A stark contrast.
She doesn't bother to inquire about the meaning behind mine though... She knows I don't remember. But the full moon on his forearm is enough for her to draw a connection to the image on my own skin.
The drawing I sport sits in an awkward spot in between the crook of my neck and my left clavicle and I probably got it one wild and crazy drunken night with the friends I'm sure I have but do not fucking recall.
Atleast, that's the explanation I imagine because I can't understand why anyone would place a tattoo in such a precarious area.
Its idiotic.
The ink is about two times smaller than my fist. It's black and simplistic and not nearly as eye popping as the trucker's but it shows the moon as well. It's not a full moon but a waxing crescent with four claw marks slashed through it so it's only natural it would spark recognition in the mind of a twelve year old.
Normally, I don't give my tattoo much thought. While I sometimes question what I was thinking when I got it, the thought of not having it physically pains me. It's a deep, dull, longing ache in my heart so I do not regret its place upon my body, regardless of how unpopular a spot it's on. I wouldn't trade it for anyone else's, no matter how perfectly done another's may appear.
Without warning, my head instinctually snaps to the right, urging me to investigate the sudden sweet scent that has taken hold of my keen nose. I don't even care if I'm lifting my head in the air, sniffing feverishly like a fucking dog.
I roll my window down quickly, almost frantically and before I can even consider the words that fly out of my mouth, they are long gone, drifting away with the smell of almonds and cashmere and home.
"Stop the vehicle."
"What?" The truck appears baffled, "I can't do that! We're in the middle of the highway with no shoulder!" Which is true. The mountainous road has no pull off. My side is snug against the rocky forest and his is too close to the oncoming traffic and a steep drop off beside that.
But I don't care.
Panic flares within me--if he doesn't stop, I may lose this scent and something deep within my soul screams at me to find the source.
Find Lina.
Because she is here.
With that panic comes an underlying fury. It's warm at first, like embers in a dying fire but the longer he drives, the further away the scent recedes, the higher the flames become and the hotter the fire rages. "STOP NOW!" A terrifying, unnatural roar stems from my chest. It shakes the cab of the truck and is quickly followed by the screeching of tires and the honking of pissed off motorists from behind us.
I don't wait for him to come to a complete halt before throwing open my door and jumping out.
My heart is being pulled into the woods, now only attached to an imaginary string that yanks me deeper within the mountains.
The landscape is rocky; muddy. I slip and slide climbing upward, down and around the rocks, trees and mossy outcrops. My nostrils flare, in and out.
In and out.
My heart may already know the way, but my nose keeps a constant calming reassurance to the truth the pumping organ within my chest insists is here.
Only one word keeps repeating inside my head.
Only one name...
Lina.
It keeps with the tempo of my beating heart and as we inch ever closer it's becoming more and more difficult to control the excitement that builds inside me.
YOU ARE READING
THERON (Book III In The Ancients Series) ✔
Werewolf(Please read Theron 1 before moving on to this book) A stranger washes ashore on a deserted beach. With no memory of who or what he is, the only clue he has to his identity--the only thing he recalls from his past life--is a single, solitary name:...
