1 comments/ 7669 views/ 1 favorites The Scar By: fiveofhearts The sun was warm. She brushed the flaky croissant crumbs from the crimson tablecloth at her corner table. A summer breeze threatened her napkin. She pinned it with the tall glass, half-full with orange juice and smudged with dark red lipstick. The breeze licked at her dark brown hair, tickling her bare shoulders. She adjusted the fashionable sunglasses that covered half her face. She eyed the rest of the café slowly, without turning her head. He was still the one. He read the newspaper. It was folded, like he was on the train, not spread out. He hadn't checked his watch all morning. There was no ring. He was eating cut fruit with his fingers, the fork beside the plate untouched. His coffee was black. She uncrossed her legs, smoothed the sundress, and then crossed her legs again. Her skin felt smooth. She imagined his hands running down her legs. She unconsciously reached under the sunglasses and touched the scar. There was a noise on the street behind her. He looked up. Her hand darted back to her lap. He smiled. She gazed at him through the sunglasses. He went back to the paper. The waiter cleared her half-eaten pastry. She kept the juice. She raised the glass to her lips. The tart citrus danced on her tongue. It had been freshly squeezed. She patted the corner of her mouth with the napkin. The waiter came back, and she paid the check. She pinned his tip under the glass. A gust took her napkin from the table. It skittered across the ground towards him. He must have seen the movement from the corner of his eye. He plucked it from the air as it passed. He looked up. She was looking at him. He smiled, again. He started to rise, napkin in hand. She breathed. She rose, and pulled her bag from the back of the chair. He strode toward her. She met him half way, hips swaying and heels clacking on the flagstones. He was taller than she had thought. He held the napkin in his right hand. He extended it, palm upturned. She placed her hand in his, and looked up into his light brown eyes. She licked her lips lightly. It was right. He opened his mouth to speak. She reached her right hand up to his shoulder, pulling him down to her. She stretched up toward him, placing her lips at his ear. "I need you to take me home and fuck me," she said. She ran her right hand down his arm as he slowly straightened, coming to rest so he held both her hands in his. He did not flinch. He looked at her. Her heart raced. It was an eternity. He nodded. He dropped her left hand, but clasped her right. He led her back to his table. He left the napkin, and a $20 bill. *** He opened the door. She stepped inside, and he followed. It hadn't been a far from the café. He had led her by the hand silently, striding at a pace she could match in heels. It looked like a nice apartment. It was clean, but not meticulous. It wasn't big, but it looked modern. He led her down the hall. He pushed open the bedroom door, and she stepped in beside him. The bed was unmade, but not unruly. It was a big bed. He pulled the covers off in one motion, and turned to her. She shuffled toward him. Her heart fluttered. She fidgeted with her bag handles. She began to speak, but he hastily put his index finger to her lips. It still tasted like cantaloupe. "Shhhh," he whispered. He took her bag from her and placed it next to the footboard. She placed her hands at her sides, smoothing her sundress. He reached towards her face, and slowly pulled off the sunglasses. She started to raise her hands to stop him. She forced them back to her side. He saw the scar. He pressed his lips together. They turned white. He ran his thumb across its length lightly. Five inches from her eyebrow, around her eye and across her cheekbone. It was where the small, insignificant son of a bitch's bottle had taken her. "Not the only scar," he said. It was not a question. She nodded anyway. It was the first time she had heard his voice. It was deep and pleasant. He held her head in his hands. His thumb caressed her cheek. It was soothing. He bent towards her. She closed her eyes. His lips met hers. They were soft. She opened her mouth slightly, and his tongue slid in to meet hers. They twirled. It was nice. She felt his hands slide down to her waist, and her eyes shot open as he hoisted her in the air. She squealed, and he spun and threw her on the bed. His hands went to her breasts. They lingered for a moment, then slid the straps to her sundress off her shoulders. She reached down to the hem, thrust her hips into the air, and pulled the dress over her head. It fluttered to the floor behind her, and was forgotten. She was naked underneath. He reached up, and smothered her bare breasts with his large hands. They fit perfectly. He squeezed, gently at first, then rougher. She gasped. He cupped her breasts, smashed them together, and brought his mouth down to her nipples. She arched her back, bringing them closer to him. His breath was warm. Inside his mouth was warmer. He tongued her nipples for a while, then kissed around them gently. She reached down, and pulled off his shirt. He stood, unfastened belt and button and pulled his pants to the ground. He quickly worked on his shoes. She worked on her heels. She wriggled to the end of the bed, and sat up. He straightened. She ran her hands over his chest, her fingers working through his dark chest hair. His physique was well modeled, but not bulky. She tweaked his nipples lightly, and he shivered. She ran her hands down his sides, and hooked her thumbs into his underwear's waistband. She yanked them down, and he stepped out of them. His cock bobbed up towards her. She grabbed it with her right hand. It was thick. It throbbed as she squeezed, head bulging. To her, it felt powerful. She needed that power inside her. She kissed the head, lightly. She twirled her tongue around its ridge. She slid her hand down the shaft, and took most of his length into her mouth. She flattened her tongue, and slid it slowly along its bottom. She could hear him breathe in sharply, and hold it. She drew her head back gently, leisurely, and brought her tongue crawling back towards his tip. He moaned, expelling breath in one throaty rush. He brought his hands up to her shoulders, and pushed her to the bed. He dropped to his knees, and forced her legs apart. He brought his face down between them. She had trimmed and shaved; she was smooth. He slowly traced his tongue up the crease where her legs ended and her torso began. He moved across her, tongue outstretched, tasting her briefly. He sucked her lips into his mouth, and she shuddered. He dipped his tongue into her. She was sopping wet. She shuddered as pleasure raced up her spine, body bucking. She reached down, entangled his hair in her hand, and pulled him up to her. She looked into his eyes. "You can make love to me later, if you like," she gasped. "Fuck me now." He smashed his lips into hers, invigorated. He brought his hands up to her breasts, and brutally pinned her to the bed, thumbs pushing in her nipples. Electricity shot through her. She groaned, eyes closed. He grabbed her legs behind the knees, grasping her thighs. He pulled her to the edge of the bed. Her ankles found his shoulders. He pointed his cock at her, and plunged forward. She took him entirely. Her eyes burst open. He filled her. She marveled how he fit her. Nothing had ever felt so magnificent. He pulled back, and thrust forward again. She cried out. She could feel his point dragging across her inner flesh, toward her spot. He hit her just right, and she shook with satisfaction. Breath ran ragged across her throat, rasping. He pulled back and assaulted again, plowing through her. Every nerve lit, every cell throbbed, every synapse fired inside of her. She thought of the bastard that had mutilated her. He was a pathetic man, a drunk, a loser, a hateful hanger-on. She had a million chances to leave him, but always gave another chance. For her understanding, for her love, for her trouble, he had smashed a bottle into a face she had once thought beautiful. She left him that night, and he left town. He left her with a puckered scar. She opened her eyes, and saw this man she didn't know was fucking her without abandon. It wasn't that he didn't see her scar. It was clear he saw beyond her scar. He dragged himself through her, relentlessly, hands holding onto her breasts tightly. Her eyes found his, and he was staring intently into them. Into her. She moaned, loudly. He buried himself to his hilt. She felt beautiful again. He pulled out entirely, and pulled her legs off his shoulders. He grabbed her waist, and spun her around. He knees found the sheets; she wagged her ass into the air, looking back toward him, licking her lips. He steadied himself with his hand, and then guided himself back into her. The new aspect was amazing. He spread her, driving into her with passion. She arched her back, thrusting herself back toward him. He reached forward, gripped her swaying hair firmly, and pulled. Her head whipped back and she gasped. She was getting fucked, wantonly, just as she had wanted. Just as she had needed. His thickness still stretched her. Her breasts bounced rhythmically, and pleasure met each extreme, up and down. All the heat in the room seemed to rush into her, spiraling up from inside her. She could feel the orgasm building. She could hear him breathing heavily; she knew they were both close. She turned back toward him, and locked her eyes with his. "Cum for me," she cried. "Cum in me! Let me feel you spreading through me." She saw his eyes roll back, and he redoubled his efforts into her. She bowed her head forward, gripped the sheets as hard as she could, and accepted his onslaught. The fucking he gave her was unlike anything else. Her orgasm wracked her body. All her muscles contracted; she could feel herself clench around him. He pumped twice more, and groaned. He came into her. She could feel herself painted, his semen spreading inside her. She collapsed forward. He fell on top of her. Limbs barely responding, they turned. Their heads barely found the pillows. Her back was still to him. He pressed against her, arm draped over her body and face pressed into her hair. "Excuse me," he said. "I don't know why you chose me for this, but thank you. I'm honored." "You seemed right," she said. "And you are beautiful," he said. "My name is Rex." "It would have to be," she said. The Scarecrow's Revenge There he hung, all those long painful years. There he hung, planning his revenge and waiting for this Halloween night, this very night to have his sweet revenge. The scarecrow had been placed in the field years earlier, made of all the things scarecrows normally are: a burlap bag for a head with buttons as eyes and stitching for a mouth, old farm clothes, a rumpled fedora, and straw. He had been assembled by the woman who owned that field, and then tied to the support like he was being crucified. But this woman was a witch who practiced herb and earth witchery, so she wanted to put a blessing spell on her field and her new scarecrow. But unfortunately for her, she misspoke as she recited the ancient text in that midnight field and actually gave the scarecrow awareness, consciousness, and senses -- senses that knew all too well he was tied to a cross beam in a field for year after long, painful year. There he hung, watching the seasons slowly change, being driven mad by his mute impotence to change his situation, to express his feelings, to stop the agony of his existence. He watched as the golden fields of autumn turned slowly to the wicked white of winter where the winds ripped into him like a million shards of glass. He watched as the green-kissed fields of early spring turned into the verdant fields of summer with the cruel sun beating down on him. There he hung, tormented by all the seasons had to torture him with and unable to change it. But he also saw all the people around him, unaware of his agony even as he shrieked to them in his head and begged for help. He saw the witch that was responsible for his pain as she walked the boundaries of her fields, celebrating the eight sabbats, blessing the land and asking for a bountiful harvest. He watched as the witch's daughter would use the field as a convenient place to escape her mother's prying eyes to fuck her numerous boyfriends. He watched, unable to interact with these humans but fully able to feel what they felt. And as he watched he slowly grew more and more insane, waiting for this very Halloween night. The spell that the witch unknowingly cast upon the scarecrow had a very specific eventual end. When the beams of a full moon fell unabated upon the scarecrow on a Halloween night he would be animated, a scarecrow humanized, and would have until dawn the next day to walk, to act, to feel, to be. Upon the first light of the new day he would be aware no more and return to nothing but a few scraps of old clothes, stitching, and straw. The field was cloaked in darkness that night as the scarecrow screamed in his head for the clouds to part. His eyes could see all too well that the full moon, pregnant with the promise of his release, was hidden behind a thin veil of black clouds. Would he be denied his sweet release after all these years, only to have to wait how many more for his revenge? Would even the skies mock and torment him by withholding succor? Just then, a wind kicked up that slowly parted the clouds, and the moon's bluish-white beams fell uninhibited at last upon the scarecrow. As the first magical light touched him, the scarecrow felt a strange tingling race through his entire body as the spell transformed his straw into flesh, bone, blood, and sinew. But the spell did not create a perfect human, rather a straw scarecrow in human form; he appeared as if his flesh was infused with straw, strands of it running through and all around his newly formed skin. He coughed as he took the first breath through burlap-nostrils to fill fresh lungs, his breathing a gurgling, choking, belabored sound. Every breath he took was an effort as a result of the straw that permeated every inch of his new respiratory system. The scarecrow felt strength and power course through his newly formed straw-muscles. With one massive lurch he ripped the cords that bound him to the cross beam and leapt to the ground. He was ready to be avenged. The scarecrow walked slowly through the corn that now, for the first time in his existence, was taller than he. He walked towards the farm house in which the witch lived with her daughter. As he approached the clearing for the house and out buildings the scarecrow turned towards what he knew was a tool shed; opening the door with a creak he withdrew the item he was looking for: a freshly sharpened sickle knife. The scarecrow then let himself into the darkened house. He stood there for a moment listening, trying to quiet his heavy, difficult breathing. He heard a television and soft talking in one of the rooms upstairs, recognizing that as the witch's daughter and her boyfriend du jour. He then heard giggling and heavy breathing from the downstairs bedroom, knowing that that is where he would find the witch. The scarecrow withdrew as quietly as he had entered the house, walking around the back until he came to the window of the witch's bedroom. There he stood and peered into the dark room, lit only as it was by a few candles. He looked more carefully and could perceive two nude forms laying on the witch's bed, embraced and kissing passionately. The witch was an attractive woman of about 45 or so, still very fit and exceedingly well built. Her body seemed perfect and flawless bathed in the soft orange glow from the half-dozen candles or so. The witch had long, curly black hair which she normally kept up, but now in such a relaxed moment the long curls poured all over her shoulders and down her back. Her face remained lovely, even etched as it was by a few thin wrinkles, and her entire face seemed to beam with light when she smiled. Her body remained tight and hard, with large, soft, firm breasts that were the envy of women twenty years her junior. She lay back on her bed, her arms wrapped around and entwined by her lover, a man clearly many years younger than she. He lay on top of her kissing her lovingly, deeply, their tongues dancing around and playing with the other's. He kissed her neck and shoulders slowly, passionately, stopping occasionally to whisper things to her that made her giggle deliciously. The witch's lover went on kissing her ever lower until he was playing with and gently licking her tits. This young man clearly enjoyed the pleasures to be found in a lovely pair of large, soft tits because he lingered here a long time, squeezing them teasingly, sucking hard on one nipple while pinching, pulling, and twisting the other, licking each in turn. This man loved tits and the witch loved to have hers played with. The scarecrow stood outside the window watching all this, mesmerized by what he saw. Although his hatred for the witch diminished not a whit he did begin to feel a profound lust for her that he had never experienced before. In fact, as he stood there gazing at her he became aware of a tingling and a hardening he'd never experienced before. The spell that had given him straw-entwined flesh and sinew also gave him a straw flesh cock, one which was quite gigantic and now rigidly hard. The scarecrow stroked it, enjoying the fresh pleasure to be found from his newly-discovered cock. Meanwhile, the witch's lover had kissed and licked his way down to her pussy, which sported a small tuft of thick black hair as curly and wild as that on her head. There he licked her clit hard even as he pumped his fingers in her slick pussy, making her moan loudly and happily. As he did the young lover rolled her ass forward slightly so he could also lick her asshole a bit, before returning to pay her engorged clit some much needed attention. As he did the lover licked, sucked, and fingered her into an orgasm that left her writhing, panting, and screaming his name for more. Once the witch had cum several thunderous times, she said something to her lover and he got up then knelt where he was, she then getting on all fours to take his cock into her mouth. The way in which she positioned herself denied the scarecrow the ability to see her administer her oral talents to the lover's cock, but he was able to see her perfect ass being held high in the air, the pouty lips of her wet pussy peeking through deliciously. He watched her ass move and sway gently as she sucked her lover's cock, seeing her pussy literally drip and her asshole look like a well-opened pathway to pleasure. The scarecrow stroked his cock ever more aggressively, wanting the witch now as much as he hated her. After some time of this unintentional show the witch turned herself around but remained on all fours, the lover now fucking her from behind. Again the scarecrow was unable to see exactly what was happening, which drove him mad with lust and desire even as earlier he was being driven mad with hatred and rage. He was, however, able to see the witch's beautiful face as her lover fucked her, and it was a face of pure joy, contentment, and free from any earthly worries or concerns. He eyes were closed, her brow knitted slightly, her mouth occasionally curling up into a delighted smile but usually just slack-jawed open as the pleasure of the fucking washed over her body. Finally, the pace of the fucking increased until her face was intense and fierce with orgasmic delight, pulling on the bed sheet hard and gritting her teeth as she reached orgasm yet again. Her loved also tensed up and arched back, every muscle in his well-made body straining, himself now also clearly cumming. The pair collapsed in the bed, holding each other spoon style for several minutes as they caught their breath. The scarecrow then watched as the lover got up out of bed, talking to the witch as he got dressed. He then leaned down to once more kiss her lovingly on the lips and then left. The scarecrow walked to the corner of the house to watch the lover get in his car and drive away. After so many years of planning his bloody revenge, the scarecrow now considered a more nuanced, thoughtful form of revenge rather than mere murder. There would be blood, make no mistake, but he now hatched a simply devilish plan to have vengeance as well as intense pleasure. Walking back around again and entering the house once more, the scarecrow still heard the TV and talking from upstairs, but now approached the witch's bedroom as quietly as his gurgling breathing would allow him. He opened the door, to see her lying on her side and turned away; the candles still burned, giving her skin that delicious soft orange glow. When she heard the floor board to her room creak slightly, the witch said softly, "Mmm...are you back for more already lover?" It was then that she turned to face whoever was in her room and saw, to her extreme horror, that it was not her lover at all but rather the very vision of a nightmare. As soon as she turned and her eyes bulged in terror the scarecrow pounced on her, flying to her with the speed and power that can only be born from years and years of tortured desire for vengeance and to wreak pain. He leaped on her and landed in the very same position her lover occupied some time before, except now pinning one hand down while the other held the sickle to her throat. He tried desperately to speak, to tell her all of his hatred towards her, to curse her for stupidly botching a simple spell; but his mouth was only stitches and was therefore now stitched closed, so all her could do was mumble, grunt, and gurgle his hate-filled curses at the witch. The witch was terrified such to the point that her ability to think had utterly stopped and she now only reacted, trying desperate to pull what she thought was the mask of her intruder off his face, only to grab burlap-like skin and tufts of straw in her hand. Yet despite the pain this caused the scarecrow, he enacted his plan. As a magical being now animated purely by magic, the scarecrow naturally had some spell-casting powers of his own. As the witch struggled to remove him, he waved his hand in front of her face and said powerful magic words to himself, which through his stitched mouth sounded only like "Eeeshhh-shoch." She instantly became mesmerized with a dumb, blank look to her face. Now in quiet compliance, the scarecrow had time to relish laying on top of the naked, beautiful witch whose sexuality he was only just recently lusting for tremendously. He looked down and saw her large, perfect breasts moving tauntingly with every adjustment he made, and took in the deep, musky scent of a woman who just had sex. The scarecrow's cock, still sticking out of his overall's fly, now grew wickedly hard. He grabbed its thick, straw-like mass and slowly slid it into the still wet, cum-filled pussy of the witch. The scarecrow lay on the magically-dazed witch, pumping his massive cock into her pussy with a force and a ferocity born out of hatred but fed by pure lust, enraptured by the power and control he had over his unintentional tormentor of many years. After what to him felt like a few short seconds but was in fact many long minutes, the scarecrow shot a massive load of cum deep inside the witch. Unable to open his stitched-together mouth, the scarecrow was only able to growl loudly as he squirted his cum in her again and again. He lifted himself off the witch, who now happily rolled over and went to sleep and would wake several hours later with no recollection of this encounter at all. The scarecrow slowly walked upstairs to where he heard the TV. He wondered why the witch's daughter and her boyfriend had never reacted to the commotion downstairs, but when he reached the upper landing he could tell by the odor the young couple had been smoking marijuana all night and were most likely too wasted to intervene. He realized this fact was a delightful addition to his plan for revenge. He opened the daughter's bedroom door to see them lying on her bed twisted around each other, the air still thick with pot smoke. The scarecrow shuffled to the bed and stood over the couple for quite a while; they were both naked and had clearly been making love in between hits on the bong. The daughter appeared to be a twenty-year younger version of her mother, even down to the large, pink, candy drop-like nipples protruding from her large breasts. As the scarecrow stood there staring at the young couple, he saw the boyfriend stir slightly and raised his sickle knife in anticipation... The boyfriend mumbled, and the knife went higher... He now rubbed his eyes slightly, and the sickle was as high over head as the scarecrow could lift it... The boyfriend finally opened his eyes, and for perhaps half a second didn't realize what he saw standing over him... He then realized he was looking at his own bloody death, and had just begun to suck in the breath he would use to scream out for help when the scarecrow brought the sickle knife down with crushing force onto the boyfriend's neck, lopping his head off with one powerful stroke. The quiet hiss of the young man's blood squirting out of disconnected arteries erupted as his head rolled into the corner, and then silence. Alone with the daughter, the scarecrow looked at her longingly and again found his massive cock very responsive, standing up rigid and hard. She lay there on her belly, now covered in her boyfriend's blood, and blissfully unaware of the horror of this Halloween night. He slowly pulled the blood-soaked sheets down to reveal her entire body and found that her ass was a perfect, albeit younger version of her mother's. She lay there with her arms under her pillows supporting her head, her right leg pulled up and clearly exposing her recently-fucked ass, and the way forward was now clear to the scarecrow. Sliding down behind her, the scarecrow again cast his powerful stupefying spell, then grabbed her ass and pulled her into the doggy position and gently nudged his cock into her asshole. The scarecrow's gigantic, straw-like cock was shoved unceremoniously into the daughter's cum-lubricated ass, spreading her tender flesh far wider than it had ever been opened before and filling her to a depth she had never experienced. If she had been fully conscious of what was happening the daughter would have cum many times just as a result of the delicious pressure. Once the scarecrow had opened her ass well enough to easily take his cock he quickly began to pump her faster and faster. He slammed into her with all his force and power, just as he had done to her mother. Yanking back on her arms with such force and so far that they nearly snapped, the scarecrow pulled her ass towards him even as he slammed into it, forcing himself far deeper than any man had ever been before. He again spent himself in what felt like far too soon an amount of time for such delicious revenge, filling her ass with so much cum that it soon began to squirt out of her and all around his cock. After a moment of recovery the scarecrow then stood and took up the sickle knife again, but rather than hurting the daughter he placed it in her hand and squeezed tightly to imprint her finger prints on it cleanly. He then slowly shuffled his way out of the house, feeling a vengeance far more satisfying then merely slaughtering the family. He laughed in a wet, gurgling way as he left. The scarecrow knew full well that when the daughter awoke to see her boyfriend decapitated and the bloody sickle knife in her own hand she would begin to scream in wild hysterics and her mother would respond. The police would be called, the daughter's drug use would explain the heinous event, and she would go to jail. The witch would have her daughter ripped from her, alone to suffer and wonder what happened. The scarecrow laughed again more loudly, exceedingly pleased with the way in which his plan came about. His vengeance complete, his twisted and tormented soul satiated, the scarecrow now slowly walked back to his crossbeam, the only home he had ever known during his sad, misbegotten existence. There he waited, facing east, now only wishing for the dawn's first beams of sunlight to touch his magically-animated body. When they did, the power that had so briefly moved his body yet so long imprisoned him in mute misery left him forever, and the scarecrow now crumpled into a lifeless pile of burlap, old clothes, and straw. Halloween had come and gone, and with it a vengeance complete. The Scared Mate A/N: I want to write this story a little differently than my last two. I'm hoping to use an editor. So if anyone is interested please let me know. Thanks, Sherry. ***** Wyatt The coffee wasn't strong enough. Wyatt glanced at his phone, it was 11 pm, he wasn't ready to leave the diner, but if he stayed much longer he might risk falling asleep at the wheel. A yawn escaped his mouth and he raised his hand to cover it. "Are we boring you?" Bridget asked. "You could never bore me," Wyatt replied. "But I've got a two hour drive back. I should get going." Wyatt pulled out his wallet and tossed some bills on the table. "Stay a little longer," Bridget said. "You can even stay the night." A low growl came from Eric. Bridget leaned back in the booth and poked him in the stomach with her elbow. Wyatt shook his head and stood up. It was strange enough for an Alpha to hang out this late of another pack's territory, staying the night without official business would just be straight up bizarre. Bridget pulled herself out of the booth and wrapped her arms around Wyatt's neck. He looked at her mate sensing how hard Eric was trying to keep his cool over this small interaction. Wyatt hugged her back and then pulled away, but she rested her hands on his shoulders. "Tell my family I miss them," Bridget said. Eric stood up and put his arms around Bridget's waist. She seemed to get the hint and let go of Wyatt. He wished she would be a little more respectful of Eric, especially since he permitted these social visits between them. Wyatt would have preferred dinner with just Bridget, but understood why Eric didn't want to leave her alone with an unmated wolf, and an Alpha from another pack at that. "Maybe next time we do this you can bring a date?" Eric asked. Bridget turned around and gave her mate a playful smack. "What?" Eric asked. "Wyatt is waiting for his mate," Bridget said. "Wyatt is closer to thirty than twenty, it's about time he thought of just settling down," Eric replied. Wyatt ran his hands through his light brown hair. He was in no mood to hear a lecture from the other Alpha. He looked at the couple standing in front of him. Eric's blond hair and blue eyes contrasted Bridget's jet black locks. A playful gleam crossed her hazel eyes and Wyatt couldn't help but think how they would have complimented his green ones. The familiar pang of jealousy ran through him. One he felt whenever the three of them were together. Wyatt wished Bridget were his. He forced the thoughts away, not wanting to give Eric any reason to hate him. "Maybe it's time you two stopped talking about Wyatt like he isn't in front of you." Wyatt flashed his smile at the couple before turning to walk out of the diner. "We're just concerned about you," Eric said. "You've been Alpha for eight years, it's hard enough without a Luna, but if you don't produce an heir someone may challenge your authority." "I don't see you two rushing to have children," Wyatt said. "But my packs knows it's a possibility," Eric said. "Yours doesn't." "Don't say that," Bridget interrupted. "He deserves to find his one true love." "What if she's dead?" Eric asked. "Plenty of unmated wolves have found happiness together." "What if she's not dead and then shows up once Wyatt has children with another woman?" What sort of situation would that put him in?" Wyatt zoned them out and started walking towards the exit. They weren't saying anything he hadn't already thought of, but the truth was the only woman who ever interested him was happily bickering behind him with her mate. The second he opened the door an over powering scent smacked him in the face, drawing him out of his thoughts. It was unlike anything he'd ever smelled before, all of his favorite aromas swirled into one. His brain tried to focus on just one, but it was too difficult. "Do you guys smell that?" "What?" Bridget asked. "Maple syrup?" There was a hint of that. "All I can smell is the garbage." Eric gave the dumpster a kick as they walked by. Wyatt looked at the forest beyond the parking lot. Even though it was pitch black he saw the trees rustle a little more than would be caused by just the wind. He continued to scan the area when Eric appeared right next to him, spreading his arms to block Bridget. "I smell it now," Eric said. "There's a rouge on my territory." "We're in neutral ground," Bridget reminded him. Wyatt wished they would both shut up. They continued to argue about property lines while the rustling grew closer. Wyatt walked to the tree line as the rustling came closer. A small figure burst from the woods into the parking lot. They collapsed on the ground, Wyatt took off running while Eric let out growl. Wyatt was about ten feet away when the small person lifted their head, locking eyes with Wyatt. He stopped dead in his tracks and felt like his heart was going to burst through his chest. One word ran through his mind. Mate. Before Wyatt could react Eric sped by him in a flash. The blond Alpha reached the small wolf first. He grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her up. "What are you doing here rouge?" Eric yelled. Now it was Wyatt's turn to growl. He sped forward and pushed Eric away from the girl. Surprise was on Wyatt's size and the other Alpha tumbled to the ground. Wyatt reached out and grabbed on to his mate, keeping her upright. The second his hands touched her skin he felt sparks spread through his body. It was almost euphoric. She stayed still in his arms with her head down. Long dirty hair covered her face and Wyatt wished so badly she would look up at him. He opened his mouth, about to ask her to look at him when he felt something slam into his jaw, pushing him back, away from her. The pain exploded and he let her go, bringing his hands to his face to protect himself. Eric stood in front of him, breathing heavily, his eyes gleaming for a fight. Wyatt felt his emotion switch to anger and was about to hit the other Alpha when Bridget ran in between them, positioning her back against Eric. "Stop it!" Wyatt looked at her and saw tears gleaming in her eyes. There was too much going on and for a moment Wyatt lost focus. Then he saw the small figure start running out of the parking lot. He ignored Eric and Bridget and started after her, but she was quick and made it to the middle of the road. He didn't mean to scare her. "Please stop running," Wyatt yelled. He was too focused on her he didn't even notice the vehicle. It appeared she listed to his request and the sound of a car horn blaring followed with the sick thumping of a body rolling over the top of a car echoed through the night. Page Break Eric One...two...three. Eric counted in his head. He needed to cool off and assess the situation, knowing Bridget wouldn't appreciate it if he ran after Wyatt and ripped the lesser wolf's throat out. The sound of a car horn stopped his mantra. He whipped his head towards the road and saw the rouge's body fly over the roof of a car. Wyatt ran to her and Bridget let out a scream. "Get the car," Eric told her. He recognized the other vehicle, it belonged to a pack member. The driver got out and ran around the back. "She came out of nowhere," Nick said. "I didn't see her. I couldn't stop." Wyatt had a terrified look on his face as he picked the rouge up off the ground. It clicked in Eric's head there was only one reason why a stranger could mean so much to him right away. He reverted his attention to Nick, the shaken up driver. "Go to Bridget," Eric ordered. "Wyatt get in the car with her. We're only five miles away from my doctor." It didn't take long for Wyatt to climb in the backseat of the still running vehicle. Eric jumped in the driver's seat and sped off. He could smell the blood of the rouge wolf and didn't say a word as he drove into his own territory. They drove in silence as Eric sped down the unlit roads. They were getting close when the sounds of choking came from the backseat. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the girl convulsing. A panicked Wyatt's voice traveled through the car. "She's dying." Eric saw tears on the other wolf's face. He pushed his foot down on the gas, pushing the car to it's limit. "She's a wolf," Eric said. "She will survive." The statement should have been true, but Eric had his doubts. He wondered how old she was. Most adult wolves were tall, but when he spotted her earlier she looked barely five foot. She had to be at least eighteen, or else Wyatt wouldn't have recognized her as his mate. Something was very off about this rouge. Eric whipped the car down the gravel road, but tried not to reduce his speed too much. He mentally sent notice to his pack members to avoid this road and told the doctor to assemble his medical team. They approached the building that housed the pack clinic and Eric came to a stop. The three nurses and doctor came to meet them with a stretcher. Wyatt set down the still convulsing she-wolf and they took off with her towards the building. Eric saw the mess she had become in the headlights. There was too much blood. He turned the car off and stepped outside. The night's events had left him momentarily stunned. Eric was replaying them in his mind, so deep in thought he didn't hear the other car approach. "What's happening?" Bridget called as she ran up to him. "Where's Wyatt? Who's that girl?" Eric gave the answer he was certain Bridget already knew. "His mate." There was no hiding the flash of confusion on Bridget's face. Eric had long tolerated Wyatt and his mate's friendship and was well aware of their mutual affection. He tried his best to burry concerns or petty jealousy. "Who is she though?" Bridget asked once she regained her composure. "That's the question I'd like answered," Eric said. He lifted his arm and Bridget came to him and pressed her head against his chest. He started walking her towards the clinic, knowing she would want to offer comfort to Wyatt the second she was able. Eric had other things on his mind though. Something about the tiny werewolf was off and he couldn't relax as long as she was in his territory. Wyatt The past few hours had been the worst in Wyatt's life. As soon as they arrived the Doctor had whisked away with his mate. The only thing keeping him sane was Bridget, who never left his side. He dropped his head and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "What's taking so long?" Wyatt asked, unsure he wanted a response. "Remember when we were little? You fell out of that tree and broke your arm and your mom made you go to the clinic? I sat in the waiting room for what felt like forever waiting to hear you were okay." Wyatt stood up and started pacing again. "Only that time wasn't hours," Wyatt said. "My arm was already healed by the time we got to the doctor. My mom was just over reacting." Wyatt knew his mate's injuries had to be serious, or else she would have healed herself by now. He didn't even know her name. That thought kept running through his head, driving him insane. "What if...what if she doesn't..." "The doctor here is wonderful," Bridget interrupted him. "One of the perks of switching to a larger pack I suppose." "There's nothing wrong with a small pack," Wyatt snapped back. He knew she didn't mean anything by her comment, except to distract him. It had momentarily worked. "She's in good hands," Bridget said. The front door to the building swung open and Eric walked in, the sun shining behind him. Wyatt didn't have any form of mental link with this pack and wondered if Eric had received any news. The Alpha shook his head. "I told the Doctor to come tell you first," Eric said, almost as if he could read Wyatt's mind. "Bridget why don't you go get some sleep." "I'm not leaving Wyatt," Bridget said. "You're no good to anyone exhausted," Eric replied. "He needs me," Bridget said. Wyatt went back to his pacing, ignoring their bickering yet again. Once he was with his mate he would make sure they didn't have these small arguments all the time. He would treat her like the goddess she was. He let his mind wonder to taking her home, showing her off to the pack. The visions of his members smiling in awe at their new Luna gave him hope. "Fine," Eric said. "Do what you want." The anger was rolling off the other Alpha. He turned and exited the building, slamming the door behind him as he left. "Don't let Eric upset you," Bridget said. "He's not," Wyatt replied. "He doesn't understand how we can still be so close," Bridget said. "I keep telling him he has nothing to worry about." "I appreciate the fact he lets us still see each other," Wyatt said. "Not all mates would be as understanding." Wyatt watched as Bridget stood up from her seat. She came to Wyatt with open arms and he embraced his best friend, though for the first time found little comfort in her touch. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I know," Wyatt said. For a brief second Wyatt felt himself relax, but another door flung open. He let go of Bridget and turned to see the Doctor. A look of shock was on the older man's face, probably because another Alpha was embracing his Luna. Eric's pack wouldn't appreciate their relationship either. Wyatt held his breath, unsure what question to ask first. "How is she Dr. Knolls?' Bridget asked for him. This seemed to shake the Doctor back to reality. "I expect her to make a full recovery," the Doctor said. Wyatt let the breath out of his lungs, never feeling such relief in his life. "Can I see her?" Wyatt asked. "Why don't you have a seat first," Dr. Knolls instructed. "I want to go over some things with you." Rather than argue Wyatt sat down, eager to finish this up and go be with his mate. "She lost a large amount of blood, punctured a lung, and broke her back." "Oh my God," Bridget muttered. "That's not what concerns me," Dr. Knolls said. "Even though she was hit by a car the injuries should have started to heal faster than they did. We were able to stabilize her and she still didn't start to heal. I gave her a dose of wolfsbane and only then did she respond." Wyatt snarled at the mention of wolfsbane. The only wolves he knew who used it were drug addicts. He didn't know it had a medicinal purpose. Dr. Knolls ignored his obvious dislike of the drug and continued. "But then she started responding rapidly. Almost putting herself back together at an impossible rate. It was then I noticed the rest of her injuries." "The rest?" Bridget asked. "I would peg her to be in her mid twenties, but she is extremely short for a wolf, maybe 5'3". That and she is sickly thin and incredibly pale. There was a lot of scar tissue too." "What are you saying?" Wyatt asked. The Doctor took a breath, trying to choose his words carefully. "She's lived a hard life," Dr. Knolls said. "It wouldn't surprise me if we find out someone did this to her." Wyatt felt his heart tighten. "Are you saying she was abused?" Bridget asked. "I would go with tortured." Never one for violence Wyatt had heard enough he stood up and went to the wall, pulling his arm back he punched it with all his strength. The drywall didn't stand a chance and caved under the pressure. He couldn't focus on any one thing. His ears rang, unsure if Bridget or the Doctor were still talking or not. Wyatt ignored the pain in his hand and spun around to face the room again. "I would like to see her," Wyatt said. The Doctor and Bridget were both already standing. Dr. Knolls just nodded his head and started towards the door. Bridget started to follow but Wyatt gave her one look. A pout crossed her face, but she took her seat. As Wyatt followed the Doctor down the hall all he could think about was someone hurting his mate. He had failed to protect her before he even met her. All those years he wasted, sitting around waiting for her to show up, he should have known something was wrong. He should have been actively searching for her. He vowed right then and there to spend the rest of his life making it up to her. "She's still asleep." Dr. Knolls paused in front of a door. "I gave her enough sedative she shouldn't wake for several hours. I wanted to make sure she had enough time to recover." Wyatt nodded his head and the Doctor opened the door. He felt his heart rate increase, anxious to get a good look at his mate's face, but what met him shocked him more than he thought possible. An empty bed. Eric The other Alpha had been on his territory for too long. That with the sleeping rouge was too much. It was making Eric tense. He wished Bridget was available to cool him down, but she was too bust comforting Wyatt. Eric reminded himself their relationship was more like brother and sister, but that offered him little peace of mind given the stress he was under. After Bridget refused to go to bed, Eric left the clinic in a rage. Needing to calm down he decided to take a run. He pulled off his shirt and shifted forms, eager to blow off some steam. As he let his wolf take over worries about Bridget and Wyatt faded away. His number one priority was his pack. He knew a patrol wasn't necessary, he had already ordered one the second he smelled that rouge. The rouge who was now a guest in his clinic. If Eric could take any solace in this whole debacle it was that Wyatt found his mate and will finally leave Bridget alone. Sir, the girl, she's missing. Doctor Knoll's voice broke Eric's thoughts. Do you want me to alert the pack? I know you said to keep this quiet. No, Eric replied. I'll find her myself. Eric turned around and started back towards the clinic, hoping to catch her scent. He was sure Wyatt was already looking, the last thing he wanted was the pack to hunt down the other Alpha on their land. The undeniable scent of the rogue was easy to detect. Soon after he got her smell she came into view. Eric was surprised she hadn't shifted. The hospital gown looked ten sizes too big for her and her very long hair made her look like a mad woman as she clawed her way through his forest, stumbling as she ran. It didn't take long for Eric to get in front of her. She didn't notice and plowed right into him, knocking herself to the forest floor. He reached down and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her up until she was eye level with him. He was about to yell at her, demanding to know who she was and what made her think she could traverse freely across his land, when she locked eyes with him his mind went blank. Her blue eyes were large, but the skin on her face was so thin it made her look hollow. He realized she weighed almost nothing as he held her up, her arms felt like bones. She was starving. Even though Eric's concentration was broken it became apparent hers was not. The terror he saw originally vanished into anger. She started kicking at him wildly and attempting to twist and free herself. Eric wrapped his arms around her as she struggled, knowing she didn't stand a chance against his much larger frame. "Calm down," Eric yelled. "I'm not going to hurt you." The only response he received was an increase in her breathing, she was starting to hyperventilate. "If you keep that up you will pass out," Eric said. He could feel her heart thumping away at an almost impossible rate. "Let her go," Wyatt said. Eric snapped his head up, knowing if he loosened his grip at all the rouge would run away again. "Let her go now." Wyatt was trying his hardest to sound stern, but his voice still had the slightest hint of uncertainty. As Eric predicted the young girl took one more deep pained breath before she went limp in his arms. Eric did as instructed by the other Alpha and let the girl go. She fell in a heap at his feet. Wyatt ran over and Eric started to walk casually away from them. The Scared Mate "Bring here back to the clinic," Eric said. This time but some cuffs on her, Eric added mentally to Dr. Knolls. Eric decided to head back to his house and not the clinic. Whatever this girl's problem was it didn't concern him. He pushed the image of her sunken face out of his mind. She was Wyatt's problem, not his. Wyatt Wyatt looked over at his passenger's seat. He had reclined it all the way back and buckled her in, but he still wished he could have made her more comfortable. She hadn't awoken since this morning's events, Bridget insisted he stayed until she did, but Eric was making it clear his patience was running out. She desperately needed to put on some weight, Dr. Knolls what surprised she had survived this long being so malnourished, but outside of that there was no reason to keep her on the other pack's land. Wyatt had already let his pack know they were coming and thought his own doctor capable of assisting with that. Wyatt rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on the road. He couldn't stop glancing over at her, part of him willing her to awaken and part of him praying she stayed sleeping over the two-hour trip. After a few more minutes of thinking about the pros and cons of each option a small moan came from the girl's lips. Wyatt felt his heart race. She was waking up. Her head rolled from side to side and her moan turned more into a groan. Wyatt cleared his throat. "Don't move too quickly," he said. Apparently that was the wrong this to say. She shot upright in her seat and went for the door handle. "Please don't do that," Wyatt said. "The doors are all locked. I'm driving about 70 mph and if you did manage to get out of the car you probably wouldn't survive at this speed. Just try and stay calm. You got yourself so worked up earlier you passed out." She plastered herself against the door, trying to get as far away from him as possible. He didn't dare stop the car, sure she would make a run for it then. Instead he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a bottle of water, setting it next to her on the seat. "Before we left the Bloodmoon pack the Doctor filled your stomach," Wyatt said. "It was with a feeding tube, pretty much pure nutrients. He said you might have a dry mouth when you woke up." She turned her head away from the window. Wyatt tried to keep his eyes focused on the road and not on her. "He said you hadn't eaten in some time," Wyatt continued. "We have to get you to put on some weight. You can trust me, there's nothing wrong with the water." Wyatt knew he was babbling, and could feel the girl's eyes on him. Before he dove into the million questions running through his mind he had to get her to show some form of trust. "We're going home," Wyatt said. "Well to your new home, my old home. I'm the Alpha of the Eights. Which makes you the new Luna. That tall blond guy, that's Eric, he's the Alpha of the Bloodmoons. I'm not sure how familiar you are with the North American packs, but the Eights are a smaller pack. We're called the Eights because about one hundred years ago there were only eight members left, everyone thought we were going to fade out, but with perseverance and hard work we recruited new members, realigned our focuses and prospered. Now there are two hundred ten of us, eleven including you." The girl started to cough. Wyatt reached over and grabbed the water bottle. Leaving one hand on the wheel he unscrewed the top and took a drink before handing it to her. "See, nothing wrong with the water," Wyatt said. He felt her grab the drink with a shaky hand and in his peripheral vision saw her start to chug it down. "Easy," Wyatt said. "Don't drink too fast. The good Doctor warned about pacing yourself, it might be a little easy for you to throw up." She seemed to listen to him and the gulping sound faded away. "I'm Wyatt Baxter, why don't you tell me your name." No response. Wyatt sighed. "Not much of a talker?" Wyatt asked. "I apparently can rant away. I'm sure you have a million questions though. Ask me whatever you want." Still there was silence from his traveling companion. Then a new question came to mind. "Can you speak?" He felt his heart breaking. The Doctor said she was miraculously fine, except for the weight issue. Wyatt had tried to block out thinking what she had been through in the past. He wanted to focus on the future and giving her the best life possible from here on out. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her, but something had to be said. "I don't know where you've been, or who hurt you," Wyatt said. "But please believe me when I say I will die before any more harm comes your way. You're my mate, the one person made for me. I am so so sorry that I didn't find you earlier. I promise to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, in whatever way you see fit." The silence in the car was heavy. Wyatt wished he knew what she was thinking or how she was feeling. But then she opened her mouth and with one simple word he felt better. "Charlotte." Charlotte It took several deep breaths for Charlie to center her thoughts. She had made it this far and wasn't about to give up. Blindly escaping had been unsuccessful and the guy driving the car had a point about her splattering when she hit the pavement. He kept right on talking, but she wasn't paying any attention to the words coming out of his mouth. She eyed him up and down, he was lean but toned. Her strength was far from full and there was no way she would be able to outrun him. It was obvious he was trying hard to hide the sad look on his face, but Charlie could see it. She felt a pang of guilt. She was the cause of that pain. Guilt was soon replaced by anger. He was her mate, she knew that before she saw him. That was her first mistake, following his scent. At that point she was exhausted and starving, mistaking the delicious aroma for an all you can eat buffet. She had given up on the idea of a mate years ago. Fate was cruel. She didn't need him or want him now. "We're almost home," he said. Home was not a word that brought Charlie any sense of comfort. This man's idea of home meant a pack land, and that meant other wolves who would likely try and block her escape. She had to be clever about this, bide her time and strike with efficiency. They pulled off the main road and his speed dropped. Charlie grabbed the door handle. Instincts were kicking in, telling her to force open the car door and make a run for it. He noticed her movement. "Please don't," he said. She pulled her hand back and he smiled. "I'm going to take you straight to my house, I mean our house," Wyatt said. "The rest of the pack is very eager to meet you, but I told them they have to wait. My Beta will be there, his name is Tristan, you met his sister Bridget. She's the Luna of Bloodmoon." A stoke of good luck. Charlie was used to pack houses. It would have been unheard of for the Alpha, or any member of the pack, to live alone. Maybe getting out of here would be easier than she thought. "I'm sure you're not very familiar with the workings of a pack," Wyatt said. "Again, that is my fault. I will make it up to you, I promise." Charlie was too familiar with the workings of a pack, she felt a shutter work it's way through her body as flashes of her former Alpha came to mind. She reached behind her and grabbed her shoulder, remembering what it felt like when he had stabbed her there for the first time. "I didn't mean to upset you," Wyatt said. "I won't bring up the past again, unless you want to tell me about it." Charlie felt her eye's go wide. Why in the world would she tell him anything? He started babbling again, but Charlie turned her attention back to the window. There was one long road to the main drive, then he started turning down smaller paths. The trees here were dense, but she was used to thicker. She counted the turns and tried to memorize the way back out, focusing so much on the directions she didn't notice the car was coming to a stop. "Here it is," Wyatt said. "Before you get out, I was hoping to make one request. I know that you're uncomfortable and have been through a lot, but I just want to help you. I can do that best if you give me a chance. Please don't run. Dr. Knolls seemed to this the best way to keep you safe was to sedate you for some time, but I really don't think that's best. Please don't run." Charlie kept a blank face and nodded her head. If this guy thought she should be grateful because he didn't drug her he had some crazy ideas about appreciation. He did give her a smile and for a moment her heart fluttered and she had the urge to throw herself in his arms. She closed her eyes and forced the feelings away. You've come too far, worked too hard to get caught up over a man. Freedom is yours. Charlie opened her eyes. He stepped out of the car and walked around to her side, he opened the door and offered his hand. Charlie looked down and unbuckled her seatbelt, needing to avoid touching this man as much as possible. She had to focus on the layout, start plotting the best escape route, not try and ignore whatever sparks or feelings a mate was sure to ignite. He got the hint and held out his arm, signaling for her to get in front of him. She was sure he expected her to take off, the man didn't seem like a complete moron. When she looked up she was shocked at the large house. It was the size of the main house of her old pack. Images of the older building came to mind and Charlie's feet froze in fear. She felt her stomach muscles clench when the memories of the basement flooded back. Her Alpha, lining up the different chains and blades he was going to use that day. She almost let out a scream when Wyatt brought her back to reality. "I know it's a little big for just one person," Wyatt said. "I built it myself, started on it when I turned eighteen. I always planned on filling it with my family, hoping to have a lot of kids. Do you want children?" Charlie looked over at him. He gave the charming little laugh he gives when he's nervous. He brought his hand up and ran it through his hair, another tell of his edginess. "I guess it's a little soon for that question," Wyatt said. "The front door is unlocked, go on in and I will give you the tour." Charlie walked towards the door, her head cleared when she realized this house looked nothing like the old pack house. It may have been large, but the outside was modern and openly designed as a single family home, not the apartment style the old lodge was. She could picture a loving family sitting on the oversized front porch, little children playing with toys while happy parents looked on from the built in swing. There was a pain in Charlie's heart at the image, because she knew that would never be her life. That future had vanished years ago. Charlie needed to get out of here, imaging what her life would have been was causing too much pain. She had given up that dream a long time ago. With one hand she gripped the doorknob and pushed it open, hoping to get the tour over with quickly and find the best route for escape in the process. As she stepped inside a loud noise followed. Charlie felt her heart race as she looked up. The sound was familiar. "Kill her, traitor, worthless," all the voices chanted. They were getting louder making it harder to focus. Her pack was here. They had hunted her down and found her. Charlie didn't wait a second before turning and running. She had forgotten about the Alpha standing behind her. She ran smack into him before tumbling to the ground. When she looked up at him the face of her mate was gone. In it's place was Alpha Evans, her former tormentor. Wyatt was a liar, this had all been a trap. Charlie felt like her heart was going to explode before everything went black. Wyatt Her hair cascades down her shoulders in princess like waves. She looked so peaceful, even though his king sized bed dwarfed her. Wyatt looked at her beautiful face, there were now tubes in her mouth and nose, her skin looked almost translucent. The skin was so thin the white of her bones was shining through. "Eric's Doctor said she would be fine," Wyatt said. "Just needed to put on some weight." Trish put her stethoscope back around her neck. The older wolf looked tired. She squinted her eyes and pressed the bridge of her nose. "I don't understand," Trish said. "Our new Luna is a medically anomaly." "Is she going to make it?" Wyatt felt like he'd asked that question too many times over the last several days. "I think so," Trish said. She walked away from the bed and pulled over a chair. Wyatt reached over and grabbed Charlotte's hand, knowing it was giving him more comfort than her. "By all means she should be dead," Trish said. "I'm shocked that she didn't pass on months, if not years, ago. Wolf or not her body has survived a lot of trauma. The surprise put more stress on her heart, which I believe momentarily gave out and caused her to collapse." Whoever thought it was a good idea to throw a welcome party was going to have a talking to, Wyatt would deal with that later. "If she put on some weight then her heart wouldn't have to work so hard," Trish continued. "At least that's my guess." "Your guess?" Wyatt asked. Trish stood up from her chair and walked over to Charlotte. She pulled the shoulder of the shirt Charlotte was wearing down and slightly turned her over. The little bit of exposed skin showed a deep scar. "By our nature we don't scar," Trish said. "But her pack and torso are covered with these. If her body was weak enough it couldn't completely heal from these attacks that tells me whatever she has been through was ongoing. She should have weakened enough that her whole body shut down. I don't even know if an Alpha would have been able to survive this sort of punishment." Wyatt reached out with his other hand and ran his fingers over the exposed scar. This was his fault. "But she did survive and was running around," Trish said. "I would give her some forced rest and relaxation, with no stress whatsoever." "Forced?" "Keep her sedated, keep the feeding tube in place," Trish said. "That's what will give her the best shot. If her heart is giving out that's not a good sign. Like I said earlier, I'm surprised she's even alive. I'd love to perform some additional tests, figure out what she...possesses that makes her this strong." "I don't care why, I'm just glad she is," Wyatt said. There was no way he was letting anyone poke or prod her unnecessarily. "It's hard to keep her sedated, the last time didn't work so well." "We'll have twenty-four hour monitoring of her," Trish said. "If she starts to stir I'll make sure more drugs are administered. I think she needs at least a week, if not two." "Whatever you think best," Wyatt said. This wasn't the course of action he had hoped for, but he wasn't about to gamble with her health. "I want her to stay here, bring whatever you need from your office. When she wakes up I want her at home." Wyatt leaned down and gave her hand a kiss before standing up. He pulled out his phone and saw five missed calls from Bridget. Before he could call her back he had to take care of some pack business, starting with finding out who ignored his orders and thought throwing a party was a good idea. Eric The familiar vibration of a cell phone woke Eric up. Bridget shot upright in bed, her face dropped when she saw the sound was not coming from her own phone. Eric reached over to the nightstand and grabbed his device. "Hello?" Eric said. "Good morning Alpha," Dr. Knolls said. "Sorry to call so early, but you told me to contact you as soon as the results came back. I tried to link with you but your shield is still up." Eric almost always had his shield up, unless there was a major concern happening. The only person he wanted with easy access to his mind was Bridget. "Meet me at my office in fifteen minutes," Eric said. He ended the call and sat up in bed. Bridget's black hair was tussled from the pillow, but it was obvious she hadn't slept. "I'm sure he will reach out to you when he's got time," Eric said not trying to hide the annoyance in his voice. "It's been a week," Bridget said. "Wyatt has his hands full," Eric said. "Have you talked to Benny?" "My brother won't tell me anything," Bridget said. "He thinks I'm a member of a rival pack or something, all he'll say is Wyatt is fine and Charlotte is fine." "Benny is a good Beta," Eric replied. "And he's right. This is your pack now, care a little bit more about them and less about your old Alpha." "Wyatt is my best friend," Bridget said. "We've never gone this long without speaking." Eric stood up and walked over to the closet, pulling on a t-shirt and some pants. "Maybe it's time you found a new best friend," Eric said. "A female one." "Who was on the phone?" Bridget asked. Eric wasn't surprised she was changing the subject. "Cliff," Eric lied. "He wants to talk about the rogue issue." "Was another one sighted?" "I'm not sure," Eric said. "You spend a lot of time worrying about rogues, I've never even seen one," Bridget said. "At the Eights we didn't really see them as a threat." "Well the Eights is a small pack, Bloodmoon is a large pack," Eric said. "Consider yourself lucky you've never met a rogue. They're mean, crazy, and would have no problem eating your throat just because they feel like it." "Why?" Eric walked back over to the bed. Bridget had the sheet clutched to her chest. In the months they'd been together she never asked much about his business or pack concerns. He was glad to have her attention on this. "A wolf, any wolf, without a pack goes crazy," Eric said. "It's in our nature to want to bond together. The longer they're alone the more insane they become." "Why don't all the rogues get together and form a new pack?" Bridget asked. "Then they wouldn't be rogues any longer." Eric laughed. Bridget dropped her inquisitive face and looked hurt. "I'm sorry," Eric said. He sat down on the bed. "Most rogues did something to get kicked out of a pack. By the time they find each other they're too unstable to even bond. Then on top of that they would need an Alpha, but I doubt there are any rogues out there with Alpha blood. While a strong wolf could try to lead without the Alpha instincts it would be hard to command a group of bad, crazy, people." Bridget bit the corner of her lip and scrunched her eyebrows. "What if a rogue finds their mate? Would that calm them down?" Eric shrugged. "I've never heard of a rogue finding a mate. Why are you asking?" "It's just...Do you think that Wyatt is in danger? I mean Charlotte is obviously a rogue right?" Eric felt his temper flare. He stood up from the bed and started towards the door. "What?" Bridget asked. "For a split second I thought you actually cared about what happens in your own pack," Eric said. "But again it was just concern for Wyatt. Well let me ease your mind. The man is a wimp, but even he is safe from a 90 pound girl." Eric didn't wait for a response. He walked out of their bedroom and headed towards his office. On his walk he passed several other wolves who lived in the pack house. One look at his face told them to leave him alone. When he arrived at his destination he pushed open the door. Dr. Knolls jumped up, surprised by Eric's announcement. Eric walked around his huge mahogany desk and sat down in the chair. "It's already been a rough morning," Eric said. "Please tell me you have something that will make me smile." Dr. Knolls handed over a file. The man's hand was shaking. Eric didn't mean to take out his anger on the doctor, but didn't see anything wrong with keeping his pack members on their toes around him. He flipped through the pages and looked up at the Doctor. The Scared Mate "This can't be right," Eric said. "I ran it through myself a second and third time," Dr. Knolls replied. "And you're certain the blood sample was from the girl?" "I took it myself." "But this isn't possible," Eric said. "It wasn't until now." Eric dropped the file on the desk and leaned back in his chair. Suddenly Wyatt's new little mate was a whole lot more interesting. "Thank you Doctor," Eric said. "You can go, and please, keep this to yourself." "Of course," Dr. Knolls smiled at Eric. Eric nodded his head at the man, knowing he appreciated the acknowledgment of his Alpha. Once Eric was alone he pulled out his cellphone, scrolled to the contact and hit send. He wasn't surprised it went straight to voicemail. "Alpha Baxt...Wyatt. This is Eric, I'm sure that you've been getting enough phone calls from my mate, but I wanted to personally contact you and see how things were going. I would also like to extend an open invitation for you and your mate to return to my lands whenever you like. If there is anything I can do for you, please let me know." Eric ended the call and sat up at his desk. He hoped that the voicemail sounded sincere enough. The puzzle surrounding the other Alpha's mate was getting more interesting by the second and Eric wanted to be there when the pieces came together. Charlotte A small pop sounded in Charlie's ears as she opened her eyes. Out of habit she clenched her stomach, but then realized it didn't hurt for the first time in recent memory. She looked down and saw a tube coming out of her hand, her eyes traced the source to an IV pump next to the bed she was laying in. Charlie wasted no time grabbing ahold of the IV and pulling it out of her. She winced as the needle slid out only to realize she wasn't able to close her mouth all the way. Horror creeped its way in when she realized another tube was in her mouth. Wasting no time she grabbed hold and pulled the tube out, gagging as it worked its way up her throat. After a quick pat down Charlie realized all the tubes were gone. She sat up in the bed and got a look at her surroundings. It didn't look like a hospital room, the bed she was in was a king with a modern metal frame. Contemporary art decorated the walls and she spotted three closed doors, no doubt leading to a bathroom, closet, and hall. On the other side were a set of glass double doors. This was not a room Charlie had ever seen before and certainly wasn't in her pack house. Before her confusion could set in memories of recent events came crashing down. The last thing she could remember was her so-called Mate bringing her to his house, everything after that was fuzzy, but this had to be it. Charlie swung her legs over the bed and stood up. She went to the glass doors and pushed them open, she expected to walk out onto a balcony but the room must have been on the ground floor. She stepped out onto a brick patio. A raindrop landed on her head and thunder crashed in the background. For once the universe seemed to be on her side. Goosebumps formed on her arms and Charlie realized someone had put her in a cotton nightgown. She didn't want to waste any time looking for other clothing and continued walking. She stuck close to the house as she rounded the side. There was a hill and Charlie slipped in the wet grass. The room she woke up in must have been in a basement. She stayed on the ground and crawled up the steep incline, digging her hands into the grass and pulling herself upward. Once she was on level ground again lightning lit up the sky and Charlie caught a glimpse of the driveway, parked right in front was the same car she'd come in on. Knowing the wrong choice could cost her everything Charlie decided it was worth a shot checking the vehicle for keys. She let the rain pelt her, hoping it washed away some of the mud, ignoring how cold she was growing. When she pulled on the driver's door it opened with ease. As the interior light came on she got a clear view of the key sticking out of the ignition. Charlie climbed in and closed the door behind her. The sound of the rain hitting the roof echoed through the car, but Charlie waited until she heard thunder again to turn the engine over, as the vehicle came to life Charlie let out a laugh. She backed the car down the driveway without turning the lights on yet. When she reached the gravel road she continued slowly, remembering the turns she took to get here. She arrived at the main road without attracting the attention of any other vehicles. As Charlie turned off the property of the Eights her foot slammed on the gas. She didn't care about the poor weather conditions, she had to get as far away as possible. There was a pain growing in her heart, and a small voice in the back of her head told her not to run away, that her mate would help her and keep her safe. Charlie shook it off. She knew the only person who could protect her was herself. She pushed her foot down again, knowing she would have to dump the car soon or else risk being traced. Wherever she ended up the one thing she wanted was to remain alone. Eric "Do you remember that one time we decided to sneak out and play in the rain?" Bridget was glowing when she looked at Wyatt. "Oh man, we got in so much trouble," Wyatt replied. The two of them droned on about yet another remember when story, Eric was trying his hardest not to groan. He needed to play nice, at least until he figured out what was going on with Wyatt's mate. He needed to steer the conversation back to her. "We are getting a little loud," Eric said. "Aren't you scared we will wake up Charlotte?" About the only thing Wyatt had said about her was her name, and not even a last name at that. Bridget gave Eric a scowl as Wyatt stopped laughing. "She's still in recovery," Wyatt said. "Sleeps through almost everything." "You two must be having fun getting to know each other," Eric said. "What have you discovered? Was she a rouge?" Wyatt grimaced and readjusted himself in his seat. "I'm not comfortable speaking for her," the other Alpha responded. "If she joined us I would ask her myself," Eric said. Bridget gave his leg a slap and Eric looked at her with confusion. "Can't you see Wyatt doesn't want to talk about her," Bridget said. "We are having a light easy going night, no need to get heavy." Eric's eyes darted to the other Alpha, he looked down at the ground and then stood up from his chair. The man seriously had no backbone, Eric would never allow someone else to speak for him like that. Wyatt had no pride. Before Eric accidentally spoke his mind he remembered he needed to stay on the guy's good side for the time being. "I need another drink," Bridget said. "It's getting a little late," Wyatt replied. "Do you guys want a guest room? The storm is still going." "It's barely midnight," Bridget whined. "At least one more drink, we've barely made a dent in the bottle." "I'll get them," Eric said. "I'm sure you two have more you want to catch up on." "Please?" Bridget looked at Wyatt with puppy dog eyes. Eric would have put a stop to this behavior a week ago, but he had bigger interests than getting jealous over his mate. It was almost like Bridget was trying to antagonize him. He walked into Wyatt's kitchen, not surprised to hear the conversation continue as soon as he left the room. He debated on trying to find Charlotte, but he was sure she was upstairs in Wyatt's room. There was no way to get upstairs without being noticed. Eric decided the best way to accomplish that was with a distraction. Taking two of the glasses Eric poured a healthy amount of booze followed by a splash of mixer. He took the third glass and put only juice. It took a lot for a shifter to get drunk, but Eric was confident he could pull it off. This way when Wyatt's mate woke up in the morning Eric could be wide awake and waiting, without worrying about questions from Wyatt or Bridget.