Damsel in Control (18+ Only) - The Rogue Pack

Chapter 10

Since that desire to escape wasn't there, we'd spent a long while dosing in bed, lying on our own separate sides, and then when he'd finally awoken, he got up to make me breakfast, chattering away the whole time. Surprisingly, I found myself enjoying the relaxed intimacy, more comfortable now that he wasn't wrapped around me. And other than a small peck as I got out of his car at the train station, he didn't make any other attempt at pretend intimacy. It was only as I walked away from the car that I realised that I didn't even know his name, but by the time I'd turned around to ask, he was driving off.

So he was going to be known as 'Bartender' in my head. I couldn't help but relive the night as I quickly changed in the station toilets in the human part of Ktukda, the memory of his fingers... his touch... lighting me up inside. The 'chase' in the bar, always the best bit of the night, the teasing and flirting, the hoping they'll glance back at you.

I sneak another look at the couple. They have curled into each other even more since my last glance. The one with the pigtails resting her head on the other's chest, and I notice that they are sharing earphones, listening to music together. It's unbearably cute and intimate, and yet for once I don't feel the need to draw my eyes away. The crackly voice of the train reads out the next stop, and the pair scramble to their feet just in time. They rush past me, smiling lightly at me as they pass, and I can't help but return their smile.

The next stop is Terre Haute, and I make my way off the train and out of the station, heading towards the bus station. Luckily it's a Saturday, so I am not under any time restrictions, taking my time as I amble through the town, waiting for my bus. The market square just beside the bus station is bustling with activity, the Saturday market in full swing. I stop at a stall selling fresh farm-grown vegetables, buying a mixed veg bag for my dinner. It's only when I'm waiting in the queue for the meat stall that I catch a familiar, distinctly werewolf scent in the air. Lavender, mixed with a deep, woodsy scent... Saul.

I'm out of the market in an instant, giving up my spot in the queue as I forgot any plans I had for dinner. The second I'm away from the main crowd, my feet pound on the cement as I break into a run, praying that he didn't pick up on my scent amongst the crowd of humans. I curse myself. I knew it was risky choosing to live in such a small, human town. Especially one so close to the werewolf capital.

I run for what feels like an eternity, heart pounding in my chest, bag banging against my back. My breath comes out in rasps, stress thrumming through my body. Reaching a small alleyway, I finally allow myself to stop, crouching behind a set of bins as I catch my breath, hoping the stench from the rotting food will help disguise my scent. My heart hammers in my chest as I strain my ears, listening for the tell-tale sound of feet that'll alert me to the fact that the 9 months I've spent creating a life for myself are over. The sound that'll force me back into hiding, force me to go back on the run.

I stay there for ten minutes, thirty minutes. When the church bells ring the hour, I finally allow a small bloom of hope to erupt in my chest. Maybe he didn't smell me? It's definitely possible... although highly unlikely.

We need to get out of Terre Haute. I agree with Aida and creep down the street. I'm in a quiet deserted part of the town, the market is about a kilometre west of here, but that's where the bus stop is as well. I sigh. I guess I'm going to be walking home.

I pull the straps of my bag tighter and head east out of the town. My house is to the west, in West Terre Haute, but I'm hoping that by creating a big circuit around the town, no werewolf will be able to pick up on and follow my scent. Although I know without a doubt that no matter how hard I try, nothing would be able to deter a particularly determined wolf with strong enough tracking abilities.

I jog through the fields that surround the town and head into the small wood just to the East. I've been on many runs through these trees so I know it quite well, yet to stay on the safe side I force myself to ignore the paths that I usually use, instead aiming for a small stream that I know. I trek through the undergrowth for about half a kilometre, thankful for the cold weather as the ground is not particularly overgrown. As I get deeper into the forest, the trees get closer together, and their trunks widen, forcing me to alter my course.

Reaching the stream, I carefully remove my shoes, stuffing them into my backpack as I step into the running water. Despite it being mid-March, the waters are freezing, and I hiss as my feet make contact with the icy current. My toes go numb almost immediately, but I grit my teeth, hoist my rucksack higher, and wade on. I manage about a kilometer in the water before I tell myself enough is enough. I can't even feel my toes anymore, and have nearly slipped on the moss-covered rocks countless times. I cringe instinctively as my feet step back onto the pebbles and branches on the banks of the river, but my feet are so frozen that I don't feel a thing.

I spend a solid ten minutes attempting to manoeuvre my shoes and socks back onto my frozen feet before finally giving up and resigning myself to walking barefooted until any sort of sensation and movement returns to my toes. Despite my lack of sensation, I force myself to avoid sharp-looking twigs and branches, which severely slows my progress but eventually, I am able to see the edge of the trees. The second my toes are able to move, I finally pull my shoes, perching on a nearby tree trunk to help myself stay upright, which allows me to make much faster progress. I trek through the woods, aiming for the edge of the trees, and coming out into the fields. The fields are directly north of town, and to head west I'm forced to wade through the tall grasses. Luckily it's only starting to turn into spring, so the grasses are too tall, yet the few strands that remain are spiky, scratching along my legs as I half jog in the direction of home.

My long detour delays me by an hour, and when I finally slump on my sofa I'm exhausted from the long trek and emotional turmoil. My feet still haven't fully regained all sensation so I peel my congealed socks off, and stick my bare skin stick directly onto the radiator, then groan as the agony of them thawing finally hits me. I grit my teeth, knowing that the faster they warm up, the faster I can get to work, but the pain quickly becomes unbearable, forcing me to remove them from the hot surface, holding them gingerly in my hands. I half limp, half crawl towards the bathroom, moaning every time my poor toes knock against anything, making my way towards the bathroom. I plug up the bottom of the shower and let the basin fill with tepid water before dipping my toes in as slowly as I can. The temperature is still nearly horrendous, my digits stinging and burning, yet it's noticeably easier than the radiator.

It feels like an eternity before I'm able to wiggle the digits, but finally, sensation returns to my toes. The skin is red raw, and I examine my soles, noticing a couple of substantial cuts from the branches and rocks that I walked on. Yet even as I watch, I see them slowly start to close as blood finally returns to the skin, the healing process sped up by my werewolf blood. Despite the injuries, I feel reassured that wading through the river will be sufficient to deter anyone from following me. I just hope that in the past nine months, I've also done enough to also deter Rodrigo.