other orphans’ sleep? You selfish, ungrateful girl,” she snaps, walking close to me. She sticks an accusing f!nger in my face, her claws too close for comfort. “Who were you talking to?” she demands. I shake my head, and she snorts. “I know you were talking to someb©dy.”
She scans the window, peering in hope that she will find some sort of incriminating evidence. “I know I heard you say something,” she murmurs menacingly, “just where is the thing?” Ms. Penn turns, and the answer to her question wags his tail. She g@sps, noting the size of the wolf, the creamy, flawless fur he is blessed with.
But even she is not distracted for long. Holding her nose, she begins to cough erratically, trying to squee-ze words throu-gh her fit. “Why… do… you h-have…. a WOLF in the be-droom?! I’m… a-allergic to… dogs!” she chokes.
“He jumped throu-gh the window!” I protest, but it is no use.
“You should have the window shut at all times!” The coughs growing worse, Ms. Penn gr-abs me by the arm, tugging me down the stairs. Xavier, in his beautiful wolf form, follows me with his head bent towards the floor. You better feel guilty, wolfboy, I think angrily, it’s all your fault.
I have always known, ever since the very first day I c@m£ here, that dogs are not allowed. It was the first phrase uttered when I arrived at the misshapen orphanage. I can still remember Ms. Penn all those years ago, with light brown hair instead of a faded gray, telling me I can’t bring my gorgeous little German Shepard puppy into the orphanage. He was my best friend, with silky smooth chocolate fur, who I had named sp©tty because of the hvge splotch of caramel color around his eyes. Because of Ms. Penn, sp©tty ran away from the orphanage on that fateful day, never to return. And what hurt most was the fact that nob©dy with me cared enough to chase after him, Ms. Penn even holding me so I couldn’t go myself.
Ms. Penn, gripping my alre-ady injured hand ti-ghtly, drags me outside, Xavier following behind. “I don’t want to see your face,” she roars, “until after school. No early cleaning for you.” She shoves me, and I fall towards the ground, the air blurring around my form. I land on a furry back, and slightly smile. Sometimes it is nice to have a personal savior.
She gapes at the scene, the majesty of the wolf un-der me. “What about breakfast?” I ask quietly, trying to stand back up, but failing. My ankle hurts terribly, caused by Ms. Penn’s violent push.
“Get that… wonder dog to get you some,” she huffs, glaring at the source of her coughs. Xavier stares at her, unblinking, and utters a low, terrorizing growl that rips throu-gh the air and shakes her to the bone. She shivers, although the temperature is around eighty degrees, and retreats with a scowl back into her haven.
“Well, looks like I got kicked out,” I point out jokingly, ru-bbing my foot with my dre-adfully so-re hand. Xavier, mute in his wolf form, nudges me gently. “I can’t go,” I complain, “my foot hurts too much.”
He begins to morph, but I st©p him by tou-ching his ear. “Not here! Look at all the open windows! Anyone could see you!” He st©ps, thinking, then lays down on the untamed gras-s and whines.
“What do you want me to do?” I question, but no answer comes. Using my hands and knees, I crawl to him, hoping for some sort of indication that would lead me to realization. All he does in response is nod, even this movement regal.
un-derstanding finally dawns on me, and I pile upon his shaggy back, wincing in pain as my ankle brushes across his leg. He is so big that my petite self fits upon him perfectly, like a horse and its rider. However, what makes this so strange is the connection. When I lower my head to his back, my feet hanging off his heavily muscled berth, I can hear his heart thumping. I have to think to myself; this is Xavier’s heart. Frozen in time, this is one of the few that will beat forever. Somehow, at this moment, I feel an unfamiliar tug at my heart, a sizzle of energy. Is this the de-sire Xavier was talking about earlier? For I am experiencing it now; fighting desperately against this alien emotion pounding throu-gh me.
I ti-ght£ñ my grip around his n£¢k, and then carefully say, “okay.” He looks up, at the beautiful blue sky, and starts to run into the de-ep, dark forest. “Not so fast!” I caution as his legs begin to blur, and he slows slightly. The horizon above us vanishes as trees as tall as the clouds start to multi-ply, and we are soon surrounded by them. I shudder a little as flashes of my memory surfaces; the hazy white figure with those gruesome, absolutely appalling eyes, charging at me in a scene much like this one…
We come to gentle halt, and I accidentally tumble off him, falling on my side. His b©dy melts into itself, morphing into the handsome man that somehow manages to encompas-s almost all of my thoughts. With one masculine hand, he reaches to me and offers one hand. I take it and pu-ll myself upright, all my weight resting on my uninjured foot. “You can’t,” he says suddenly, sweeping me into his arms. I am a little confused on what I can’t do, but I decide not to ask for any clarifications. “Stay here,” he commands as he sits me down on a rock, “I will get a first aid kit and some… clothes.” He looks at my shi-t pointedly, scratched and dirty. A little rip is on the sleeve, overall ma-king my appearance rather disheveled. Yeah. I nee-d some clothes before school starts, or everyone will figure out that I’m practically a hobo.
“Okay,” I murmur carelessly, although in truth worried about being alone in such a hvge forest. Xavier smiles, s-en-sing my discomfort.
“As long as you have that ring, you are pretty much safe,” he nods towards the sparkling emerald on my f!nger.
“What does it do?” It is so conspicuous that I had forgotten about it since yesterday, but now that I look at it, it does look awfully like an engagement ring…
“It’s like a shield,” he explains, “when you are wearing an emerald, Shifters can’t possess you. I don’t nee-d one because I am a werewolf.”
I say nothing in response. He offers me one more lingering glance, and then he vanishes into the forest among the towering trees, leaving me totally alone.
After waiting for a few dwindling seconds, I laugh. It is the first time in almost three days that I have been totally alone. And the thing is, a day ago, I was begging and begging for a moment like this.
But now, true loneliness enters my che-st. I suppose I have become accustomed to his stalker-like attitude, his quirky laugh, his exceedingly alluring looks. Although I hate to say it, Xavier has grown on me.
Looking around at my surroundings, I smile as I sp©t a stream a couple meters away. The water almost crystal clear and not surrounded by pointy rocks, it will suit my purposes well. With a determined look, I gr-ab a long, thick stick and use it as a cane. The beautiful oasis of slightly heated miracle water wi-nks at me as I reach it, stumbling with my stick. Scanning the area once more, I become satisfied that no one is watching. Not that anyone would want to watch anyways.
I sl!poff my rugged jeans that are too big for me, pu-lling my shi-t over my head. I place it in a small pile near the stream, and enter the water, my soul immediately calmed by the warmth enveloping me. It relaxes my muscles, my feet soothed.
I put my head un-derneath the surface, trying to dis£ngage some of the dirt and leaves from my unruly hair. gr-abbing a tuft of it in my cleansed hands, I examine it, trying to remember what my mother’s hair felt like. But the remembr@nce sli-ps from my grasp, all feeling leaving my f!ngers.
The only thing that I am certain of, the only firm memory in my mind, is that my mother was an absolutely wonderful singer. Every night, she would sing me a short and sweet lullaby, the name unknown to me. If I concentrate de-eply, I can still hear her voice, the sweetness in each of the notes she uttered.
The water swirls around me and I close my eyes, crossing my arms on the ground and putting my head upon it. I let my b©dy dangle in the slow current of the river, soaking in its warmth. The showers at the orphanage are nothing compared to this. How does such a simple stream do this to me? I am so calm that I doubt even a luxury spa can relax me any more. My thoughts begin to grow hazy, my mind drun!ken with plea-sure.
The voice of my dead mother sings to me over and over, murmuring the same intoxicating words that would get me to sleep every time. Opening my mouth, I start to sing along with her, not quite thinking straight. My volume grows as confidence brews. I try desperately to capture the beauty’s gorgeous tone, the melody floating between herl-ips. What is this feeling, ripping throu-gh me like a tidal wave? It is like Mother’s spirit is entering me, giving me the voice that mirrors hers.
“Very pretty,” a low, silky smooth voice emits, almost a song in itself. It awakens me from my daze, and the mysterious, beautiful utterance vanishes from my throat, as if it truly doesn’t belong there.
T B C