Tori
Without ever breaking eye contact even while I was choking her, the bitch reached up and touched my face. I had no idea what she did, but searing pain shot through my head like she had driven a railroad spike through my skull.
“Fuck!” I dropped her, my hands going to my face instinctively. I couldn’t see. The world had gone white, like someone was shining a flashlight in my eyes. I shoved her as I staggered back, only knowing that she slammed into her truck by the sound.
It felt like she had poured lava on my face, it wasn’t hot but it burned.
"Hey, what's goin' on there?"
A male voice from behind me. I was disoriented and in pain... so I ran. I turned the corner and dashed, putting distance between myself and the odd human. My vision was returning, but slowly, and I wasn’t exactly the picture of stealth as I clattered down an alleyway. There also wasn’t a whole lot to this shitty little town, so I didn’t have a ton of places to hide.
I managed to find an abandoned storefront on a side street, no one really around. My face hurt. Worse than a broken bone. Usually a cut would have stopped hurting by now. I tilted my head back, wiping my hand across the dirty glass until I could see my reflection.
There was a bright red, angry crescent-shaped welt on my face where she had touched me.
She wasn't human. That's why she hadn't been scared, that's why she had been able to hurt me with a light touch. I poked at the spot, hissing in pain - it wasn't healing. It wasn't going away.
Humans didn’t know werewolves were real… but they could sense us just the same, subconsciously, instinctively. They recognized us as predators even if they couldn’t put their finger on why. It’s why I had to be careful, stay slouching, hair in my face, eyes downcast any time there were cops around - men, especially men with authority, tended to attack rather than retreat.
But the bitch at the store hadn’t done either one. She had maintained eye contact with me the entire time, challenging me, goading me. I touched the little crescent again, hissing in pain - she hadn’t backed down even when I shifted ever so slightly.
It should have been enough to send her into hysterics.
The sound of car tires on gravel, slow moving, gave reason to duck around the corner. It took me a few to get my bearings, I had wandered farther than I intended while blinded… and it was only then that I realized that I had dropped my bag.
Alpha was going to kill me if I showed up with no bag, no cash, no snacks, and no beer.
She’d beat the shit out of me and let me heal just enough to do it over again - it wouldn’t be the first time after a particularly stupid mistake. I had lost my stuff to… well, not a human, something. Alpha had laughed in my face when I had asked about vampires and fairies, and Fang had taunted me for months - but she did tell me that witches were real. That they weren’t entirely human either.
Sliding to the ground in the alley, I tangled my fingers in my hair, pressing palms to my temples. My thoughts turned back to Fiona’s pack unexpectedly. How different she had seemed, how different her pack felt. They were also a pack of four, Fiona as Alpha, a Human Trueborn like me.
I thought of her fiery red hair in that moment, the way her tanned shoulders looked as she stood on the rocks, the sun shining. I thought of how her pack adored her, and how different things felt near them.
Spike mocked me for having a crush on her. Apparently I did if I was wishing for her at a time like this. I had been too nervous to ask what the rules were for changing packs… or if she’d even have me. I knew that just asking would make Alpha furious.
I had to get that bag back.
Listening carefully to the world around me, I crept back toward the market. That stupid old truck was still there as much rust as there was metal. The woman, Gwen, was leaning on the hood, talking to a tall guy. She was in her thirties, her brown hair in a tight braid, hanging down over one shoulder. She wore a long, beat up coat that looked heavy and a hundred years old. The guy didn’t look like a cop, just a tall guy in a black apron, so thank goodness for small favors. Bullets weren’t going to kill me - I’d come back from a shot in the stomach once in a really fucked up situation near Reno, a couple of years ago.
That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. I didn’t want to get shot. Healing took time, energy, and food, none of which I had much of right then. I watched as the woman climbed into her truck - my bag wasn’t on the ground near her where I would have dropped it.
“Fuck.” I paced, trying to figure out what the right move was. Going back empty-handed would piss off Alpha, but going after her would also piss off Alpha - especially if she wasn’t human. Without thinking, my fingers brushed that crescent spot of agony on my face.
I had no good choices, but either way I went, I needed to follow her. Slipping deeper into the filthy area behind the market, I stripped, tucking my clothes under the corner of a dumpster, trying my best to ignore both the stench of human garbage and the searing pain on my face.
Fang loved to tease me that my wolf looked more like a husky - I was smaller than the rest of the pack, but that would work to my advantage here. Humans tended to flat-out panic at the sight of a wolf where a large dog just made them nervous.
I turned and kept behind the buildings as I followed the truck toward the edge of town.
Fuck!
I ran along the side of the road, chasing after her truck, glad for the cover of the increasingly heavy snowfall. I’d be harder to spot with my white coat. My window of decision was closing. If she had flung my bag in the back of the truck - it was full of stuff - then I could jump onto the truck, grab my bag, and run.
If it wasn’t there, I’d jump back out and run to Alpha, take my beating, and lead her here and we’d kill her.
As we turned a winding corner in the road, me alongside and out of sight, a large house on a hill came into view - with nothing else really in the area. Her destination. It was now or never, so I bounded up a ridge and leapt, landing hard in the bed of the truck.
The woman inside swore as I looked frantically for what was mine. “Shit!”
Of course it was in the cab with her. Why would anything go my way? Why would anything be easy on me? The truck was speeding up, in her fright, Gwen had slammed on the gas and the house was getting too close for comfort.
I turned, preparing to jump out when I could have sworn I heard the words Sorry hun from the cab of the truck, just before she slammed on the brakes.
I didn't have time to react as the truck suddenly stopped. The world was a blur: metal, sky, metal, sky, ground. Pain. But still, the pain of the crescent on my cheek shined through that.
Shaking off the daze, I struggled to my feet when I realized she was running with my bag. I barked at her, demanding that she stop before I realized she wouldn't be able to understand me.
I forced my body to dire, to brute, and stood - taller than her since it was more than just a flex… and furious. Without thinking, I ran after her, shouting. “Give me back my bag!”
But she slammed the door, which made me angrier. The world had a red tinge around the edges, and my plan was completely gone from my mind. I was acting purely on animal instinct, and my prey was running. I screamed, tearing her screen door off its hinges.
The angry, dull thud of my shoulder slamming into the heavy front door rattled the glass of the door’s tiny window. I reached down and grabbed the doorknob, ready to tear it off… and a howl of pure agony tore itself from my throat. I let go quickly, the smell of burning flesh, my flesh, heavy in my nostrils - and another crescent-shaped burn greeted me from the palm of my hand.
The tinges of red had grown, everything was red now, and lifting my leg high, I smashed the door in with one solid kick.
Roaring, I stormed in, the wind whipping snow into her living room behind me. I scanned for her - couch, table, television, shitty rug on the hardwood floor. I could smell her, and two steps into her house, she appeared in a doorway.
Holding a gun. A rifle.
Charging at her, I saw her pull the trigger, but it made a pop rather than the loud crack I expected, and I braced myself for a bullet… that never came.
Apparently her gun didn't work? I moved on her, planning to yank the gun from her hands. I reached for her, closing the distance between us.
"Just give me back my bag, I don't want to hurt... " I stepped forward, but something was wrong. I felt drunk. The world was wobbly. A glance down at my arm showed a dart sticking out of me. "Fuck." I dropped to my knees, fighting the nausea. "Fuck... just give... " I slammed my fist down on the ground, cracking her floorboards and leaving a splinter-surrounded dent in the ground. I looked up at her, my anger finally fading, the world hazy and blurry.
It almost looked like she felt sad.