Page 63 of UNAwere

‘It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with you. And everything wrong with men like that Were.’ He pulls away and goes to the door again. ‘I’ll be back soon, I promise.’

I head to the shower as soon as he’s gone, trying to control the shaking of my hands. And I wash and wash and wash, until my skin is raw, until the scent of that male is gone. I get out, shaking, and check my reflection in the mirror. Even though his saliva is now gone, there’s a red welt on my neck from where his teeth scraped against me.

I feel violated. I feel disgusting. Wrong.

I shy away from the mirror and don’t bother dressing, climbing into the bed with wet hair. I sink under the blankets and pillows, covering myself until I’m cocooned in a nest of white. The sobs I’ve been holding back finally come forward, at full force, and I cry out all of the injustice and confusion I’m feeling. The grief of being away from family. Of not understanding the ways of the pack I’m entering.

I almost regret everything.

And I’m considering getting up and packing my bags and running when the door opens. I sit up, terrified, but it’s Briggs. He deadbolts the door and turns, seeing me in the bed.

He’s covered in blood.

‘Briggs,’ I gasp out.

He doesn’t say anything. His eyes are still black, his mouth hard. He stalks to the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

We don’t talk the next morning.

We pack our bags and the car, and we’re on the highway before it’s even seven o’clock. It’s raining, and the windscreen wipers create a metronome inside the silent car that soothes my tired brain.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m wrong. That whatever happened to me when I accepted my wolf form, when I let her take control, has warped something inside me. And it’s attracting all the wrong attention.

And Briggs. He’s just as disgusted by me as I am with myself.

I can’t blame him. I’m sure the Primrose pack has a word for female Weres like me.

He hardly looked at me when we got up this morning. Hardly spoke three words as we made coffee and readied ourselves. I didn’t ask him about what he did to that male last night. I can only assume he killed him, with the amount of blood he was coated in when he came back. But I don’t want the details. I just want to put this behind us.

Briggs stops at a service station close to midday. It’s still raining, and I get out without asking, heading to the side of the building so I’m out of the rain and away from the fuel pumps, and light a cigarette.

I breathe deep, meeting Briggs’s gaze across the lot. He’s watching me closely as he fills up the car, his face hard. It’s like he’s considering scolding me for my actions, but doesn’t know if he wants to break the silent treatment he’s been giving me.

I turn my back on him and keep smoking, allowing the nicotine to rush through my veins. It feels good. Familiar. And I don’t care if I’m slipping back to old habits.

When I’m done, I go to the ashtray attached to the bin outside the automatic doors of the station and then head back to the car. Briggs comes out, following me, and we buckle back in and get back onto the highway.

I’m blinking back sleep.

It’s still raining, and the road is so dark that Briggs has slowed down to twenty under the speed limit. We’re on our way to the next motel, and my skin has been crawling for the past two hours. Despite the cold, I’ve been sweating, sitting uncomfortably in my seat.

I try to adjust myself, tucking my chin to my chest.

‘Shit,’ Briggs mutters, making my eyes flash open.

I don’t say anything, glancing out of the passenger window.

‘I think we’re close to forty now,’ he murmurs.

I blink. ‘What?’

‘Dollars.’ He casts me a sidelong glance. ‘I swore…’

‘Oh.’

He keeps driving, staring out the windshield, but the rain only seems to pour harder. Headlights come towards us, flashing, and I squint.

‘Fuck.’