Ryker inches closer and maintains eye contact, and I can’t seem to look away. His eyes are so alluring, and I feel so strange and warm staring into them. ‘Astrid, I have been fighting so darn hard not to lift you over my shoulders and carry you home.’ He extends his hand towards me, slowly closing the distance between us. 'Astrid, I would like you to join my pack, and then you won't be a rogue any longer. We can be together. So, what do you say?' he asks, his fingers almost brushing mine.
He pauses, taking in my reaction.
My jaw drops, and my body is no longer trembling but has frozen in place.
Panicking, I move around to the back of a tree, gripping it tightly, feeling the rough bark collecting under my nails. 'No,' I declare firmly.
Ryker appears taken aback by my refusal. 'No?' He echoes, his surprise obvious.
I maintain my decision, frustration creeping into my voice. 'I don’t understand why you would be so shocked at my rejection. You're asking me to be your girlfriend when we only met tonight! Not only that, you were an absolute jerk to me earlier! You only want to be with me because you think I'm your mate and want me to join your cult? Or pack? Or whatever it is, you call it and talk nonsense about werewolves and fairies!' I retort.
Ryker lets out a sigh, seemingly exasperated. 'Astrid! That's not how it was meant to come across, and I never mention fairies. Just come back into the diner with me, and I will explain everything to you. I will tell you about us werewolves, how it all works, and what to expect,' he pleads calmly.
I can't help but burst into laughter. 'Wow, Ryker, we are werewolves?' I giggle at the sheer absurdity of his statement.
Ryker remains solemn, his expression serious as he nods.
My laughter fades, and I lock eyes with him. 'So, you're telling me I am cursed to be with you, and we are werewolves?' I question, a hint of sarcasm tainting my words.
He scowls, hurt flickering in his eyes at my choice of words. 'You are not cursed, Astrid! It's a blessing from the Moon Goddess herself!' He exclaims, vehemently defending our supposed destiny.
Frustration boiling over, I throw my hands up in exasperation. 'You know what, Ryker? I don't want to hear you talk anymore. I'm tired, I'm sore, and I don't like you,' I confess, watching as he stiffens at my words.
Without waiting for his response, I turn and force myself to move through the pain, sprinting through the trees, determined to lose him.
'Astrid, wait!' he shouts, pursuing me relentlessly.
Navigating the woods, I put some distance between us and hide behind a tree, pressing myself against it to catch my breath. My heart races, and I strain to hear his footsteps crunching against fallen leaves as he searches for me.
'Astrid? I know you're around here. I can smell your scent a mile away.' Ryker's voice echoes through the dense woods.
I furrow my brows, surprised by his claim. How on earth could he possibly smell me from such a distance? I glance around, my eyes settling on the muddy ground beneath my feet. It hits me—compared to the average person, my lack of bathing has probably amplified my likely unpleasant smell. An idea sparks. I scoop up handfuls of mud and smear it across my arms, legs, and face.
Ryker continues to circle a nearby tree, his behaviour growing stranger by the moment, his nose lifting, sniffing the air like a wild animal. I’m glad it’s dark, making it easier to hide, but he seems to move as if he can see past the shadows of the night. I would have tripped over many times by now if it were me searching for someone out here.
Cloaked in mud and Ryker moving in the opposite direction, I creep stealthily back toward the diner. As the woods give way to the familiar sight of the diner, I swiftly traverse the road, hastening my steps as I make my way toward home.
Arriving an hour late, I gaze up at the sky, offering a silent prayer that my stepfather has succumbed to drunken slumber or is well and truly asleep. As I walk home, I peel the dried mud, scraping it off, and finally approach the front door. I cringe as it creaks open.
It’s dark inside; all the lights are off. Assured my stepfather must be asleep. I slowly ascend the stairs, open my bedroom door, quietly enter, and softly close it behind me.
A sigh of relief escapes me as I flick the broom light on, but my relief turns to dread as I find my stepfather seated at the foot of my bed, his clenched hand gripping a belt, his face contorted with rage.
***
Upon waking the following morning, my body throbs with agony, and I find myself sprawled on the floor of my room. The pain is excruciating, surpassing yesterday's torment, rendering me immobile. And so, I lie there the entire day, letting my body recuperate as best as it can.
By evening, my mobility returns, though limited. I rely on the walls for support, making my way to the bathroom. From behind the mirror, I retrieve three pain tablets, taking one more than usual for the heightened pain. I fill the bathtub, keeping the water level low, fearful of fainting.
As I lower myself into the bath, the clear water instantly turns murky, washing away the mud and remnants of dried blood from my battered body. Bruises decorate my body—the most I've ever had at one time.
After soaking for a short while, my entire body continues to throb, and the medication finally begins to take effect, providing some relief and allowing me to move more easily. Hugging my knees to my chest, I dwell on memories of my mother and the life I've endured since her death and burst into tears.