Unchained

Chapter Twelve

"Stokes State Forest!" A deep baritone voice belts out as a pair of clothes is thrown at her feet. Tossing the fragile human into a setup tent, she began to pull on her clothes. After getting a nice whiff of the girl, she immediately knew the girl got around, willingly. The stench of the girl's musky sex scent and multiple males' had her stomach rolling.

Not quite New York then. She thought to herself.

Glaring at the mundanes, she slipped back into the protection on the woodlands. The clothes were, thankfully, leaning towards the darker section of the color field. Dark blue jeans that were a bit too tight around her ass and thighs and a black tank top that stuck to her torso and chest like a second skin. It was very annoying to her, though the lack of shoes might prove a bit of difficulty.

Letting her feet carry her, she wandered around the forest, pondering over what to do next. The most reasonable thing to do was to steal a truck and head towards New York, go to the Big Apple, and find out what shit she could dig up on her mate. Whatever his name is, how hard could it be?

The sound of whizzing cars and smell of tires and motor oil became strong, when her feet hit pavement she knew she had hit a highway, one that was frequently used or it was near an interstate. Clenching her jaw, she silently prepared herself for the onslaught of mundanes that would be surrounding her.

It had been hours Lym had been holding out her thumb, trying to get a truck or car to stop. And finally after two and a half hours, a rusty old pickup truck slowed down and pulled up beside her. It was impossible to she through the grim caked windows, how the hell did this person drive the excuse of a car?

Lym was greeted with a dark, wrinkled face. speckled with freckles. The aroma of lavender and spices hit her nose. She narrowed her eyes slightly at the old man in front of her, he was a wolf. Just her damn luck.

"What chu waitin' on lassie?" A Scottish voice that she was well accustomed to was mixed with a southern drawl of the deep south. His light cocoa brown skin was contrasting deeply with that mess of white hair, his hair was more towards the fro side. Long fingers grasped the steering wheel, they were adorned with rings, all a different color of jewel. Diamond. Ruby. Emerald. Onyx. Sapphire. Each band was metal. Her brows furrow subtly at the enigma.

The creak of the old door opening was the only thing heard besides his low mumbles of nonsense.

"Ge' in lassie, tha other doo' dunna wor', 'fraid." She snorted and climbed in the truck, careful to not hit her head of the tattered ceiling of the old pickup. She almost laughed at the man, everything thing about him was old. It was nice for a change, he was kinda amusing, nothing told her to immediately kill the oldie.

"Thames." Was all she said. She wasn't about to this this stranger her name, hell, he was a Wolf, no way she'd tell him her name, he'd turn her in to the Council.

"Harold, nice to meet ya Miss Trycker." Her head snapped back so fast that Harold was worried she got whiplash. This little twat.

She snarled in response.

"Ye, I kno' a Trycker when I see one, ya looking just like ya da." Harold's pearly white's sparkled back at her. They locked eyes and his grin widened. "Aye, no just any Trycker, Olympe Trycker. Such a rarity. No' much natural born killers li' ya out there no more." He cranked up the car again and pulled onto the highway. "Sa don't worry ya lil ass, I dunna have any gain on turnin' ye in." Harold wheezed out a croaky laugh.

The radio was soon turned on, the soft, annoying melody of Blues music poured out of the old thing. Lym rolled down the window with the hand crank leaver, the need to see her surroundings was a constant.