Losing Myself in You

by Heather C. Myers

  "Why would they hate you?" Abigail questioned, pushing her brows together.

  "Because of what I am," Bridgette murmured, though oddly enough, there was no detection of bitterness laced within her words. "Because of what I'm going to become."

  "I don't understand," the red head said, shaking her head. "If they are your friends, they should stick with you through your worst and your best. They wouldn't just abandon you if you changed into one of us, would they?"

  Bridgette shrugged. "I don't know," she said, her voice soft, unsure. "But even if they did, I have to get out of here. I can't stay, stuck in here, trapped like some kind of animal. I need my freedom. I have to escape." She looked back out the window, into the seemingly endless forest. It was getting dark, and shadows started to emerge.

  Abigail sighed. “Maybe Marcus would be able to change your mind,” she said, her voice hopeful. “You just have to give him a chance, Miss Barker. Surely your pride isn’t more important than your life.”

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  * * *

  Bridgette was staring up at the ceiling, lying flat on her bed with her hands behind her head. Her ice-blue eyes were heavy, but for some reason, she wasn't tired. Though she was still dressed in her pajamas from the day before, she had thrown a pair of silky black pants on top to keep her bare legs warm. The answer to her current dilemma wasn't scrawled up on the high ceiling, but she still searched, hoping she would get hit by a sudden bout of inspiration from somewhere. All the while, she tried to ignore what Abigail had told her a few hours ago. Speaking of which, what time was it anyways? She didn't know, and she wasn't sure she cared. One look outside told her it had to be around midnight, maybe even later.

  But that didn't matter.

  She needed to escape. But the question is, how?

  Every time she tried to think on the matter, Abigail's voice would come back into Bridgette's head, echoing throughout her thoughts.

  "But I think that Marcus chose you for a reason, even though I am most definitely not aware of it." That's what Abigail had told her, and there was such conviction in the she-wolf's voice that it was hard for Bridgette to doubt her, except…

  Except that it didn't make sense.

  Why her? Out of every she-wolf and woman he could have, why would he knowingly bite her?

  Bridgette suddenly closed her eyes, trying to think back to when she had to take sociology classes at the Nocturnal Defense Society's Academy. "Okay Bridge," she murmured silently to herself, trying not to focus too hard. "Think, think, think…"

  She remembered the textbook she had to read, and she remembered the section specifically dedicated to werewolves, but even though she graduated a few years ago, so many things had changed. New knowledge of both the vampire and werewolf race was being discovered every day. In fact, she aided one of the discoveries; apparently a knick from an Alpha male was equal to a full-on transformation bite coming from a pack member.

  But there had to be something she could recall concerning when a werewolf chose his mate.

  "A werewolf chooses a mate in three seconds upon which he sees his desire. There are times when phasing takes a while for a particular couple, and it could possibly take years to make that realization. However, biologically, mates can be chosen as quickly as three seconds. If such a thing does happen at such an increased rate, the chemical transferred from the male to the female enhances the female's emotions, and as a result, the two are usually consumed in passion. It would be the equivalent of two humans indulging in a passionate relationship before they come to the conclusion that they love each other. However, love is an emotion that comes at an accelerated rate when it concerns werewolves. Love at first sight is quite literal for this culture, and though it can be impossible for humans to understand, the feeling should be respected…"

  She almost laughed at the notion that Marcus Sterling could be in love with her. But then, what if he didn't know it? Could that mean that she didn't know she was in love with him?

  Suddenly, Bridgette's head started to hurt, and as a result, she couldn't hear the distant howling. She reached up and gripped the side of her head gently with her palms, shaking her head as though to rid her mind of all the thoughts that were currently plaguing her.

  Why her? Why was it that she had to endure all of this alone?

  It wasn't fair.

  Then Abigail's words came back to her. "If they are your friends, they should stick with you through your worst and your best. They wouldn't just abandon you if you changed into one of us, would they?"

  Maybe a good reason why Bridgette was so emotional was the fact that she couldn't answer that question. She liked to believe that no matter what, Clive and Kendall would stand by her side, even if she was going to transform into a werewolf. But she couldn't be sure, and that was what upset her the most. She should be sure when it involved her friends' loyalty, but she wasn't.

  She needed to get out of here. If she was going to have to deal with this by herself, she'd rather be alone than with a group of wolves she didn't even know. She couldn't do anything if she stayed upstairs, lying on the bed, waiting for an idea to miraculously pop into her mind. She had to be active and assertive.

  Bridgette found herself slowly start to get motivated and she felt herself start to sit up. She turned her body so her legs were over the bed, dangling off the edge. She slid down until they hit the wooden floor, and then headed over to the wardrobe. After a few minutes of searching, she finally pulled out a pair of beige boots and a warm faux-leather jacket. Paired with the pajamas, her outfit looked ridiculous. She didn't even want to check herself out in the mirror, knowing her hair was probably a mess among other things.

  Instead, her focus shifted to the fact that if she could just make it to the door without alerting anyone, she could dash off, get into her car, and drive away before anyone could stop her. When she felt that she was ready, she opened the door, only to find Julianne, the wolf she had met a few days ago, poised and ready to knock.

  "Oh," the wolf said, throwing Bridgette a dazzling smile before shifting her shoulder so her ebony colored locks slipped against her back. "Hi. I was just about to knock. I want to talk to you."

  Bridgette narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. Before she could say anything, Julianne slipped inside the room and shut the door behind her. Bridgette's eyes widened at the act, her body tensing as if the wolf in front wanted to attack her.

  Julianne recognized Bridgette's stance and rolled her eyes. "Calm down, silly," she chided, waving a dismissing hand. "I'm not here to fight you, if that's what you think. Like I said, I wanted to talk to you."

  "What, exactly, do you want to talk to me about?" Bridgette asked in a low voice, though she really did try to keep the suspicion out of her voice.

  Julianne smiled, though the dark grin did not quite reach her crystallized blue eyes. "I wanted to know if you want to get away from here," she murmured in a soft voice. "I can't say too much about it because wolves, especially Alpha males, have sharp hearing."

  "Why would you help me escape?" Bridgette asked, still unsure but hopeful at the same time. She made sure her voice was as soft as Julianne's, wanting nothing more than to take the dark haired beauty up on her offer.

  "I'm going to be honest, Bridgette," Julianne said. "I want Marcus for myself. I've loved him ever since I can remember, and, no offense, but I think it should be a pure wolf on his arm rather than one who will be turned. Since you're here, I may not get that chance. But I know you don't want to be here, so I figured maybe I could help you and you could help me." She suddenly raised her right hand and Bridgette noticed a ring of keys hanging on Julianne's index finger. "What do you say?"

  Bridgette swallowed, trying to regain her determination, before she nodded once, choosing to stay silent. She reached out and took the keys from the she-wolf before sliding them in her jacket pocket.

  Julianne smiled. "I thought so," she said before turning around and opening the d
oor. "Now follow me and be sure you keep quiet."

  Julianne led Bridgette down the stairs. If Bridgette was walking beside her, she might have noticed that Julianne's smile wasn't a smile at all, but rather a smirk. However, Bridgette was desperate, and this was the only line that the fates decided to throw at her, so she decided to take her chances.

  Oddly enough, the house was quiet, as though it was deserted. Bridgette put no credence into it. She didn't particularly care where everyone was, just that she was getting out.

  Julianne led her through the kitchen but stopped abruptly at a wooden door. "I can't go out," she hastily explained, taking a step behind Bridgette. "They'll know if I'm gone, but if you just…" She let her voice trail off as Bridgette twisted the knob and opened it.

  Instead of freedom, there was a hungry pack of wolves. When they saw – when they smelled – Bridgette, they started growling and snapping their teeth, their eyes narrowing in the human's direction. She started to back up but Julianne prevented her from doing so. In fact, the she-wolf reached out and thrust Bridgette towards the pack of wolves before quickly shutting the door and locking it, laughing as she did so.

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  * * *

  Bridgette's life should have flashed before her eyes. In fact, she could barely blink let alone reach up and defend herself. All she could hear was the snapping of the wolves' jaws. All she could see were the brown beasts moving closer and closer towards her. Her legs were shaky, but they managed to take a couple steps back, hoping to find the door opened. When her back hit the wood, however, she knew she was stuck. She was trapped, and, undoubtedly, she was going to die.

  It was odd, her body's reaction to such a thing. She could feel her muscles tense, preparing herself for something, though she wasn't quite sure as to what that was. She wasn't crying, though she knew that she needed it. Bridgette, at that moment, wanted nothing more than to release the stress causing her muscles to constrict together tightly, but she was in such a state of shock that the tears would not release themselves; they were stuck. They were nonexistent.

  And then, like a slow-motion sequence from a movie, someone pushed her out of the way. Not someone; rather, something. Before she could get a good look at whomever – whatever – saved her, she crashed onto the ground, hard. She bit back a grunt of pain and blinked again, hoping to rid the tears and the dirt that now speckled the rim of her eyes. She quickly reached up and wiped them away, but she wasn't concentrating; her eyes were solely focused on what was taking place right in front of her.

  It was a wolf – she could tell now that she was out of the way and her mind was working, that it was indeed a wolf, and if she was being specific, she figured it was a werewolf.

  It was probably the most amazing thing she had ever seen in her entire life. Though there were five or six other wolves, the werewolf that had saved her took each of them with stride. Each one came in to attack him but with one snap of his paws, long claws erected, it slashed across their face. It felt like an hour, maybe even two, but in reality, the fight took no longer than seven minutes. What Bridgette could not tell, however, was whether or not the wolves that tried to attack her were werewolves or not.

  It didn't matter.

  The beasts were whimpering now, nursing each other's wounds. With one glare from the werewolf, they all disappeared into the night.

  It was then that Bridgette noticed how heavy the werewolf was breathing. He turned and looked her in the eyes; she was caught for a moment. She recognized those hazel eyes. Could it be -?

  Her eyes took in the cuts on his body, and without fully realizing what she was doing; she reached out and gently rubbed his head. Then, before her very eyes, she watched him transform into none other than Marcus Sterling, the man who had brought her here. He was completely nude, but she didn't seem to notice. All that mattered was getting him inside, getting him warm, and cleaning up his wounds.

  "We have to get you inside," she told him, shifting her position in order to stand up. She reached down and helped him up; it was more difficult than she originally anticipated due to the fact that he was taller than she was by nearly a foot, and had more muscles than she could count. "We have to get you cleaned up."

  Marcus nodded and allowed Bridgette to help him up. Normally, he was a very prideful wolf and whenever he came back from runs, he wouldn't let anybody treat him if he was wounded. However, for whatever reason, he felt comfortable enough with Bridgette to allow her to take control of this matter. She grabbed his arm delicately and wrapped it around her shoulder. Then, to the best of her abilities, she tried to support his weight and match his stride, and wrapped her arm around his bare waist in order to aide him.

  Bridgette struggled as she assisted Marcus back to the house, but she managed to hold her own. She didn’t want him to see her falter, so she pushed her lips into a tight, white line and tensed her muscles to continue to take the brunt of his weight. Marcus reached out and typed in a key code into a security system Bridgette hadn’t even noticed. The door popped open automatically and she led him into the kitchen. When they reached the marble sink counter, she paused. "I'm going to get you some pants," she told him. For whatever reason, it did not bother her in the slightest that he was completely naked. All that mattered was that he was going to be okay. It was as though she had completely forgotten the fact that she was angry at him. And maybe she wasn't anymore. She just needed to take care of him. "You stay here. I'll be right back."

  Marcus didn't say anything. Instead, he nodded, trying to catch his breath and ignore the pain.

  It didn't take Bridgette long to find Marcus's room, and she grabbed the first pair of pajama pants she could find. While Marcus was putting them on, Bridgette was searching the kitchen for some kind of first aid kit, a bowl of warm water, and two towels. They were a pack of wolves; they had to have the materials for such wounds. A few moments later, Bridgette had everything she needed. He was modest by the time she returned, his palms flat on the edge of the counter, causing his shoulders to hunch up.

  Bridgette turned on the kitchen light, getting a good look at his torso and the damage that was done. There was nothing on his chest except a few scratches, but when she walked around him, she saw a good portion of deep cuts. She frowned at this, and dipped one of the towels in the warm water. The first thing she concentrated on was wiping the blood that was already starting to dry away.

  "Okay," she murmured in a soothing voice, glancing over her shoulder. "This may hurt."

  Again, Marcus didn't say anything, but he tilted his head away to signal that he had heard. Bridgette bit her bottom lip and as gently as she could, placed the rag on his back. She heard him breathe in sharply and grip the counter tighter. For whatever reason, Bridgette placed her free hand on his bare shoulder in hopes it might calm him down and soothe him in some way.

  "Are you okay?" he asked in his gravelly voice, his tone deeper than normal due to his strained concentration on breathing.

  "I'm fine," Bridgette replied softly. Her body burst into warmth at his consideration, but she pushed the feeling away, hoping to concentrate on the task at hand. "All I have are a few cuts. Nothing serious."

  She continued to clean the wound before applying rubbing alcohol. That caused Marcus to roar, and Bridgette smacked him on the arm.

  "Be quiet," she told him, furrowing her brows. "You don't want to wake everyone up, do you?"

  Marcus said nothing, but he didn't roar again. Instead, he growled each time the ointment was applied, and she could tell he was trying to keep a hold of his anger. "Would you hurry?" he asked through gritted teeth.

  "I need to get everything clean so you don't get an infection," she told him in the same voice, her icy eyes freezing, though she was merely staring at his back. For a moment, she was suddenly transfixed by it, the muscles rippling with each twitch. Strong, sturdy… For whatever reason, Bridgette allowed her fingertips to gently follow the curve of his spine, needing to touch him in some
way. She could feel him shudder in response, and she gulped, blinking her eyes to refocus her attention.

  "Why do you care?" he asked. His tone was demanding and rough, but Bridgette's ears were sharp enough to detect the curiosity behind it.

  "You saved my life," she murmured as she grabbed long, cloth bandages. "Of course I care." She didn't say anything more, but she started to wrap the material around Marcus's broad body.

  She didn't realize she had just been admitted that until a few moments later, and the revelation caused her knees to grow weak. She had to grip the counter with her free hand in order to steady herself. She cared about Marcus Sterling. She cared about the man she had intended to arrest just a week ago. She cared about the werewolf who turned her into one of them without her permission. Bridgette shook her head, trying to rid herself of such thoughts, and managed to become successful at the task, if only temporarily.

  When she had finished, she walked around him and caught his eye.

  "Thank you," she told him genuinely, "For what you did."

  Marcus remained silent, but nodded once again. He pushed off the counter, now standing in front of her at his full height, their bodies centimeters apart. Bridgette didn't move, though. She wanted him to kiss her, to do more than that. She wanted him to take her upstairs into his bedroom and lock her there for an undetermined amount of time, but she didn't think his back would allow him to do such a thing; not yet, anyways.

  He looked as though he wanted to ask her something, but she couldn’t imagine what that might be. Worry was clearly written in his hazel eyes, however, and the emotion made her heart constrict. She had a feeling Marcus was good at concealing what he really felt, but he wasn’t doing that right now. Maybe he couldn’t help it. Maybe the sight of her standing in front of those wolves had caused him to care more than he intended to. It was a miracle that he had managed to reach her in time.