The Wolf Who Loved Me

Shattered

A big welcome. I fantasize about all the things that’ll happen when I get to Silvercrest and become famous and powerful. In my head, I imagine Derrick running back to me, begging for another chance. Best of all, I picture Mira's smug smile disappearing when she realizes how strong I've become.

THUD!

I jerk my hand to the right to avoid my car running into the forest. My heart races. Back in RedMoon Pack, I used to daydream all the time - when I was cleaning up after the wolves, when I was scrubbing floors, whenever life got too hard. It was my way of escaping, my little safe space. Bad habit, maybe, but it kept me going. Still does. "s**t, s**t! s**t!!!" I slam my hands against the steering wheel. My old Honda Civic gives one final gasp and dies. "Come on, you stupid car!" I turn the key again. Nothing. The map in my glove compartment is worn and coffee-stained. When I see how far the next city is, my head drops to the steering wheel. Memories of last night flash through my mind - Mira pushing drinks into my hands, telling me to loosen up, saying I needed one last wild night before becoming the Alpha's mate. My stomach growls loudly. "Shut up," I tell it. "We've got bigger problems." Getting out, I brace myself against the car. "Push, start, pray. That's the plan." The car moves an inch. I jump in, try the key. Sputter, die. Out again. Push, start, die. Over and over until my arms shake. By the time I see Silvercrest's skyline, the sun is rising. My arms shake from exhaustion, and my designer dress is ruined with dirt and sweat. But there it is - a human metropolis, now my only hope.

"ID please." The guard at the gate barely looks up from his phone. His uniform says 'Blackrock Construction.'

"I lost it," I say, praying he doesn't ask too many questions.

He glances at my dirty dress and messy hair. "Purpose of visit?"

"I’m here to see a friend." At least that's not a complete lie.

"Another one running away to the big city, huh?" He shakes his head. "Park in Lot B. Register at city hall in 48 hours or face fines."

The city beyond the gate takes my breath away. Glass towers scratch the sky, their windows blazing orange in the sunrise. Silent electric cars cruise past my old Honda Civic. Everything looks clean and modern. I park between two shiny cars. "Twenty dollars for two hours," a parking machine tells me in a cheerful voice. What are they going to do - tow this piece of junk? It would be doing me a favor. My stomach growls again. The smell of food from nearby restaurants makes my mouth water, but I empty the few dollars in my pocket. What can this get me? That's when I see something that makes me stop dead in my tracks. A businessman in an expensive suit suddenly shrinks and transforms into a red fox right in front of me. He trots across the street, briefcase in his mouth, while humans walk past without a second glance. Everyone else is normal, looks like they didn’t see anything at all. But he was just there! Maybe I’m hallucinating from all the stress. I walk until my feet scream in my shoes.

Every hotel has the same response:

"No ID, no room."

"Credit card required."

"We don't take cash."

"Try the shelter." But the shelter is full. "Come back tomorrow," they tell me. Night brings a cold that bites through my thin dress. I smell like sweat and desperation. My stomach gave up hoping for food hours ago. Then I spot it - a building with the lights on. Someone could be inside. Help. I push the door open. “Hello?!” I call out, no answer. I tour the office, ending up in the kitchen where a lone cracker in an otherwise empty cupboard shines like gold. Who leaves an office open like this? But who am I to chastise my guardian angel? "Just need to close my eyes," I whisper, curling up on the couch. "Just for a minute..." I wake up to the sound of an alarm ringing on end. I try to search for the alarm when I realize it’s actually a landline, and it’s coming from the reception. As I follow the sound, I ponder the wisdom of answering a phone in an unknown place when a surprising scene alarms me. The man I see is huge -muscular arms straining his shirt, clear blue eyes and a shock of dark hair that gives him a movie star look. I am suddenly aware of how non-Hollywood I look. I’ve not taken a bath or brushed my teeth in a while. Oh, how I must smell. “Hello,” he casts a lingering gaze on my clothes, which must look like roadkill. “What is going on in this place?” That deep baritone, those icy blue eyes. “You!”