Night Alpha

17 - Heave Haven

Not a step, not a twig. Not even a bird. I don't know if that's good or bad, I keep on running. My steps get smaller and my pace slower but I don't stop. There's only the blood pumping in my forehead, pushing under each layer of skin. I've stopped feeling the cold for a while now. My body feels lighter but my eyes get hazy. The snow thickens.

I stumble against a tree. Feel the scratch of its bark against my shoulder. I don't feel the blood tickling down my back. I wipe the sweat off my warming neck, pour snow in between the fabric and my burning skin. How much more? A shadow in the corner of my eyes blackens my vision. I squint between the dark spots forming over my vision, wait for a blow that doesn't come. I throw up again. This time tears run down my cheeks.

It's cooling. I feel the blood on my tongue, swallow it against the rising acid. The tears freeze against my skin. Small crystals glue my lashes together, reflecting the light against the snow. I wipe my face with more snow, pour it in Milo's boots. I sneeze a few times. I have to spit out the acidic saliva very few steps. My nose stings and my neck burns. I cough with the effort, wheeze with every painful step. 

I've slowed to a walk after another hour. My feet drag on the ground, bringing the snow with them. I look back for a wolf every few steps. Paranoid at every shadow, at every sound. The tears haven't stopped. I have to lean against a tree every few steps, arms circled around my chest, fingers stuck together and muscles permanently contracted. I legs hurt, ankles like red charcoal and feet like dragging lead. My heavy lungs and low stomach heave with the task. 

I stop to take a breath when I see Fair Haven between the naked trees. The falling snow has decreased to only a few flakes. The military block's light reach me first. But I see it. I see them, soldiers hanging in front of the border, guns aimed to the ground but eyes up and steady. I rub my eyes but they remain, walking and even talking. I see the smoke their breaths leave into the sky. Three on the ground and two more on a barricade. My belly warms but I barely feel it. 

I start running again, these last yards feel like the easiest part. They feel worth it. My voice has died down to a whisper but I try to scream anyway. A smile creeps onto my face. Aching muscles struggling to keep up but the pull to go home gives my legs a new strength. My fingers manage to uncurl, I raise my hand as high as I can. I only make it a few steps before my legs crumble.

I come face first into the snow, arms falling to catch my fall. The cold surround me again, body imprinting the pristine floor. My brows come together, head blank and brain struggling to gather back thoughts. What happened ? The sound only comes after I've raised back up my head.

« Marshall. » his voice reaches me a thousand times. Low and inviting, raw and threatening. It echoes and bounces against the walls of my head. I feel the voice like vice, snaking around my ankles, reaching for my neck, clutching my jaw. 

No. Not so close. Not now. After all this. It's a nightmare, it has got to be. No way. 

The familiar feeling creeps into my skin, up to my neck and down to my stomach. I try to scream, try to raise my arms to signal my laying form to the soldiers. Only a strangled whispers leaves my lips. I ignore the heat, ignore the pain and fear. I cling to the rising breaths in the air. I manage to gather my feet and hands under me. Fuck you.

« Marshall. » His voice sounds like it comes the every core of my ribcage. My bloods fizzles under my skin to echo his voice. My bones shake like a song. That's how he says my name, like a lullaby , like a ceremony. 

My limbs fail to carry my weight and I fall back down. I cry for home, I cry for candles and I cry for my brother. Sobs leave my lips with paralyzing fear. I'd rather die. So I hit the the ground with my fists, hit my legs with the last remaining strength I can gather. Focus on the blood rushing to my ears instead of his voice. Focus on my bleeding knuckles instead of the liquid running down my thighs. Focus on the pain like needles in my legs instead of his steps getting closer. Fuck off. 

Their head don't turn and something else breaks. They continue their route. Their breaths still rise unto to darkening sky. I bite my lips. Feel the blood filling my mouth. A hand pushes me down onto the snow this time and can't see the sky turning to night anymore. I try to push my hands against the snow but his hand pushes down again. Hard and burning against my freezing skin. Anger and frustration morph to horror when his weight doesn't bulge one inch. 

His heat warms my body but burns my insides. My blood feels like boiling water and a sobs logs onto my throat, I stop breathing. I crane my neck against the freezing ground to breathe. My eyes burn with tears, swollen and hurting. His body comes down on mine like a scorching blanket that melts the white around us. His weight pushes onto my back and legs. A thrust of his hips manages to dislodge the sob.

Tantalizing terror racks another violent shake out of my body when his teeth pinch the skin of my neck. My eyes snap open despite the tears. The dark has taken over the snow, shadows blending with the night. Claws rack down the first layer of skin of my shoulder under the sweater, claws that look neither wolf or human. Darkened skin that ripples neither like wolf or human. It's neither a paw or a hand, a bizarre eery mix of the two. My eyes widen when his other clawed hand comes to muffle the scream leaving my mouth.

His teeth like fangs but skin not its usual tan, not fur either. I think of Lise and Leo's behavior. Of their weird relationship, of Milo's vague or inexistent answers. Of his shame when I asked him about his rank, about him. Of his presence in town for the meeting, last minute guest envoy of the red haired queen. When he stopped, too many floor bellow, waited before going inside the parliament. The shake of his chest after the bomb. 

The way he could push a future alpha around and move soundlessly. When his cheeks burned red but his eyes grew dark. When his dark hand closed around the handle, refusing to reflect light like a matte armor. Refusing to show himself while growling for a soothing touch, sobbing while begging for sweet attention. I remember the picture, remember the manuals and videos. I remember the brief and the Lieutenant's words.

That fucking thing is not a wolf. 

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As usual, I'm open for corrections and questions ! Let me know your theories and guesses.