KICK OFF

When I wake up, the room is dark, with only a dim light from the fireplace. I sit up with a soft groan, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

The first thing I notice is the removal of all plastic from the furniture. The second feature is the aroma of tomato sauce in the air. The third is Evans, who is sitting on the other end of the couch, staring intently at me.

"Food?" I murmur, my heel still pressed against my eye.

He leans forward to grab something from the coffee table and serves me a steaming plate of spaghetti. It is pleasant to the touch, and I accept it graciously.

Curling the noodles around my fork, I try to ignore the feeling that his eyes are on me. Expecting him to talk is unrealistic. So I do not get my hopes up.

A few minutes pass, my chewing becoming uncomfortably loud in the otherwise quiet room. Finally, I have had enough.

"Evans?" I inquire, looking up from my plate.

"Hm?"

"Who are you?" I know who he is. The entire pack constantly whispering and talking about him made sure of that. But somehow it seems surreal. So surreal in fact, that I need it to come from his lips instead of a jittery pack member.

There’s a pause, only seeming to confirm my answer past what words could.

"I think you know." His expression doesn't change, but his eyes let something slip. There's a flash of something, there and gone in half a second.

I swallow. The soft sound of metal tings as I drop my fork on the plate.

My voice is barely above a whisper, like I'm half afraid of what will happen when saying the name, "Evans the EXILED”

Another pause. I lose my appetite.

"Yes."

This is who everyone has been making a fuss over. The one they shake in their own skin at just the thought of. This wolf in front of me is a single tyrant who has made every Alpha fear for their position ever since the news of his exile spread.

Something inside of me refused to believe that before. It is almost as if I had subconsciously dismissed everyone's claims as mere rumors.

However, rumors do not sit before you and agree with you.

"Eat," he says, noticing how I am staring at my food.

I shake my head and say, "I am not hungry."

I uncross my legs and get up from the couch, taking my plate and an empty one from the coffee table, which is probably his. When I walk past him, I avoid his gaze, keeping mine fixed on the ground.

This should not affect anything. Knowing who he is and accepting it should only help me better understand him. It does not, however. It only adds to the confusion that already exists in my mind.

What previously did not sink in is now beginning to do so. The fact that this infamous figurehead has captured me and refuses to acknowledge our bond. It is not real. It's... aggravating.

Suddenly, I turn around and set the plates on a nearby stand.

"What is the point in resisting?" My words have heat, and all of my pent-up frustration is leaking out. "I know you are feeling it, so why are you resisting it? "Am I really that goddamn terrible?"

His fingers clench on the couch, balling the leather into a fist. He says, grudgingly and through clenched teeth, "Just drop it."

After a moment of thought, my expression darkens. "No."

I stare hard, making certain that he feels the scrutiny burning into his skull.

"Tell me why you were outside my door all night," I demand, crossing my arms and shifting my weight. "Answer me that, and I will never ask you again."

"You are taking it too far," he grits, suppressing a growl.

"I have a guess," I keep pushing him. "You are trying to fight what your wolf-"

"Avery," he warns in a deathly tone, "Stop."

The sound of my name coming off his tongue for the first time causes my heart to race, threatening or not.

I spat out a taunting response in a split second. "That is funny. Astrid has never instructed me to stop."

The words spill out before I can stop them. It does not take long for me to realize how important what I have just said is. Or to feel my heart race with panic as regret sets in.

My arms drop to my sides, as does the smug expression on my face, as the house shakes with a thunderous roar. I cover my ears and close my eyes, but I can still hear the loud banging.

When I look again, the couch is on its backside, on the opposite side of the room. Evans is facing me, his chest heaving rapidly and his throat growling constantly. In the dark, the deep ruby glow of his blackened irises was more brilliant than the light of fire.

He takes a hesitant step towards me, then two steps back before abruptly turning and heading for the front door. My feet are firmly planted on the floor as I watch him swing it open. It slams into the wall with enough force to create a hole.

It feels like an eternity before I can snap out of my daze.

What have I done?

I jog out onto the porch after him, just in time to see an enormous dark-furred wolf disappearing into the woods.

I do not think he will return anytime soon. He requires space, so I try to wait. I try to pass the time faster by sheer willpower and desire. This results in me prancing around the house uncontrollably.

What if he is after Astrid, assuming he is still alive, to finish what he started? Or what if he is just leaving me here with no idea how to get back to my backpack? Perhaps he just wants to get away from me. If it is the latter, I cannot say I blame him.

Telling my aggressive mate that I had a relationship with a wolf he already despised. That is certain to get him to open up.

My stomach knots up with guilt after a certain amount of time. Every minute, I think of a new scenario for what he could be doing out there, each one worse than the last. Eventually, I can not take it anymore and find myself wandering among the towering trees. I am following Evans' distinct scent.

The moon shines harshly overhead, but its light cannot penetrate the dense canopy of leaves. My hair is disheveled due to a gentle yet chilling wind.

I begin to wonder why I am out here. Why am I not running to get back to my pack? Instead, I am looking for the infamous Alpha in exile, whose title has the world paranoid.

"Avery," I melt as I hear his voice from the shadows. I turn in that direction.

Evans is slumped against a tree, fingers tangled in his hair. He does not bother concealing his nudity. It only takes one look for me to avert my gaze, with heat rushing up my cheeks.

"I am not sure what you want me to say."

He is staring aimlessly at the ground, his elbow propped against his knee. He appears tired, with drooping eyelids and lips.

My brow wrinkles. "What do you mean?"

His hand slips from his hair, and he laughs bitterly. "I have no fucking idea. When you are around, my senses go into overdrive. When you get close, my heart starts pounding harder, and I can not think straight because my wolf goes dumb in the head, and I always want to touch you, which is fucking weird."

He says it all in short bursts, the words rushing out. His tone is sharp and varies between high and low notes.

I take a forward step. The sight of him in pain makes me hurt as well.

"Please don't," he begs, sweeping his palm across his face.

"Evanst-"
"God, please do not mention my name."

"Why?" I challenge, defying him by moving closer, "Because you are afraid you will feel something?"

"I am not afraid," he says emphatically.

The wind blows in his direction, causing my hair to fall into my chest. His nostrils flare, and I know he smells my scent.

"Then show me," I say, taking another daring step, "that you are not afraid."

He abruptly throws his head back, letting out a deep, guttural sound. His lips curl back in a wince, revealing his sharpened teeth.

He is fighting his wolf again, but this time he is losing.

In an instant, I am kneeling by his side. Despite the growing anxiety within me, I manage to remain calm.

"You do not need to fight it." I resist the temptation to throw myself at him or even touch him. I am not sure how he would respond to that, especially in this state of distress.

His chin drops back until his eyes meet mine. They have a brokenness to them that makes my heart ache and sends an all-too-familiar pang of hatred ricocheting down the walls of my stomach.

His voice is silent and defeated. "I wish to touch you. "I really want to touch you.

I tentatively extend my hand, saying, "So touch me."

He inspects it for a few seconds, as if deciding whether or not to trust me. With caution, he raises his hand to engulf mine, our fingers lacing like a perfect puzzle piece. He carefully observes our hands.

He seems to be looking for the invisible sparks dancing between our skins.

I break the hold, and a flash of panic crosses his face. He seems to be afraid of losing something.

My fingers wrap around his wrist, and his palm lifts to cup my cheek.

"It is all right," I reassured. His fingers twitch as he touches my face, then gently squeeze it.

"We need to get back to the cabin," I say, staring at his face and failing to detect any emotion.

"Why?" His posture immediately improves, and his alert eyes dart around the forest around us.

I stand up and pull him up with me, "Because the couch is in the wall, and I do not clean up messes that are not mine.”