Beast of America

ᵃ ᶜᵒᶠᶠᶦᶰ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢᶦᶻᵉ ⁻ᵖᵗ ⁰⁴/¹²

warning: extreme sexiness coming up. nosebleeds may suddenly leak. keep away if you have high blood pressure or less than 10% body fat ;)

Next chapter will explain what the fuck is going on. :)

this is a fast paced story- you guys know that right? No, wellll. phuck.

song on the side is like murray towards the end of the chapter yo

ch. 03- a coffin your size

There's fumbling in the dark room, a deep voice cursing as he trips over another pile of clothes- damn he needs to clean- and the smell of fresh coffee in the loft.

Loud footsteps follow, a door shuts- it's followed by a cabinet door opening somewhere in the building and two mugs hitting the counter as something's poured into them.

It opens again, the door.

One of said mugs clink on the night-stand where the girl is sleeping in a tangle of limbs and knotted hair. A note slips underneath the cup, and if the man that delivered it leaned down to let his fingers course through the girl's hair he'll lie and say no.

He'll also say that when he let his lips scrape over her forehead that he didn't like the taste of salty skin- he's a bad liar.

*

When Samantha woke up, it was to a cup of coffee on the night stand with a note slipped underneath with loose handwriting. It was still warm when she picked it up, the steam rolling off the warm brown liquid.

She plucked up the note, eyes scanning over what Murray had left her.

The coffee is straight black, but in the fridge I have like a thousand creamers. I'm going to the police precinct to request time off- I'll be back around twelve to take you to my pack doctor. In the bathroom I borrowed clothes from my neighbor Mrs. Jackman.

Clean up the bite a bit- it'll get infected. Use anything freely, and if you can find anything to eat, eat it.

- Murray

emergency contact:
405-555-0158

She must've just missed him, his scent is still heavy in the air, and the coffee burns her tongue when she takes a sip.

She's still getting used to her new instincts- she can smell anything, she can hear anything. It's like someone took her world and knocked it upside down while adding new scents and louder noises to the mix.

With careful steps- for some reason every bone in her body is aching- she stands from the bed, placing the bitter coffee back on the nightstand when she takes a step out to the unknown.

She falls flat on her face.

The sweatpants that Murray gave her yesterday were pooling at her ankles- of course they were, compared to Murray she looked like a damn kid. It was actually ridiculous to think she could even begin to fit into them, so with lazy feet she shrugged her feet out of the sweats.

By natural curiosity, Samantha moves through the house with quick steps- each room she walks into she surveys with studious eyes.

The loft is bland in all aspects, back in Hale's Valley; every room in her two story household was covered with family pictures that dated back to the early twentieth century. It was kind of creepy seeing pictures of dead people she never met on the walls of her living room, but her mother would shush her when she complained about how her great great uncle's lazy eye in the frame kept following her.