He begins to step forward, but I put a hand out to stop his bulk. I shift my head so that my eyes can take in his interesting complexion. He nods, as though he can read my thoughts.
"I do," I say. "I trust you with my life, Damien."
And with that, he takes my hand, grabs me around the waist tightly, and pulls me over the edge. I blink away the fear as my stomach fills with an infestation of butterflies. I blink, and before I know it, I'm falling straight into oblivion.
19 | Mate
❝I've been taught that love is beautiful and kind, but it isn't like that at all. It is beautiful, but it's a terrible beauty, a ruthless one, and you fall - you fall, and the thing is - the thing is you want to. You don't care what's coming, you just want who your heart beats for.❞
As soon as my eyes blink open, dissolving the seemingly impenetrable darkness of sleep, I roll on my side, spluttering water. I squirm in agony as the liquid flows freely through my lungs, choking my throat like a vice. I close my eyes, pitch black taking over once more. I can't help but think of the first time this had happened to me five years ago, except that time I had been alone.
My chest heaves suddenly, rising as another mouthful of water is exasperated onto the floor in a replicated waterfall. It then stops for a second, and I open my eyes, right before I cough again and again to rid the water from my body.
Only when I'm certain that my lungs are no longer swimming in water, I hastily sit up, only for a hand to abruptly rest on my back to help support me. My eyesight is blurred beyond imaginable, and the only thing I can actually see is a skin coloured shape, with a dark splash of brown at the top of what I presume to be his head.
"Aurora?" The male asks, my hearing distorted. But I would recognise that tone underwater; Damien.
I blink expeditiously to clear the haze, although it doesn't do much to help. This time I can make out features: the sharp edge of a jawline; the gold flecks suspended in his cobalt eyes, as if hanging by invisible threads; his strong features that looked as though they were carved from stone.
He's beautiful, I think. And he's mine, I realise with a jolt. Aurora, the girl who has not known love for five years, has finally found what she was missing.
A grin splits Damien's face as soon as I am fully able to focus. It's something I rarely see him do, and his straight teeth are yet another thing I map of him.
"Hey," he whispers, pulling me into his hard chest in one swift movement. He's crouched next to me as I lay in an area of soft grass, the sound of rushing water overpowering my other senses. The abundant emerald grass tickles my legs through the thin fabric of my plain black leggings. His hand cups my face, his thumb running against my cheek once more. It's hot against my stone-cold skin.
I smile tentatively at him. "Hey," I whisper as a response, leaning into his hand. Despite my water-logged clothes and soaked tresses, he makes my skin tingle like a thousand fireworks exploding.
He withdraws his hand, and suddenly I shiver. I remember crashing into the water; swimming to the surface to taste the fragile air, only to get dragged down by the monstrous currents. I remember the water filling my lungs like air would fill a balloon, finally until it exploded into a spray of plastic confetti. I remember the dark water, consuming my body - suffocating me - like writhing tentacles. It was just like the night my parents had sacrificed themselves for me.
I reminiscent to the fall, right before the water. The way Josh had gazed at us with a sudden awe - and realisation that he had to follow us or risk death. I can't remember what he chose: I had broken the surface of the water at that point.
Josh, I think. My best friend. The one person who has been there for me over the course of these few weeks.
Abruptly, my legs shift from under me, holding strong like the iron frame of a building. I expect them to crumble, to land me back on the soft ground, but for the first time they don't.
Damien rises with me, a discombobulated look showing through the cracked features of his face. My hand slides around his arm, gripping tightly as my heart begins to beat at an uncontrollable rate.
What if Josh is dead? I don't think I'd be able to live with myself if he was.
Damien tries to pry my hand off, grunting slightly in the attempt. As a response, I strengthen my grip, so tight that the skin around his forearm has turned aluminium white.
"Josh," I say blatantly, the name sliding off my tongue as though it's been embedded in my memory since birth. I gaze around, but there's no sign of him. In fact, there's no sign of life; just ancient trees as their branches creak in the zephyr like unused joints when they abruptly moved. Water runs into my eyes from my hair - whether it's genuine water, or salty tears, I cannot decipher, and I'm sure I want to either. "Josh," I reiterate. "Where is he? Is he ok?"
Finally able to break my fisted hand from his limb, Damien holds it. He shakes me to snap me out of my daze, but it does absolutely nothing to ruin my trance. "Aura," He says in a voice that sounds like he's warning me. "He's ok. I saw him jump after I resurfaced."
I snap my eyes from the dilapidated floor to his eyes, the gold so prominent in the dawn light. My heart thunders against my chest like a feral storm. It feels as though it’s under so much strain, it will eventually burst, the heart strings tearing, the cardiac muscle no longer viable.
Damien soothingly circles my wrists with his fingers, resting just above my soaring pulse. I try to focus on the steady beat of his own major organ, but my ears are deafened by the crimson resin flooding through my system like tsunami. I need to stop being so paranoid. I need to see Josh.
"You promise?" I mutter, my voice hushed. My vocal chords are tender from the water; they scrape against each other like sandpaper each time I talk. I grit my teeth to help the pain subside, but it does little to ease the aching.
Damien nods. "I promise," he replies. He leans forwards slowly, as if in slow motion, before capturing my lips with his own. It was as if he was asking for my permission before he completed the task. The kiss is wet, but it feels warm as it deepens.
I pull away. The ground is carpeted in patches of white power. The trees glint silver, icicles formed on the dead branches of a nearby oak. It refracts the streaming sunlight across the floor in a blaze of gold, like encapsulated fire. A river bank rolls down into the clutches of the feisty water torrent, mud consuming the grass. Numerous footprints are implanted into the softened soil, the rugged indent of a shoe perfectly outlined and preserved like a fossil.
I have no idea where we are, and no idea where we're going to go. So much for that plan.
"Where are we?" I ask tentatively, grabbing a handful of my waterlogged clothing. My hands fasten around the bottom of my plain white t-shirt, wringing out a handful of water that cascades to the ground. Mud splashes onto my leggings, but they're already drenched in enough filthy water for me to even care. I wriggle my toes in my boots, and hear them slosh around noisily. I cringe at the noise. "Where are we going?" I enquire almost immediately after the first question, barely giving Damien any time to answer.
Damien drops his hands from my wrists, taking a step back. He is weapon-less, just like I am. He appears uncomfortable without anything in his belt - it's strange to see the numerous hunting knives and twin swords missing from their usual leather holders.
"We're South of Arla," he states, and my mouth opens wide in sock. South? A wolf's instinct is to always go North. "And we're going to a human building. One owned by a pack of isolated wolves. It's always been a place of sanctuary in times of need for pack wolves," he tells me, and I nod my head dubiously in understanding. Except I don't understand. Nothing makes sense. Surely if we're going somewhere all pack wolves take refuge whenever something unscheduled happens in their lives, the rogues will know where we'll be headed? "You won't like it," Damien adds.
My eyebrows furrow. "Why won't I like it?" He can't immediately tell me I won't like something - he doesn't know me well enough.
Damien doesn't shrug like I expect him to. Instead,
his body grows rigid like a corpse. "You just won't." He speaks sullenly, keeping his head towards the ground. He turns his back on me, pulling his coat off his body and wrapping it around his waist.
I nod, frustrated that he hasn't said anything else. "Ok," I murmur, my legs moving confidently to stand beside him. "Let's go."
The abandoned human hotel stands alone in the forest like a mountain; tall and stark, the roof smothered with a meter of freshly-fallen snow. The walls appear washed, the white merging into the dilapidated surroundings like a chameleon. The quadrilateral building is basic; rectangular windows are indented equidistance from each other. I watch curiously as someone walks past one of the clear windows, perhaps going down a flight of stairs. Thankfully the person is oblivious to our existence.
However, the surrounding clearing of the hotel is completely the opposite. Tents are sprawled out in an uneven fashion like an open jewellery box. A fire rages in the circular tent set up, logs acting as benches whilst the unfortunate stand around doing nothing more than talk and appear agitated; constantly on edge. The ruby and tangerine pigments remind me of the inferno back within the walls of Arla. Of all the suffering these people should've never endured.
If humans knew that werewolves existed, many would be jealous of our abilities. You have to be a real werewolf to realise what a hardship this life brings. Wild wolves rarely live beyond thirty, and we've always lived with the overhanging threat of rogues. Humans have it easy compared to us.
Lost in my train of thought, I stumble over a navy rucksack slung outside a permanent wooden hut. It must've been a separate, expensive room when the hotel was up and running six years ago. I curse under my breath as I flail, finally managing to regain my disorientated balance.
My fail to walk normally draws the attention of some of the werewolves carrying out their daily chores. One carries a bucket of water, the transparent liquid splashing over her clothes as she stops abruptly to gaze at Damien and me. Another stops sharpening his extremely long blade, the air filled with silence like a swarm of dead locust.
"Damien," I whisper as we continue to walk forwards, towards the centre of the clearing. I pull my now dry coat closer in towards my body, beginning to shiver. I hate being the centre of attention, and with what feels like one thousand eyes each peeling back each layer of my skin one by one, I bite my tongue. The action draws blood but the metallic taste is something I have recently grown used to. "You were right. I don't like this," I continue.
The man beside me takes my hand in his, entwining the fingers into an unbreakable bond. This time, it does something to calm my nerves, but standing next to the King who is presumed dead was not the best way to avoid attention.
As we continue trudging forwards - dragging our exhausted feet heavily in the snow - more and more werewolves turn our way. Some point, some whisper among themselves, and some begin to follow us. I gulp as my nerves begin to consume me, but I refuse to give into the sickening feeling growing rapidly in my stomach.
"You'll be fine," He replies. "You'll see Josh and Azra soon."
My heart begins to thump rapidly at the mention of my best friends. Even though Damien had told me that Josh had jumped, his story didn't seem to add up. Hunter was faster than any other werewolf I knew, including Josh and Damien, and his swifter reaction time would surely stop Josh from jumping before he had the chance to? And Azra. I hadn't seen her since this morning, when she had been sent off to patrol the perimeter of the city.
Shit.
The patrols were the first to be attacked by rogues. What if she's dead, and we don't even know?
I blink so harshly that my eyeballs begin to hurt. I can feel the salty sting of tears in the corner of my eyes, but shut my eyes for a second, squeezing the tears away. I was not going to cry in front of this many people.
A crowd had gathered, and as we finally reach the fire pit, which was now dwindling down to glowing embers, werewolves of all ages were stood in front of us with a look of awe collectively drawn on their faces. What? Had they all automatically presumed that their king was diseased: lying face down in the snow, sword wound through his heart?
"Aura!" A voice calls above the racket. All conversations cease, as if they had been cut in half by a knife. I don't even have the chance to make out the face of the boy rushing towards me until I'm in his thin arms. The force from the imminent embrace knocks the air from my lungs, and I gasp as the werewolf begins to wrap his arms around my smaller frame even tighter.
My hands linger by my side for a second, unable to move. In fact, I can't speak. I'm so overwhelmed with relief, I can't even bring myself to look at his soft features. I no longer need to remind myself of his long eyelashes and pale lips.
"Josh?" I exhale quietly. My eyes are open wide - I don't want to think what I look like at this moment in time. My hands move around him like clockwork, sliding gracefully out of Damien's grip without much resistance. I allow my fingers to clutch his shirt, almost desperately, just to remind myself that he's real. That he's alive. "Oh my God," I whisper.
Josh rests his chin on the crook of my shoulder. "I was so worried," He murmurs, "when I came here, and you hadn't arrived." He pauses, and for a long time. I can't bring myself to find the right words, so I don't. I just stand there, my arms engulfing him, my nose pressed up comfortably against his collarbone. "I thought something bad had happened to you, and I," yet again, he stutters. I can hear the tears lining his eyes. "I realised I couldn't live with myself if something did happen to you."
My hands subconsciously grip Josh's shirt tauter. He flinches from the movement, but I refuse to let go. I won't let him go ever again.
"I was worried about you too," I admit, although it doesn't take a genius to figure that out. My voice falters, the sudden change in pitch obvious in the consuming silence. I hated the way everyone had stopped talking to stare at their second in command. "I was so scared that Hunter had killed you."
Josh laughs hastily, sucking in a breath. I don't know how to read his actions, so I just continue to stand there, refusing the let go.
"Aurora," he breathes out.
I raise my head to look at him. His face is shadowed as the sun shines on him at the peculiar angle. "Yes?" I question, the corners of my mouth quirking up into a faint smile.
Josh shakes his head, the dark tresses on his head spiralling in the wind. They've grown longer in the past week, almost falling into his eyes. Now is no different, the white of his eyeballs standing out against the pitch black of his face.
"Thank you," he whispers.
I rest my cheek against his shoulder, listening to the rhythmic pulse of his heart. "Thank you for what?" I ask gently, pushing the hair from his eyes.
He presses me tighter against his chest. "Everything," he replies with a heave of his chest. "For changing my life, and for the better. I don't think I'd be able to stand Damien as King without your snarky remarks constantly undermining him."
Josh's heart rate is steady against my ear. "Josh," I say slowly, the words slowly pouring from my mouth without my consent. "I should be the one thanking you. I don't think I'd be alive without you."
The boy sighs, a smile etched onto his soft face. "You don't need to thank me. You made my world a better place. I am forever in debt to you." His cheek rests against my hair tentatively.
I love you, I want to tell him, but I refuse to speak. I love you like a brother. For sitting beside me on the day we met, despite the fact that I was deemed a rogue, and you were an Alpha. For supporting me throughout the Alpha Trials, and seeing it through with me until the end. For smiling and laughing even when I'm a bitch. For staying my best friend when I smashed your heart into one million incurable shards. For being Josh, the boy who would selflessly sacrifice himself for the right cause.
"Aurora," A female sighs from behind me, and I pull away from Josh nonchalantly, squinting my eyes as I move out of his shadow.
The woman before me is someone I do not know very well, but have grown to admi
re over the past week for which I have known her. Her hair is still sprawled around her face like wisps of smoke, framing her square face well. Two plates along the left side of her head are entwined with white material, a typical hairstyle for a female in power.
THE ROGUE WOLF Page 23
