EDITED
-Oren-
Clothing has a restless sensation, still months later. Rich fibres and cloths irritate me, the itches bringing the scars across my skin back to life. A feeling I thought I had grown used to. A feeling I thought I had pushed behind me. White ripples in my flesh that burst pink, blushing with acknowledgement. They longed for the exposure, to be recognized for their strength and survival.
My shin differed no less. Slacks cause sweat to trickle down the cellophane-like skin, a scratch always tempting in my mind. Often I found myself searching for shorts, even on the colder days. Shame knew me no longer, forgot me in the forests of long summer days where I shifted and felt the sun burn my bare back. Now the trees were barren with orange dusted streets, and grey clouds made the sun abandon me too. I could only relinquish the same surge of power the summer sun fed me in the dark, behind closed doors when my scars were free to breathe. In bed, on my stomach, the edge of my spine and shoulder blades absorbing the cold air that kisses them so tenderly; muscle memories like each lick of those shifters claw was a new cold blade.
Things that I had buried deep inside from ages ago slowly turned over in their graves, bone by bone, their skeletons crawling upwards through the dirt. Everything that makes me who I am today, that holds my posture straight and keeps me poised, I owe it to those caskets. To those demons that chased me to where I currently stand.
Time wasn't allowed to pass me anymore; I wouldn't let it, not like in the Summer. Hours of sitting, chasing my tail in circles, waiting for what I had scavenged to crumble aswell. Time that ate me up, tasted all I had to offer, and spat me out when the night came and caged me inside of that trailer. Confined me to a field of guards that kept me prisoner, in a world where I had become the villain without ever faltering. Those hours were latched under my belt now, on a watch that left a new tan over my wrist. The normalcy and weight of it felt good, civil to have a reminder of reality.
Black is forever present, among my days. He has been ever since the witch replaced me with him instead. Weeks went by now without ever hearing a peep from him, his eyes closed and tail tucked somewhere far in the back of my mind. Shifting had repulsion leashed onto it. A bad taste would swell in my mouth and I could shiver through the tremors that my body remembered. Shifting could mean losing control, and though Black has been content to let me heal in peace, it was a scar deeper than the claws on my abdomen.
In his absence, the form of not randomly taking over, my pack gradually thawed from their icy nature in my presence. At first they were still afraid, still terrorized by the morning and nights Black marched me home in a zombie like stature, never my blood painting my clothes.
Clothes.
I tug at the collar of my dress shirt uncomfortably.
Curiosity over took them quickly. Children never waned from my vision, always ducking under tables or whisking around corners. Their parents had warned them off me, but that wouldn't stop them. Their parents had told them the stories of my possession, or my sacrifice. And still, the children only wanted to be as brave as the original Oren Blackmoore had been. The eight year old one, who died protecting the Alpha lineage.
I was the Alpha lineage.
Adults couldn't refrain much longer themselves anyways. Especially not my warriors or hunters, their shifters were drawn to my command and had been suffering tremendously in my absence. Some would describe the pull of a shifter to their Alpha not unlike the pull of a shifter to his mate.
Mate.
"Earth to Major Oren?" Boone waves his hand in my face.
I blink away the fog in my eyes rapidly, ears humming as they adjust to the voices in the room. The first time back in my office, sitting in the plush chair under the industrialized desk, felt so foreign I hit my head off the desk lamp four times that day. Even just being in my office, like now, lounging on the seats that are truly just for decor, I can't shake the memory of the suns rays from baking my skin. I yearn for the same weather with each glance out the window, only to find falling leaves swirling in the gaseous currents. My office offers no more comfort other than the homesickness of the days before I had gotten out of control.
Boone snaps in my face with his palm, my eyes directed away from him as so not to satisfy him. "I'm listening," I lied.
Frankly, anytime the guys start to fill into my office around five pm, the hopes and dreams of getting any last pack work or diving ahead in my spreadsheets is gone. Even opening a book is pointless in their presence.
Before I left, I used to look forward to the five pm, to them being the hours on my watch that let me know when the work day was complete. Presently, the watch was the better thing. It didn't talk as much, or feel the need to acquire above one hundred percent of my attention. The watch let me work until I was satisfied, not the other way around. The boys, my boys, however... not at all. When five pm came, "Oren must stop doing work and socialize." In the months I had been gone, the quiet atmosphere had cut deep enough into my skin to become a part of me. Newly, I preferred the serenity of it all.
I knew why.
Why I liked the quiet more, why I talked less. To make room for a special someone, to match their personality so I wouldn't dominate them. In a way, I had only outgrown the childishness that becoming Alpha had left behind.
"You're not listening," He corrects me. "I asked you a question."
"He's day dreaming," Brock sings from across the room. "About—"
"Shut up," I beat him to it. The lazy smile remains on his face. It would be rare to find a pack member still intimidated by me since Black retreated. It was almost like they thought of me again how they did before the accident. "What were you asking me?"
"I was asking if you have any advice for Knox?" He says.
My gaze casts across he room to my dark haired Beta, hunched over in his chair. I sat back, relaxed. He sat with his arms over his knees, head sunk low from all of his heavy thoughts. "So, I might not have been listening..."
His lips pinch with a humorous eye roll. "My mate. It's been three months and we still haven't come to a decision."
Knox met his mate while I was gone, travelling on the behalf of Blackmoore Territory for a treaty. I've never seen the girl, never imagined her past the point of being Knox's mate. Three months of not seeing each other. Physically. I'm sure they've access to enough technology that will keep them in contact.
"Tell me again why she doesn't want to move here?" I tie my brain to the front gate, preventing it from slipping into that dream world of blank stares.
He sighs. "She says there isn't anything here for her."
Same time, with snickering:
Boone: "Except you."
Brock: "Well what's over there for you?"
I blink.
I miss the quiet.
Knox looks at me expectantly, awaiting my answer. I wasn't sure what the question was. "Has she been here?"
"No," He says. "I just met her at the treaties and that was it. She only wants me to move up there."
All three of us:
"That's not happening."
"I know!" Knox bursts.
I felt the tugging inside of my own chest. Three months? I wouldn't last a full day.
"Why is she so adamant?" I ask.
Knox leans back in his chair. "She wants to finish Uni there, with her friends and family. Same reasons I don't want to move up there. It's bad timing for the both of us."
"You have Beta duties here." Boone's voice tangles into mine.
"I know." Knox says. "I know, Alpha."
Quiet fills the room, heavy thinking. Except for me. My mind is drawn to the tires rolling along the pavement driveway outside.
Mate.
"Any tips, Ren? Sounds like you won the entire war from the stories."
Stories that weren't rumours. Rumours that got spread from looks. Looks that weren't the truth. Truth, that nobody but two people know.
I told the boys a few things. A few. Bare necessities. It was our story that nobody else needed to know. It would be the one private thing I could take to the grave with us. The one thing that held us right next to each other, super glue threatening to keep us from leaving each other's side.
Won the war. Won the girl. Convinced her to come with me. I didn't convince her. She needed to convince herself.
"Bring her down for a bit," The rope on my brain breaks, tumbling to the back under the hum of light foot steps. I can feel her warm breath in the cold air, her soft hair cold in the wind, her icy skin when she'll come inside and shiver. "Show her that living here wouldn't be so bad. Spend some time up in her city as well, give her a fair chance of convincing you."
"But come back!" Brock pipes in quickly. "Don't actually move there—just pretend."
I roll my eyes. The door unlocks, keys clanging coldly against each other. One second of silence follows before loud, careless laughter fills the walls. I wince just as much as the other shifters, our ear drums damaging from their shrill content. Raspberry vanilla wafts up my nose, even if she didn't put on perfume this morning. It spreads to her clothes, particles clinging to the room so that when we enter I can never scent out any specific piece of my clothing. It is always lost amongst hers, the fragrance devouring me. In the bathroom, after her showers, the scent intensifies so much that once in a while I have to leave the room and clear my head.
"We're back Oren!" Maryse squeals as I cringe. "Hey boys!"
We all grumble in response, low voices hoping she'll take the hint. "Hi girls."
Noire ignores me as she thunders up the stairs alongside Maryse. I hear the door close quickly and trap her scent inside Maryse's bedroom, giggles getting locked away as well.
Another second of silence.
"You're serious, Oren, you won't mind if I bring her here then go there?" Knox asks. His voice has a lighter tone to it, less burdened. I had been the light for him.
"Not two weeks back to back," I advise.
"Do it so that you go there first," Brock says. "Or else she'll spend her whole time here despising it and longing to go home."
Knox, "You sure?"
"You'll have to plan it so you don't miss a busy work time. I'm back but I'm still not fully back." I say.
He agrees, "Of course."
"How is," Boone gestures upstairs, "Noire?"
That silence surrounds me again, mind rocking into the back. How was one supposed to answer such? Good? Bad? Half hatred, half love?
Over the past three months, Noire has only seemed to scrape off layers of herself inwardly. That first time home, she'd had such a grip on me I thought the rest of my life would forever be a struggle to change a shirt. I should have expected the change, for the love fever to burn out. She rarely looks at me now, only meets my eyes for a second if I catch her staring.
We share a master bedroom in the pack house, top floor with a kitchen ensuite. We share the top floor with Maryse and my three Betas, then the lower levels classify themselves as well. I thought the relative closeness to the rest of the pack would make her feel more welcomed, more accepted by the pack. Though I don't know how exactly she feels as she never opens up to me, the pack welcomes her exceptionally. They praise her for everything, even if she hasn't done it.
Black's disappearance is all thanks to her, my return, my greatness. 'Oren would be nothing without her.' Despite this over appraisal, she rarely leaves her room unless she is accompanied by Maryse or myself. Her and my mate get along better than two peas in a pod, for somewhat I'm thankful as it's the only way to get Noire out of our room. She tries to be as friendly as she can with the pack, and I know her intentions are all well, just the pressure from being a Luna previously must take a toll on her. Too many high expectations, too much pressure on herself.
With much assurance and support, we each see a therapist. One for her, one for me, then one together. I only see one so that she doesn't get the message twisted. There isn't anything wrong with her. I just want her to be able to speak to me. And she doesn't. So I see my therapist once a week, and she sees hers. Though I have the authority to demand what Noire says in her sessions, I respect that she doesn't want me to. As my therapist says, when Noire is ready to talk to me, she will. I just hate knowing I'm the exact reason she never will open up and talk to me.
She's an exponential decay function. She came here with me determined, and stubborn, and holding on with a ferocity that she's lost. I will always put her before the pack. I would give up the pack in a heart beat if she asked me to. Yet that's the thing: she never asks me for anything.
I promised her parents and siblings I would do my best to be the security and dependence she's never had. Failure is a slowly sinking emotion, one that grabs your feet and fills the room with water, rising and rising even after your chin tilts up and eventually you must go under. The water has me just under my nostrils, my exhales displacing the water so it wavers and splashes back against me in wavelengths. I have a chance, a one millilitre of water chance to turn everything around. To drain the room.
Patrols are strong. I train with my warriors to keep them in top shape. I have eyes watching Kostas at all times, making sure he doesn't come after either of us. And still, still she only thinks of the bad. She holds her stomach, cradling it constantly. She ignores me every time I offer for her to take her son back again. She eats, but her voice has faded. It's why when Maryse gets out from school and rushes home to whisk Noire away on a new adventure, I don't mind. I'm thankful for their bond. My therapist says it's good for her to socialize with other people, and our couples therapist says it's healthy to have separation time. If only they knew how much anxiety her distance gives me.
"I found a house," I settle on some words to tell them. "Over East, on Thickson. A nice, decent house in between those two old farms. I want to offer it to her."
One more moment of silence.
"What does this mean?" Boone asks boldly. Brock and Knox have their heads turned down, blood rushing to their cheeks as they fight the Alpha dominance. That is disagreement, the urge to fight with an Alpha. My strict tone of the house held my serious offer, which made their teeth bite their tongues. I wouldn't hurt them over a dispute, but everyone, including myself, was still learning how to handle my return.
I hold his blue eyes, the colour like the sky that I long for. My voice lowers, sombrely, "She's not getting any better. She gets worse every single day that she's confined to this house and pressured just by being around the pack. I want to offer her something else, something to make her feel better."
"Oh thank fate," Brock exasperates. "I thought you meant she was expecting and needed a bigger place to stay."
"Well you can't rule that out just yet," Knox says.
I look at Boone again, his eyes so clear yet answerless. "And if she takes it?"
I don't tell them my plan. "And then you three co-Alpha just as you did before."
"Won't you come and visit, at least once in awhile?" Knox asks. "You don't have to fully resign."
I don't tell them my plan. "Maybe. Sure."
The door upstairs creaks open again, the girls voices not quite as excited as previous. More calm and collected, Noire's fair steps cascade down the staircase. Her scent wraps around me again, straightening my posture and expanding my nerves. None of my Betas are affected like this, perhaps Knox in the present of his own mate, but never Noire's. It is her personal touch to send me on edge, always alert and ready to pick up her hat should she drop it.
Her heels softly touch the ground until they come to a complete stop in the opened doorway. "Hi boys."
Mate.
Versions of "Hey Noire" rise from the throats of my Betas.
As I turn my head to her, it takes everything in me not to jump up and spin her around in affection. The past three months had me moving slowly, gently, never a movement too strong to make Noire reject me further.
Her evergreen eyes cast away from mine when I catch her already staring, that sly smile meant to be apologetic forming on her heavenly lips. "Sorry to disturb, but it's dinner time. I came to collect the hubby."
The endearment means nothing.
Not married, not marked, not mated. Noire is my mate, by the bare minimum. By the fact she sleeps next to me so I can protect her and that she sees me during the day and nods her head in acknowledgement. These little thoughts are just a few of the things that fuel my rage whilst training.
"Please," Boone smiles away at her. "He's all yours."
"We just finished getting him all pretty for you," Knox chokes back his laughter at Brock's banter.
I stand, hesitating slowly. Every time she does this it's like a teenage couple on their first date. Treading water, rambling without thought, fake smiles quivering under polite tones. "Glad to see you are all eager to get rid of me."
They laugh.
"It will serve you well in tomorrow's training." They all sober up quickly, frowning as they boo each other. Knox pokes at Brock's chest, blaming him.
I have that boyish smile on my lips as I walk over to Noire, instinct pressing my arm to the dip beside her left hip.
"Hi," She breathes rapidly under her fake smile.
"Hi," I mumble back before pecking her lips easily from my tall advantage.
Kissing wasn't entirely off limits with Noire. This is routine, she expects this everyday when she pulls the infamous joke "Came to collect the Mrs's". It's like ritual for my hand to find her left hip, always left, and kiss her lips quickly before she can protest. She never protests. Probably because it is in front of my Betas, pack members. It's a struggle to remove the brainwash from her previous mates out of her, and yet still keep her familiar enough with what isn't actually manipulative, and what is. She could easily refuse me, often she does, but never ever ever in public. It's a little bit frightening.
"Don't have too much fun!" They call out, but their voices are forgotten in the background of Noire's beautiful face.
She starts to edge towards the stairs, where we would normally spend the rest of the evening eating dinner together. My fingertips press delicately into her skin when she pulls away from me, never entirely trying to hurt her. Always fragile, like handling porcelain with her.
"Hey," I call softly in case she doesn't feel my hand on her wrist. She turns, facing me with those bright eyes. "Are you in a rush? I want to show you something."
She shakes her head, short waves falling from their tucks behind her ears. I start towards the door, inclining for her to put on her shoes.
"Where are we going?" She questions me curiously.
I run my tongue along my teeth. If she were a shifter, she could hear my heartbeat climbing wildly. "In the car. It's a surprise."
She slips on a pair of white sneakers, laces never done up. I've noticed her habit of leaving them how the store would tie them, then stuffing them beneath the tongue of the shoe and slipping her foot in. I warn her that her shoes will fall off or she will trip, but she brushes me off. Noire glared quite vividly at me the last time I made her sit down and tied her shoes properly for her when we went out to the school's fall fair. Since then, I've bit my tongue and watched her with extreme measure to make she doesn't fall ever.
Strongly, she wanted absolutely nothing from her parents or Kosta's place. I didn't blame her. I probably wouldn't be able to handle the scents and values they had to her. That meant beginning her closet from scratch, every new trinket just something small here and there. Shopping together may have been the worst advice from the couples counsellor we received. It was more than a relief when Maryse offered to replace me. Thinking about Noire in a busy place was a million times less stressful than leaning over her shoulder and keeping my guard up with every other shifter passing by. Not to mention the stress and frustration it put on the bond between her and I. Some couples are good at shopping together. Some end up yelling at each other in the middle of BoosterJuice.
"How much longer?" She asks after staring outside the window at all of the leaves. They had changed from her eye colour to mine.
"Fifteen minutes," I estimated.
She fell quiet again, much to my discontent. I yearned for her to grill me, to shower me in questions and excitement, but even listening to her chest is was just her regular 55 bpm.
Those months had me fall from cracking jokes with the guys to the silent man I am now. I wait for her beck and call, but I don't mind. I thoroughly enjoy when her voice fills the silence. I rarely speak anymore because I didn't want to invade on her, for my words to make her feel small or cornered. I was waiting for her, to speak up, or even to whisper to me. Sometimes she does in her sleep, right beside me. She'll whisper my name and not even know she's done it. Sometimes I don't sleep, trying to stay up as long as I can just to hear her voice one more time that day.
I drive straight down Thickson for six solid minutes, only passing one of the farms I told the guys about three kilometres back. O'Flaherty's Farm. They harvest corn every other fall, most of their other fields containing vegetables. The small house however, you can't see either farm from its yard. They are that far apart. The lines
of trees that marked 1831 Thickson Road South's property border was something I liked. I consider it to be a part of Noire's likes as well. We had to have at least a few things in common, otherwise why else had Fate paired us up?
I turn in when I see the realtor sign. The bond strikes me immediately with Noire's apprehensiveness, but I don't have to worry as I already know why. I try to soothe her through our bond. I drive peacefully up the long, straight driveway, fallen leaves crinkling beneath the aching slow tires. My hands drive the gear into park just when Noire's door is level with the stone curved pathway.
She looks at me with a bitten lip, and I beat her out of the car to open her door. She steps out, somewhat nervously. It makes my smile grow internally, but externally I am just as big of a nervous mess as her. The winds pick up, toying with her hair. She cups her red ears— already cold from three seconds outdoors, and cradles her head. I usher her up the steps to porch, digging into my pocket for the borrowed house key. It hangs on a tag attached to the realtors name and number. I push open the white painted oak door from the off white siding of the house, winding my arm until Noire falls under it and inside the house. The door shuts with a little extra force from the winds. Noire fixes her hair quickly, head swivelling around the house in awe.
The interior is mostly oak wood, a golden finish glazing the cupboards and counters. Stainless steel fridge, stainless steel sinks. The floors are tacky tile, but they could easily be redone. The walls, painted peach in colour, could also be repainted.
Noire follows through all of the first floor doors, each room emptier than before, finally stopping to gaze up the stairs.
"Feel free," I say from behind her.
She gently creaks up the stairs, her usual light footing heavy enough on these for an applause. I only follow behind her once she has made it to the top because she is so slow and hesitant. The upstairs curves from the staircase to reveal all of the bedrooms behind it, a total of four.
When Noire falls into the master bedroom last, I follow her and lean against the door way. She walks straight to the window, pushing aside the sheer curtain as she gazes out to all of the fall colours in the fields before her.
I give her minutes of peace before clearing my throat. "One master bedroom, three spare bedrooms, an office, another bathroom, and a half bath downstairs. Open dining, open living room, heated floors and fireplace. Large backyard."
She only turns to me after I've said everything I've memorized. "Are you doing what I think you're doing?"
I fight the urge to step closer. "What do you think I'm doing?"
She gazes out the window again. Nothing changes. The sheer curtain falls back in place from her fingertips. "Getting rid of me."
I furrow my brows. "Getting rid of—" I take all the steps towards her, hand finding her jaw gently. My toes curl inside of my shoes at her warmth and radiance. "I'm not getting rid of you."
She lifts her face away from my palm. "Then why drive me to a place in the middle of nowhere? Is it because I haven't been a very good Luna? I'm sorry, please don't hide me. I'll do better next time—"
I step closer to her again, hands dancing over her skin. "You're an amazing Luna. I'm not hiding you."
Her shoulder tries to break my hold, but this was one of those moments I couldn't. It was hard to unteach her what her mates had brainwashed into her. When she can be mean to me and when she can't. When she can yell at me and when she can't. There are very few cant's. She doesn't know this.
"Then what is this, Oren? I'm trying!" Her eyes get glassy. Again, she won't look at me, won't touch me. She hates me. She never picked me to begin with. It doesn't hurt any less with time. It hurts more.
I press her into my chest until she stops pushing away. I hold her back with one hand, head in the other. "You're doing incredible." I comb her hair from her face as she gazes toward the window, cheek flush to my dress-shirt covered chest. "This isn't meant to be punishment. I wanted this to be a little place of your own for you, so you could get away from always being at the pack house."
"Why are you lying." It hurts me when she cries.
My therapist said this would happen. Said to expect many of her meltdowns from the abuse and pent up frustration. It will be a lot of emotion that comes through with each barrier broken, and I can't blame her for any of it.
"I'm not lying, sweetheart." My feet shuffle us to the decor bed, where I gently settle her and I down. "I genuinely care for you, and I get worried when you are always in our single bedroom. Here, you could have an entire house to yourself, and you can go outside and not have to face the pack if you don't want to."
"I'm a horrible Luna." She says. "I'm supposed to love your pack—"
"You're not supposed to anything," I tighten my arms around her back. "You don't have any rules. You are safe, and you are cared for, and you are loved. And if you never feel like you have those things, that is what I'm here for."
"Why?" She begs. "Why did you start looking for a house to get rid of me if I'm supposed to be with you through everything?"
I sigh as she starts to sit up, rubbing away her tears. "I have caused you so much pain," My voice lowers until it is a whisper, same decibel as the wind through the wood. "Anything I do, just hurts you more. I don't want to keep hurting you."
"Oren, stop it."
"Ever since I met you, I have just made your life worse. And I can't keep living knowing that I did that."
"Oren!"
"It's not fair of me to make you come home and be a Luna. Again. I'm so sorry. But I just want one last chance to make things right. I can't give you the happy mate bond you've always wanted, but I can give you something new and fresh. I can give you this house, and cover all of your expenses, and I can have the pack leave you alone forever or you can have Maryse and the Betas check up on you if you want. It would be all the space you needed, in a fresh, welcoming environment. No media. No harassment. I promise, Noire. I'll give you everything."
"And where are you in this? What do you mean you can't be my mate? You are my mate. You're all I have."
I shake my head. "You have so many people, unlimited people who love you. I can't be one of those people if I keep putting you in thoughtless situations or endanger you." Plan. Don't tell her the plan. "I want to remove my soul from Black's."
The beast inside me awakens with a throaty growl, that familiar over throwing feeling so threatening. That bitter taste in my mouth comes forward again. I could throw up.
"Like-like kill yourself?" Noire shakes my shoulders. "You die if you do that! You are not leaving me!"
She's crying again. Because of me. I'm always the cause.
"I can't keep hurting you," I whisper. "It's for the best. You will be happier without me."
"You're not hurting me."
I rub her back, choked up myself. I have never so openly told anybody the plan. But she did that to me. She is my mate. "It will be okay, sweetheart."
"I-I want B-Black." Noire states.
"You're not changing my mind." I say. I'd spent three months thinking about it. I had searched every nook and cranny for the answers. This was the one.
"Let me talk to him!" She shakes me again.
"Noire please,—"
"Give me Black!"
With an earthquake's force, Black broke from his chain in the back of my brain to once again, knock me out and show me two pitch black holes for eyes. What he's says next, I can't hear. Locked in his cave, forgotten.
I miss my sunshine.