Never Leave, A Human Mate - (Book 2 The Mist Series)

~Dawn~ Golden sunlight danced across my arm as I cruised down the deserted freeway, chasing the thrill of the unknown. Each mile devoured was a delicious rebellion against my life; a sugary escape from the bitter routine. I inhaled deeply, the crisp air a welcome, calming bite against my skin, a sharp contrast to the stale anxieties I’d left behind. Lush green countryside embraced me, vibrant trees leaning in, as if to whisper secrets to the road—tales of forgotten adventures and hidden pathways. Sunbeams danced through the leaves, painting the asphalt with a mosaic of light and shadow—a dazzling, ever-shifting artwork urging me onward. What mysteries lay ahead? I couldn’t wait to find out. The world outside the window was a vibrant exhale, a world away from the grey city I’d left two weeks ago. The rhythmic hum of the tires on the asphalt, a soothing mantra, replaced the city’s chaotic symphony of sirens and shouts. Each mile devoured felt like shedding a suffocating layer of grime and anxiety, revealing a fresher, lighter me underneath. Back in that concrete jungle, all that remained was my empty apartment—a space devoid of warmth, echoing with the ghost of shared laughter. My home was supposed to be a sanctuary, a haven earned after years of grinding. Instead, it was just a physical manifestation of the emptiness that had taken root in my soul. James, my nineteen-year-old son, was at university, forging his own path. As he should be. The silence following his departure was profound. I pictured his lanky frame hunched over textbooks, his brow furrowed in concentration. Just before I’d left, his voice, still boyish but laced with a new, confident timbre, had rung through my phone, a quick “Hey Mom, just checking in, I’m good!” He was always good, my James. Independent, ridiculously bright, and my constant companion since… well, forever. He was my anchor, the steady lighthouse beam that guided me through life’s choppy waters. And now, my lighthouse was standing tall and strong, shining brilliantly while on his own course, and I… I felt adrift, a solitary sailboat suddenly missing its guiding star. And then there was my job of five years. Retail assistant at New You Fashion. Folding clothes, ringing up sales, plastering on a fake smile for customers who barely registered my existence. It was a dead end, a soul-crushing monotony that had slowly chipped away at my spirit. For years, I’d told myself it was enough, that it was a means to an end, that it was providing for James. But the end never seemed to arrive, and the means had become a slow form of torture. Then came the diagnosis. Leukaemia. The word hung in the air like a poisoned dart, sharp and agonizing. It wasn’t a full-blown death sentence, not yet. The doctors spoke of treatments, of probabilities, of fighting chances. But all I heard was the ticking of a clock, a relentless countdown I couldn’t ignore. It was the leukaemia that had finally broken the dam. The diagnosis was a harsh awakening. Life was too brief, too precious to squander on a borrowed existence. A life lived for others, a life devoid of joy, a life that was slowly draining me dry. This road trip was my desperate attempt to see the country before the radiation therapy turned me into a human battery. So, I did what any sane, responsible woman wouldn’t do. I packed up my car. I crammed a few essentials into the trunk—clothes, a map—though I wasn’t sure I’d use it, a stack of sketch pads, pencils, and a ridiculous number of snacks. The rest of my belongings went into storage, a temporary limbo for the fragments of my old life. And then I drove. The steering wheel felt good in my hands, the engine a purring promise of freedom. I didn’t have a destination in mind, no grand plan, no carefully orchestrated itinerary. All I had was the open road, a tank full of gas, and a desperate yearning for something more. This is the life! I sighed inwardly as the music continued to play. Freedom tasted of exhaust fumes and the promise of adventure. The sun climbed higher in the sky, painting the clouds in stunning hues of pink. I rolled the window all the way down, letting the wind whip through my hair, carrying away the anxieties and regrets that had been clinging to me. Then, a high-pitched, teeth-grinding whine pierced the air. The music stuttered, died, then sputtered back to life as the car bucked and jolted beneath me. Panic bloomed in my chest as the dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree with angry, blinking warning lights. “Shoot! No! What am I going to do?” Panic prickled the back of my neck. I scouted the road ahead for any signs of a service station or a town where I could find a mechanic. Even a sliver of cell service to call Roadside Assistance would be a lifeline. The road was desolate, mocking my optimism. The idea of rescue dwindled with every sputter of the engine. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. “What am I going to do…?” The hazy shimmer lifted from the road, revealing a dark green sign on the left. I squinted, willing my wired eyes to focus. Mist. The name glared back at me in bold letters. Relief surged through me, a wave so potent it almost made me dizzy. Yes! Perfect! “Thank goodness for small favours!” I followed a procession of arrows leading me off the main freeway onto an earthy intersection, and finally into a quaint little town called Mist. The car protested with every inch. The sputtering growing worse with each turn. Time was running out. Mist… The name conjured up memories of a horror movie I’d seen as a teen, all lurking monsters and jump scares. But this was nothing like that. Trees lined the streets, their leaves rustling in a soft breeze that carried the scent of freshly chopped grass and something floral and sweet. The roads, mostly dirt and stone, were impeccably maintained, not a single pothole in sight. Even the bitumen streets back home weren’t this perfect—some deep enough to plant trees in. The houses were immaculate, a charming blend of red brick, white stone, and grey brick, creating a picturesque scene. As I sputtered down the bustling main street, the storefronts seemed to leap straight out of a fairytale. The vibrant colours of the quaint buildings stood out against the white clouds dancing through the blue sky. It created a scene almost too perfect to be real. The wheezing cough of my engine drew stares, and as I passed, I couldn’t help but notice the sheer beauty of the people. Every face seemed impossibly perfect, magazine-cover material, as if crafted by deities. Had I wandered into a dream, or perhaps a hyper-realistic movie set? The music finally died, fading into silence as the lights flickered and died, taking the car’s engine with them. I rolled to an unexpected stop right outside a breathtaking Victorian mansion. The towering structure stood proudly behind double iron gates, their intricate design whispering of wealth and secrets. A long, white stone driveway shimmered in the sunlight, lead to the mansion’s imposing front doors. The grass was a vivid, almost unnatural shade of green, meticulously manicured. Tall, thick trees surrounded the property, their branches intertwined like protective arms. I could imagine losing myself in their shadows, sketchbook in hand, capturing the beauty of it all. “Wow,” I breathed, utterly captivated. “I’ve never seen anything so stunning… This place feels like a dream!” A sudden pang of discomfort fluttered in my chest and in my head, a familiar ache I tamped down with a deep breath. I glanced at the passenger seat, at the boxes of medication lying next to a bottle of lemonade. Steroids and painkillers. My constant companions since the diagnosis. My illness was the reason I was here, in this unpredictable predicament. Now, I was stranded. Sighing, I grabbed the meds and my drink, needing to take them before the gnawing discomfort turned into a full-blown headache. But as I reached for the water, the sensation intensified. I leaned against the steering wheel, fighting for breath, willing it away. Am I having a heart attack? An aneurism? A stroke? I gasped inwardly. I am reaching forty… It could be! My fortieth birthday was a month away, a milestone I wasn’t exactly celebrating. I didn’t look the age, either. Tall, curvy, youthful, and fit. I had wrinkles around my eyes from years of smiles and a few silver strands woven through my brown hair, but I was often mistaken for someone ten years younger. If I were in my twenties again… I laughed, a hollow sound. I unfolded myself from the car, standing gingerly. The sensation lifted slightly. So it wasn’t a heart attack, stroke, or whatnot. Well, not that I could tell. But the discomfort was still a persistent throb in my head. A skipped breath escaped my lips as I scanned the street. Where was a mechanic? I had to find someone to fix my car. As the thought crossed my mind, I reached back into the car and grabbed my phone. I unlocked it, hope flickering. My heart sank. “Five per cent… Perfect. A flat battery and a dead car!” I growled under my breath, throwing my phone back onto the seat and turning towards the mansion. “What am I going to do?” A howl ripped through the town, coming from somewhere close by. It was unlike anything I’d ever heard. Not a dog, not a feral cat. This was something ancient and untamed, a sound that resonated deep within me, stirring instincts I didn’t know I possessed. I’d heard similar sounds in movies and documentaries, but experienced nothing like this before. It felt… personal, as if the animal was calling out to me. I turned back the way I had come, my heart pounding against my ribs as another howl, almost mournful, filled the street. Are there wolves in this area? Here? Yet, oblivious to the unsettling sound, people strolled by, seemingly untouched. How could it have affected me, yet no one else seemed to even notice? Oh no, am I hallucinating? I massaged my temples, fighting off the impending stress headache. Temporary hallucinations were a side effect of the medication. It was highly unlikely, but possible. My hands trembled as I clambered out of my car and caught my breath. This trip was supposed to be an escape, a haven of peace found before my illness progressed further. Not a descent into madness. Another howl, closer than the last, rattled me to my core. I backed up against my car and steadied myself. My heart was pounding in my ears. I could barely hear my own thoughts. I was fair game if a wolf was roaming the streets. But no one else seemed worried, leading me more to the idea that it was an effect of the medication. Maybe I need to relax… Swallowing to moisten my dry throat, I awkwardly reached into the car and grabbed my sketchbook. I tucked the pencil behind my ear and climbed onto the hood of my car. The sound had stopped, but my heart still refused to calm. I forced it from my mind, turning my attention to the Victorian mansion. Drawing was how I relaxed. It was how I centred myself. It was what I needed now. “At least I have something to draw while I wait for this to pass.” Maybe, just maybe, losing myself in the lines and shadows would keep me from completely losing it. I flipped open the sketchbook to a fresh page, took a deep breath, and began to sketch. The intricate details of the iron gates, the gothic arches of the windows, the imposing presence of the mansion itself—all coalesced, emerging on the page as I lost myself in the work. Slowly, my heart rate steadied. The howling, the medication, the impending doom—all faded into the background. The world narrowed to the tip of my pencil and the grain of the paper. Time ceased to exist. I was lost in the drawing, oblivious to everything around me.