*WINNER of Best Cliche Breaker for Undiscovered Werewolves*
"Underneath her skin was a wolf; all bite and snarl and nothing else."
The day Saoirse de Rais made her Alpha submit is the day she decided to run.
Traveling from city to city--state to sta...
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Sometimes, she wondered if it was all a dream. She wondered if, one day, she would wake up and she would be utterly human. The idea of werewolves would be nothing but fiction—she would wake up, human, and laugh it all away. But even as she imagined that wild scenario, the wildling blood would scratch and tear at her mind and she would remember that something like that would never come true.
She took the time remember those few short months she spent in Lincoln. She slept in mausoleums and dined in soup kitchens—she was all alone in Lincoln, but somehow that felt perfectly all right to her. The constrains of being within the pack, knowing that everyone was watching you and waiting for the exact moment that you messed up, was just too much for her.
Everyone was waiting for her to screw up—they were all waiting for the moment that her cursed blood took over her completely, so they could put a bullet in her head.
Sometimes, she found herself waiting, too.
Judd Cleary had a pleasant funeral, she heard. According to her father, his death had been rather quick—William Church rarely missed. He made sure to aim his gun right between her eyes.
Who knows? Maybe she'll find peace before they pull the trigger.
Before she could have a chance to collect herself, a couple of knocks on the door sounded through the seemingly quiet trailer. She pulled herself up from the floor in the back room, reaching the door with a long, drawn-out sigh. As much as she didn't want to open the door—as much as she wanted to remain alone, she knew at this point that she wouldn't be able to.
An Alpha's door is always open, she thought feebly to herself.
She opened her door and drew in a sharp breath at the sight of Enzo Addario on her doorstep. It was far too early for anyone to be dressed so crisply and yet he stood in a neatly ironed shirt and slacks. Part of her was tempted to slam the door in his face, already knowing his intentions for showing up in the first place, but she knew that it wouldn't stop him.
If only she could act as if she weren't the Alpha—but after last night, it seemed the whole world knew the terrible truth about her pack.
Their Alpha was a wildling.
She didn't smile as she moved out of his way. Neither did he as he quickly entered the trailer, his eyes wandering around to look at the clutter that surrounded the small home. He must be so used to clean, elegant living conditions that Bo's home must look like a pig sty to him.
But there was something homely about it—she felt at ease in the environment that Bo had created.
Enzo, though, looked utterly disappointed with what he found.
"Our ancestors inhabited ghost towns, you know," he mused. "When the first generation of rogues escaped the packs, it was because we wanted more than ghost towns full of old traditions—although it appears my pack was the only one that decided we ought to live in a more luxurious environment."
