Bonded to a Curse

Escape

The years following John's father's death, proved that the bond between two wolves was a curse rather than a blessing. The image of the resulting void of a woman he called mother pressed deeply into John’s mind, and he shuddered at the thought of being this close to his mate. Removing himself from people or society in general, seemed to be the best way to avoid confrontation and, in turn, avoid ever finding a mate. John’s mind whirled with possible outcomes that would allow him to walk away from this situation without having to deal with the binds that chained him to this woman. The problem in this situation was if he killed all the rogues, who was going to take the girl? Killing his mate is something he would not consider no matter the consequences. On the other hand, if he let them go again, it would make him out to be a weakling and a liar. John had warned them before that if he saw them again, he would kill them. Not to mention the fact that at this point John welcomed any bloodlust he felt.

Before settling his inner conflict, another wolf arrived on the scene. His fur was gray and patchy, and he was limping. He reeked of alcohol and dirt. His entire appearance was unpleasant, to say the least. Saving himself the trouble of a siren growl, which could only be performed by royal blood. It was how an alpha took over a new pack. The growl unlocked the minds of all the wolves around him. It also created a bond, and he would have permanent access to their minds. John shifted back into a human and told all of them to shift as well, but they replied with barks and snarls.

"Shift now," John repeated under his breath, but received the same result. Deciding that they may need another visual representation of what’s to come, he grabbed the wolf closest to him. Another young rogue stood about three feet tall, with gray fur, with one black spot on his left paw. He looked healthier than the others, no doubt the best in the worst situation. As soon as John grabbed him, he started whimpering, kicking out his leg to claw at John’s arm. These claw marks did nothing to John and his expression remained unfazed. This brought more fear to the young rogue's eyes.

The fact that none of his friends came to his rescue made John laugh. But now they probably realized that attacking him all at once would not change the outcome. Taking him by the neck with both hands, one placed on his spinal cord and the other on his trachea, John began to close his hands. The rogue tried to wiggle out of his grip, but John snapped his hands together, his body went limp and John tossed his body on the corpse of his headless companion. He would burn the bodies later. John spared a glance at the woman that laid at the edge of the river bed, agony written all over her face.

"I had at least hoped that this was going to be more challenging. Shift, now!! I’m not going to say it again." He bellowed, anger dripping from every word.

After examining their faces, John didn’t even know why he tried; but then he thought of being left alone with the woman and he took a deep breath.

When they finally shifted into human form, there were four boys, who looked like their ages ranged from late teens to early twenties, and then there was the old guy who looked like he was in his late sixties.

"Why are you on my land?" John asked, getting straight to the point.

"We came to get the girl, and that’s it. We don't want any trouble," the old guy responded. He strained to get the words out, and the thought of listening to him speak made John want to kill him.

John stared at the unconscious woman at the lake. He felt like his eyes couldn’t stop fixating on her and it irritated him. John was snapped back to reality when one of the boys jumped and shifted in mid-air. Dodging his lounge, John waited for the instant his feet touched the ground to land a kick in his ribs. He was satisfied when he heard the sickening sound of broken bones. The wolf let out a blood-curdling howling, John turned and stepped on his neck, desiring to put an end to the noise in his ears. He waited for it to c***k. The rogue's body began to shed his brown coat, and getting a better look at his face, John realized he looked a lot like the severed head of the first guy he killed, but he ignored that and turned to face the rest.

"Why is this girl so important?" John asked, folding his arms, shaking off the scene that had just transpired.

"She isn't," the old man replied. He seemed to be the spokesman of the group.

"So, you risk your lives coming on my land, for some girl that's not important?" he responded, with a knitted borrow feeling a little confused.

"She is my birthday present from the boys that I haven't gotten to play with yet," he replied, gesturing to the boys behind John whose bodies lay still on the grass.

"That is disgusting." John tried to hold back his anger at the comment, as if on cue John began to hear groaning sounds from his left, and then a gasp.

"Listen, can you just let us have the girl and go? We will never bother you again," he begged.

"That’s what you said the last time. If I didn't kill you, then that would make us both liars," he recalled with a smirk on his face.

"You can kill them and leave me with the girl. I'm just an old man," he pleaded, pointing to the boys.

"You old bastard!!" The eldest boy yelled before he lunged at the old guy, effectively knocking him to the ground while the others made a run for it. After a little wrestling, the boy shifted and ran off with his friends.

"Wait. You forgot the girl!" John yelled, his frustration bubbling again.

"Now I’m a liar, and I have the woman," he thought out loud.

"Thank you for saving me," she said in a very small voice.

"I didn't save you, they forgot you," John answered bluntly. He had no intention of hiding his frustration, he didn’t think he could hide it if he tried. He started walking over to the old man.

"Wait!" she yelled.

"What?" John replied, turning around.

"Can you tell me where I am?" she asked.

"Washington State, the closest city is Wenatchee, and that’s two hours from here," John said while dragging the old man’s body into the heap to burn.

"How do I get there?" she asked, looking confused.

"The same way you got here, on foot." John gestured at her legs, looking closely at her. She had thick curly hair, a heart-shaped face with gray eyes, high cheekbones, and full pink lips. She looked about 5"5. John could see blood all over her feet and whip lashes on her legs.

She attempted to stand up but failed and landed on her butt with a groan.

“We should help her,” Escanor said, finally deciding to chime in.

“Help her? Are you mad, this is the last thing we need?”

“If we help her get off our land, we will never have to worry about her again. If you leave her here, she will die, and it will be your fault, you i***t! Do you want to go through those consequences again?”

“Fine,” John signed and reluctantly agreed.

Walking towards her, John reached out to pick her up, but she flinched away. Of course, she had no idea of the conversation John was having with the wolf spirit he allowed to take over his body.

"I can get there on my own. I don't want your help anymore. Forget it," she said, trying to get up again. She managed to stand but tripped on the first step and landed on her face, giving John a great view of her blue lace "unwrap me" underwear. He honestly tried to hold in his laughter, but couldn't.

"Unwrap me, really? You're ridiculous. Look, there is no way you can get there without my help." John said, his tone laced with annoyance.

"Shut up, you perverted brute!" she spat back while trying to sit up.

"Brute? That's new," he said, His eyes once again fixated on her.

"Why are you still here?" she asked, folding her arms as well.

"I can ask you the same question," he replied, feeling very irritated. She did not respond, so he continued. "Don't be here when I get back!" He warned before leaving.

Delilah didn’t answer him, and she didn’t want to be there when he got back either. All wolves were the same to her, disgusting brutes that had a hard time controlling their anger. She closed her eyes, desiring to spit out the image of the naked man that was just standing in front of her. He had short cut black hair, a strong jawline, and his eyes were black as night. He stood about 6”4 with tribal tattoos and scars all over his muscles; that biggest scar started at his left collarbone and ended at the tip of his sternum. Delilah kept her eyes above his waist, she wouldn't dare look lower.

"How the hell am I going to get out of here?" she asked herself, staring down at my legs, but then she thought back to where she was and how far she had come. For a second, gratitude swept across her face, and she thanked the earth for the centuries she had learned to survive through far worse odds.