Mya: Night Chaser

Tread Carefully

"Breakfast!" the man yelled. I heard one of the other commanders call him Tenebris when they thought I wasn't listening.

Tenebris. Good name. Cool. Which would be great if he wasn't a grade-A asshole. But sometimes I would remember my first day at the Compound and think back to the time he leaned in and whispered to me to trust him. I hadn't trusted anyone in eight years. Now I had three people to trust. Tenebris. Trent. And Marcus. Three whole people when only twelve hours before I had zero.

The thought gave me hope. I was learning hope was the most precious of all emotions. It was hope that kept me crawling out of bed every morning and getting dressed even though every cell in my body wanted me to go back to sleep. It was hope that kept me pushing food into my mouth even though I knew I'd probably throw it up later. It was hope that kept me from shouting back at Tenebris when he followed me on the paths yelling at me to go faster.

"Team Eight! You're last! Twenty laps around the track!" 

Marcus, Trent, and I wouldn't stop running as we rounded the track again and again. I counted down the laps one by one. Sometimes, in the back of my mind, I could hear someone counting down the numbers with me. 

"Team Eight! You're last! Fifteen more reps on the bench press!" 

Marcus, Trent, and I would stay in our positions on the equipment and continue lifting more and more weights. 

"Team Eight! You're last! Fifty more burpees! Feel the burn!"

My body muscles would continue to scream at me as I lunged and jumped and lunged again.

It took six months for me to notice the changes in Trent, Marcus, and myself. Marcus lost his baby fat. Instead, big, bulging muscles took their place. He began to show off his body every chance he got. Trent began to lose his acne. His body wasn't bulky like Marcus's. It was long and lean and had a quickness that was undeniable. My own body began to harden. I grew three inches in six months, topping me at five foot four inches tall. The three of us began to look like we were carved in stone.

"Team Ten! You're last! Forty more pullups!"

At first, it was a mistake. We were normally last so we just continued working until Tenebris announced it was time to finish.

"Team Eight! You want to explain to me why you're still training when I told Team Ten to do it? Is it because you want to kiss my ass? Is it because your mother didn't hug you enough as a pup? Did your daddy didn't give you enough attention after he got home from work?"

I glanced at Marcus who was easily working on his pullups.

"It is because we were not first, Sir!" Marcus shouted as he continued to work out.

"Good answer, recruit!" Tenebris gave him a nod. He looked at me and I saw the hope flash in his eyes.

I slightly nodded and continued to pull myself up and down the bar switching from one hand to the other. And we started doing all the extra exercises even though we were rarely last anymore.

We weren't called by our names. We were called by our teams or we were called recruits. Tenebris explained that we no longer existed. 

"Who you were out there," he jabbed a finger at the door. "Does not matter one fly s**t in here!" he pointed to the ground. "I don't care if you're an Alphas kid, an Omega's kid, or just a kid who wanted a black shirt and a cool tattoo! In here you are a Night Hunter recruit! Until you pack your measly belongings and leave, that is what you are and that is what you'll be!"

Recruits left in droves. Some of them made sure they told Tenenbris off before they packed their things and went into the main office to announce their departure. Every time that happened, Tenebris would march in after them. No one knew what was said in those meetings. The only thing we saw when we cleaned the bottom of the lodge was a former recruit with a trash bag and tears running down their faces as they walked out of the lodge for the last time.

We were told not to look at them. We were told the second they packed their s**t they were no longer there. The people we shared meals with, cleaned with, did everything with, slowly went home one by one. 

We were allowed phone calls after six months. Marcus and Trent had mates waiting for them outside the walls. Every afternoon right after lunch, the recruits would line up in front of the five telephones on the walls. Every afternoon the recruits were given a different code to punch in to call home for a total of five minutes. The only one who crawled onto their bunk to get a blessed five minutes of sleep was me. 

The only time I broke the rules was with those phone calls. Every day, I alternately gave the code to either Marcus or Trent. That gave them five extra minutes of talking to their mates. It was the only thing I could think to give them for sticking in this with me.

The first couple of days, I tuned out the conversations I heard playing over and over again. The words these mates said to each other were a special kind of pain. It was in those calls I wondered what Patrick was doing. Was he with Natalie? Were they planning a wedding? Was he holding her hand or kissing her? Had they slept together? I was in so much pain on a daily basis I had no clue if it was shielding me from the pain he might've been causing. 

After a while, though, I began imagining myself having one of those phone calls. I imagined me calling Patrick and saying, "I'm thinking about you." Or even, "Okay. I love you, too. I'll be home soon."

After nine months of training, we were allowed letters. Marcus and Trent had dozens waiting for them on their beds one afternoon with one empty envelope and one piece of paper they could write on. Their mates and moms would ask about me and I'd smile as they gave me greetings and support. Late at night, the sounds of pencils scratching on paper for just a few moments could be heard as people hurriedly wrote their loved ones before lights went out. I started giving my extra sheets of paper to the person I didn't give my phone code to the afternoon before. 

"You sure you don't want to write a letter?" Marcus asked me every time I handed him or Trent the sheet of paper.

I'd shake my head and say, "The only addresses I know are the Pack House or my parents. There's no way in hell I'd write either of them."

"You could find your mate's address," Trent offered as he scratched words on paper. "I mean, you could tell him off or reject him or something."

"No. Thanks," I would crawl into my bottom bunk and allow myself to relax. "I'm good. Tell your moms I say hi."

"Will do," Marcus muttered as he wrote his own letters.

It was another two months before I got a letter of my own. I walked to my bunk and stared at the white envelope with Patrick's return address.

"What in the Kentucky fried f**k?" Trent muttered as I held up the letter to the light.

It smelled overwhelmingly of moss and lemongrass and cut grass. Heavenly. I felt my body grow tight at the sight of his tight words scribbled on the front of the envelope.

"Dude has brain damage writing you like that," Marcus muttered. "Balls bigger than a brass monkey thinking he could just write you without you saying it was okay."

"Doesn't matter," I muttered as I threw the letter unopened into the trash can.

"You don't want to know what it says?" Trent was curious as I climbed back into bed and closed my eyes.

"Nope," I responded.

"You sure? Your eye is twitching and that little vein at the top of your head is pulsing," Trent pointed out.

"And you have a big nose and bushy eyebrows," I yawned. "Since we're talking about physical characteristics."

"Not to mention a small d**k," Marcus muttered.

"Good one," I held up my hand and Marcus gave me a distanced high-five.

"Thank you," Marcus grinned at me.

"Assholes," Trent muttered.

I listened to the writing and wondered what was in my letter. Then I thought about the last time I saw Patrick holding onto my own sister for dear life. I thought about them making out in front of me on my fifteenth birthday. I thought of all those things and made up my mind not to read the letter under any circumstances. 

"f**k him. And f**k her, too," I whispered to myself as I nodded off to sleep.

I had no clue how loud I said it or that my teammates heard me. I didn't see Marcus shoot Trent a look and nod to the trash can. I didn't see Trent shake his head vigorously. I didn't see Marcus belying his newfound bulk and jump off his bunk like a cat landing on its feet noiselessly. I didn't see him carefully extract the letter from the trash can slowly and carefully as to not wake me up. And I didn't see him open his trunk and slide the letter inside.

The next day another letter came. And then another. Every time, I'd throw the letter away. Every night Marcus would extract the letter from the trash can and put it into his locker.

"Dude," Trent whispered one night as I was fast asleep. "You know Mya will kill you when she sees you've been saving them."

"He's her mate," Marcus explained to his dumbass partner.

"Yeah. And she's our teammate. Our loyalty is to her. Not him," Trent stressed. 

"You're right. Our loyalty is to her and not him," Marcus finished writing his letter and sealed it with his tongue. "For the past year, she's been giving us her phone code and paper. The least I can do is save some letters for her in case she changes her mind."

"And what if she doesn't?" Trent glanced at Mya sleeping soundly in her bed.

"Then I have a bunch of letters I throw away in fifty or so years," Marcus shrugged. "No harm. No foul. But if she ever wants to respond to them, I have them for her."

"You know what he did to her," Trent hissed. "He doesn't deserve her, your, or my time and energy."

"There has to be a good reason for that," Marcus yawned. "He was her mate. No one can treat their mate that way unless they have a good reason."

Trent was silent. He had a mate. A beautiful girl named Kayla who he loved beyond measure. He couldn't imagine even so much as looking at another female after he found her. And he certainly couldn't think about dating her own sister.

"Is there ever any good reason to deny your mate?" Trent asked finally.

"If she was in danger. Trouble. If it meant her life that I rejected her," Marcus announced. "If that was the case, I'd do it in a heartbeat. We don't know what was happening at the Woodlands Pack. All we know is their Alpha is a fucker and Mya was treated like s**t. Maybe this Patrick guy was trying to keep Mya alive."

"By dating her own sister?" Trent deadpanned.

"Maybe. Who knows. Royals are f****d in the head," Marcus yawned. "Now shut your trap and get some sleep."

One month later, on Mya's birthday, Marcus sat up in his bed as she was sleeping on her bunk.

"You know the guy who invented yellow dye actually ended up making TNT," Trent muttered from below Marcus.

"So?" Marcus quickly wrote on the sheet of paper Mya had wordlessly handed him that night.

"This is kind of like that," Trent whispered a bit too loudly. Marcus shot Mya a look to see if she was still sleeping. "You think you're making yellow dye. What you're actually doing is building a bomb."

"Shut up," Marcus snapped as Mya murmured something and rolled over.

"This could blow up in our faces," Trent warned.

"How are you involved in this scenario?" Marcus demanded as he signed off the letter.

"Accomplice. I know what you're doing and am not stopping you," Trent responded.

"Kind of like with the elephant s**t?" Marcus asked sarcastically.

"If this is payback for that, I take everything back. I'll go to the Alpha myself and explain yet again it was all my idea," Trent announced.

"You did that the first time. It didn't work," Marcus snorted.

"So? I'll tell him you were nowhere near me when I clicked the order button," Trent pushed the top of the bunk. 

Marcus rolled his eyes as he sealed the envelope shut. He looked at Mya sleeping and wondered yet again if he was doing the right thing. 

"You can always rip it up and throw it away. It's not too late to back down now," Trent whispered after a pause.

Marcus tapped the envelope on his palm. This was dangerous. He was breaking his unspoken vow to Mya to not get involved.

"She needs a mate," Marcus decided after a while. He slipped the letter into the small slot on the wall and laid down in bed.

"She needs to work this out on her own time without her overprotective teammate honing in on her love life," Trent snorted.

"I'm doing this for her," Marcus announced.

"You're doing this because you're an incurable closet romantic who bawls like a two-year-old who skinned their knee every time he watches the Notebook," Trent announced.

"I was not crying," Marcus snapped.

"Please. If you got any more worked up we'd have to give you a sedative," Trent sounded like he was trying to contain his laughter.

"At least I didn't cry during Transformers," Marcus goaded.

"If Optimus Prime dying doesn't make you tear up, you're heartless bastard I don't want to know," Trent pushed the bottom of Marcus's bunk.

"Shut up and go to sleep. The letters are in the mail. It's done."

There was a pause.

"I sincerely hope you know what you're doing."

Marcus didn't say anything. Even though his body was aching he laid awake for a long time. Trent was right. He was butting in where he didn't belong. But watching Mya get a letter damn near every day and not respond was its own form of torture. If he could give her mate, and through her mate her, an ounce of peace, he'd rip off his own arm and hand it over gladly.

Trent was also right. He was overprotective of Mya. But so was Trent. And if he was a good judge of character, so was their commander. Ever since their first night together when Mya told them her horrific story, Trent and Marcus did everything in their power to protect Mya from anyone and anything that might hurt her. They crowded around her like mother hens making sure she didn't hear the snide comments from the other recruits.

She was growing, though. In one year they'd watched Mya blossom into something spectacular. She came in weak and fragile. Through training and perseverance, she had hardened up and became stronger by the minute. It was the most beautiful thing Marcus had ever seen besides his mate. 

Marcus would protect that beauty with his life. And he knew Trent felt the same way. Which is why they had to tread carefully.