Page 9 of UNAwere

‘Go for it,’ I murmur, still waving out the window to everyone.

We pull out of the drive, and then we’re out on the road, and I’m leaving the only place, the only people, I’ve ever known.

The trip is going to take approximately two and a half weeks.

I’m reminded of this little tidbit less than an hour into the drive, while I’m listening to Warner’s bodyguard talk with him over the phone. Instead of playing the call through the car’s speakers, he uses his phone against his ear, the other hand on the wheel.

I try to tell him that he should at least pull over, as phone usage while driving is highly dangerous, but he ignores me.

When he says, ‘Yes. See you on or before the seventh,’ it hits me that the seventh is two and a half weeks from now, and we’re literally driving across the length of the continent to get to Primrose’s territory. I’ve never considered how big of a country Sol is until now.

I bite down on my tongue. Maybe I could have flown, just this once, but then I think about it a little longer, and I’m comfortable in my decision. I don’t particularly feel like spending a day inside a metal cylinder that can somehow stay in the air. Surrounded by loud noises and sick people.

We sit in silence for the first two hours, and it weighs on me. I’m not used to silence. I’m not used to not speaking or not listening to someone else speak. And when I reached for the radio within the first hour, I was met with a stern look that could’ve turned a cucumber into a pickle.

I keep my hands tucked against my lap, gazing out the window as we drive on a highway. Earlier, I’d looked it up on the maps app on my phone, and found it was the I30, which is the biggest highway in Luminaire, linking most towns to Vallis. Red and gold trees flash past us, and it’s not long until I’m feeling sick. I let out a deep breath and adjust my seat. I need a distraction. I need to break the silence so I can stop thinking about the devastated expression on my sister’s face. About the decision I’ve made, spur of the moment, to protect her.

We’d known this was coming, but I hadn’t thought about it properly until Nolan approached us that night, sitting at the dinner table. Maeve had just finished a bowl of chocolate ice cream, and we were getting ready to watch a movie in the lounge room. But when he’d walked in, I’d known exactly what he was going to say.

The Primrose alpha had chosen his alliance gift, and it was what we had all expected.

A bonding.

‘So, what’s your name?’ I ask suddenly, unable to help myself. I’ve been squirming in my seat, the silence literally painful.

The guard casts me a sidelong glance. His hands are wrapped so tightly around the wheel, his knuckles are showing white through the skin on his fingers. He flexes his jaw, keeping his eyes on the road. His profile is severe, and I notice a scar on the side of his face, across his cheek and jaw, that cuts through a part of his dark beard. It reaches up into his hairline, which is long on the top and shaved on the sides.

‘I feel like I should probably know what to call you, seeing as we’re stuck in a car for almost three weeks together,’ I say. ‘I mean, what if you get into an accident? And I have to tell the paramedics about you? And all I can say is, “Sorry, miss. I didn’t catch his name, despite knowing him for a week. All I know is he doesn’t like music and likes driving a hundred kilometres an hour with the window down.” Which, by the way, is only what crazy people do.’ The wind has been roaring into his side of the truck, rippling the longer strands of hair on the top of his head.

He grunts but doesn’t speak. His sunglasses are perched on the tip of his nose, and he looks like an angry librarian-turned-DJ.

‘You can call me Sybbie, instead of Sybil,’ I continue. If he’s not going to talk, I might as well keep going. I’m more than talented enough to talk for the both of us. ‘I don’t overly like Sybil. Like, it’s fine, but the kids at school used to call me “Syllable” because I took a liking to English class. Which is kind of counterintuitive if you ask me, because Sybbie only has two syllables, and “Syllable” has three. And, like, why make up a name to tease someone if it’s wordier than their actual name? And don’t get me started on the irony that my problem is with the syllables, and that’s what they were calling me.’

The guard tilts his chin to the ceiling and then slowly rolls his head on his neck. There’s a soft pop as a ligament clicks, and I find it really satisfying. Satisfying enough that I do it, too, only to get a crick in my neck.

I yelp, quickly rubbing it.

‘So have you met Warner?’ I ask once my neck feels better. ‘What am I saying? Of course you have, you’re his bodyguard. You’re his best fighter, yeah? His second? You guys use those titles, don’t you?’ I lick my lips, staring at the road shooting towards us. ‘We do, too. But we don’t use “beta” or anything. Only “alpha”, and that’s only because we feel obligated to stick to Were customs. Anyway, what’s he like? I guess I should learn about him, right? Seeing as I’m going to be bonded to him?’

A small growl sounds in his throat, surprising me. His fingers wrap around the steering wheel and twist. Nostrils flaring, he turns his head towards the wind roaring through his window, and I hear him take a deep breath.

Oooookaaaay…

‘So… Have you been this far south?’ I ask after another moment. ‘I haven’t left Luminaire territory. I’ve hardly left Nolan’s property. You could say my sister and I are kind of sheltered. But I do have a job! Well, I did…’ My heart pangs. It was a good job, and I felt like I was making a difference in our blended society. I hope Ollie is okay. I send them a quick text to let them know I’m thinking of them after their first week without me.

‘Do I need money?’ I ask, glancing up at the guard. His eyes are still on the road, but he seems to be a little calmer than the last time I looked at him. ‘For this trip?’

‘All expenses are paid for,’ he murmurs.

My brows shoot up. ‘Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out. You probably don’t get paid a lot, being a bodyguard for an alpha. This could even be volunteer work, right?’

‘I’m not paying for you, Miss Palmer. Alpha Warner is.’

‘Oh.’ I scrunch my nose. ‘Of course.’

‘My name is Briggs,’ he continues. ‘If you need to call me something, you can call me that.’

‘Oh, jeepers.’ I grin. ‘I was thinking something like “Knuckler”.’