TASTE OF FREEDOM

There were strange noises outside my door all night long. There would often be dog noises and footsteps pacing back and forth in the hallway. There are intermittent low growls, snarls that are not always distinct, and quiet whimpers.

There was once some wall scratching. It was done quickly and wildly, probably ripping right through the insulation.

The doorknob would jiggle several times, as if something were gripping it from the other side. But it never did open. After a minute or so, the pressure would subside. After that, every sound would vanish, only to reappear in an unheard-of pattern a few hours later.

It is the fourth time I wake up, and this time the morning light streams in through the curtains.

My stomach lets out a long, drawn-out gurgle to express its displeasure. It is agonising to feel so empty inside.

Either I can smell food cooking, or it is just my cruel imagination trying to play tricks on me. Especially the sweet smell of French toast.

I jump out of my skin when the doorknob twists and swings open, as if on cue. Evans charges straight toward me, making my heart race.

He appears to be unhappy. Untidy reddish brown hair, with dark circles discolouring the skin under his eyes. His mouth is compressed into a thin, emotionless line, and his broad shoulders, which are typically held high, are slouching.

He looks away from me and extends a wide, open palm toward me. "Hands."

He cuts the ropes off with the razor blades at the tips of his fingers. The skin is red, inflamed, and burning; it looks as bad as it did the previous time, if not worse.

He says, "Food's downstairs if you want it," and then he leaves the room, leaving the door ajar.

Mate.

That's a funny concept.

I've heard so many stories of what a mate is supposed to be. How everything is supposed to be perfect and taken straight from a story book.

Maybe I'm just being sceptical-- hell, that's exactly what I am, but this is far from what everyone promised. One moment he acts like he cares, cleaning my wounds so gently, and then the next I'm being tied up like a dog.

Nonetheless, I couldn't pass up the offer of food. I lingered a bit in the room before going after him. When I stepped out of the room, the hallway was a mess.

There were places on the carpet that were shredded to threads. Long claw marks were carved messily into the wall, fluffy pink material leaking out. A chill went down my spine at the sight before turning away.

My nose acted as a guide as I made my way down the stairs following the sweet aromas. It led me to the kitchen, golden sunlight spilling in through the sliding glass door and the window above the sink.

I walk in just as Evans is sitting a plate filled with food on a wooden framed glass table. He barely glances at me before leaving the room.

What the hell is wrong with this guy?

Huffing to voice my annoyance, I ignore the strange behaviour and sit down in front of the plate, not hesitating to start eating. My eyes widen at the burst of flavour.

I don't bother taking my attention from the syrupy goodness, not even when hearing him re-enter the room. I sense his presence move to the opposite end of the table, sitting down across from me.

The only sound besides the silence is my fork occasionally tingling against the plate. When I get ready to cut off another bite, I feel him staring at my hands.

I tell him, 'They will heal. He finally makes the eye contact my wolf has been begging for once I start talking.

He gives me a nod, his gaze fixed on mine. He appears a little vulnerable in that situation, almost like a child who has been caught doing something wrong. I feel like jumping over the table to give him a big hug and reassuring him that everything will be okay.

I eventually turn away and stare down at my meal, but I am now too uncomfortable to eat.

I am not sure if I will be expected to live here with him in the future. Or am I merely his prisoner? Perhaps he intended to hold me hostage. That would explain why he was so invested in Astrid's relationship with me: the closer we are, the greater the reward.

But that controversial word hits me again.

Mate.

There's no doubt about it. Evans and I are mates. Will he accept that though? So far, he's doing a shit poor job at it.

"Why won't you tell me your name?"

I look up again to study him. There's a sort of desperation on his expression, emphasised by the dark circles on either side of the bridge of his nose.

He couldn't have gotten much sleep last night. Judging by the restless sounds that were outside my door and the condition of the hall, he went through a torture beyond imaginable.

I lay my fork down. "The same reason you don't reward a dog with a treat for a trick he hasn't done."

If he wants to tie me up like an animal, then two can play that game.

The familiar rumbling starts in his chest again and his fingers turn white as they grip the edge of the table.

"You're weird," he mumbles whilst studying me suspiciously at an angle.

He's calling me weird? The one who went out of his way to invade my pack and drag me away to an unfamiliar forest is acting as if I'm the pest?

"You're bipolar," I retorted, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms to watch him with the same sceptical gaze he's sending my way.

Seconds turn into minutes, and minutes into hours as we sit there in an unspoken staring contest. The longer he stares at me the louder my heartbeat sounds in my ears. The longer I stare at him the more I want to feel the touch of his skin on mine.

He starts to squirm slightly in his chair, in visible discomfort.

He breaks first.

A grin cracks my lips when he pushes his chair back harshly as he stands up, growling to himself. My head turns with him as he walks over to the glass door leading to the outside.

"Come on." He slides it open and steps outside, stopping and looking back to make sure I'm coming.

Slowly, I rose to my feet, following him out the door and sliding it closed behind me. "Where are we going?" I question, on high alert once again.

He begins walking straight into the woods, which isn't surprising since the cabin is in the middle of a forest.

"I need to let my wolf out and if I leave you alone you'd run away." He doesn't pay attention to me as he answers, looking straight ahead as if I'm not even there.

He needs to let his wolf out? That must have been what all the commotion was last night. His wolf is restless and by fighting it he's only tormenting himself.

"Evans," I say. He falters on one step but quickly covers it up, like he almost stopped in his tracks but didn't. He looks over at me as if to ask a silent 'what?'

"Oh nothing," I continued nonchalantly, facing forward apathetically, "I was just seeing how it felt to say my mate's name. How does it feel, Evans?"

It occurs to me that that's the first time I've openly acknowledged the mate bond between us. It's not like it's a secret because he has to feel it too, but still, something about it feels risqué. Maybe it's because he ignores all of the mutual sensations that I know he feels. Or maybe it's because I'm just a hostage he's waiting for the right chance to get rid of.

I glance over at him out of the corner of my eye. He comes to a dead stop, a clawed hand swinging up to stick into a nearby tree. His form is shaking almost violently. His beautiful copper eyes have darkened tenfold, all the way back to the obsidian colour I've grown used to.

"Tell me. Your name," He orders with a clipped tone, his voice distorted in a snarl.

I pause for a minute, thinking carefully. He's always had a sort of baleful aura about him. But this is on a new level. A level that could-would-be potentially life threatening.

"No."

He suddenly doubles over in a fashion that I've seen way too much. He's losing control, and it's only a matter of seconds before his body morphs into that of a wolf's- a seething one at that.

I don't stick around to witness the shifting. My feet are pounding against the ground in the opposite direction as soon as my brain processes what's happening-and registers the fact that I caused it.

A wolf is easily faster than a human. A human sprinting at full speed still wouldn't stand a chance against a wolf just jogging. I guess two legs are not as good as four. Keeping that in mind, I instantly transform into my own wolf.

Every hair on my cream-coloured fur feels the cool touch of the wind as it blows through it. My paws beat rhythmically on the ground as I breathe in clean, fresh air.

This is the sensation of freedom.

It feels freeing, aside from the fact that a furious, sultry beast will undoubtedly be pursuing me. Even as friends, Astrid was never able to comprehend that. He found it absurd that I would go for morning runs through the mountains. even a time waster. He was never able to comprehend. However, I suppose the little things lose their significance when your parents present everything to you on a golden platter.

I stop trotting at the sound of wings flapping frantically and in multiple directions overhead. I see a lot of crows flying away in the direction I am going, cawing loud warnings as they retreat the way I came.

I scan the strange environment, trying to find anything that might have frightened them. In this part of the forest, the undergrowth is so dense that anything could be concealed within it.

A stick snaps sharply ahead, making my ears perk up. My eyes instantly focus on a that is standing in the bushes.

"Avery ?”