7. Morgan
MORGAN
It’s a beautiful night.
Well, it would be under any other circumstances.
The sky is a dark, inky black, stars sprinkled throughout like glitter, and the moon is the brightest I’ve seen it in a long while. I’ve always loved camping outside, with the sounds of the forest surrounding me, like nature’s white noise.
Admittedly every time I’ve done it before I’ve been with Ash, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a tiny bit of apprehension as night falls.
But there’s nothing except the usual sounds of a forest coming alive at night, nothing I haven’t heard a hundred times over the years, and as the hours tick by, I slowly relax into the warmth of my sleeping bag.
Try as I might, though, I struggle to appreciate any of it.
The sting of rejection, the embarrassment of having it happen in front of what looked like half the fucking club, lodges in my chest like a boulder.
So fucking stupid.
I should probably have gone home. Well, back to Ash’s, because as of tomorrow I don’t have a home. That’s too painful to think about, especially out here on my own, so I push it aside, like I have done for the past few days.
Is it healthy?
No.
Productive?
Absolutely not.
But it’s all I can manage right now.
I stare up at the sky, try to pick out the few constellations I know, and fail miserably. But I keep at it. Anything to stop me having to think about the future.
Thoughts manage to creep in anyway.
I’ll have to take Ash up on his offer. If only for a few days until I can come up with something else. It’s the last thing I want to do, but he’d kill me if I didn’t let him help when there’s literally no other option.
I don’t have the money to waste on a hotel or anything like that. And as much as I like the odd night outside, I don’t think I could handle living rough.
And yet you thought a dodgy-as-fuck motorcycle club was a good option?
My subconscious can be a real bitch sometimes.
None of that matters now.
But I need a night away from everything to lick my wounds and claw back some self-respect. So they didn’t want me? Fuck them.
Fuck all of them.
I must’ve fallen asleep, because I’m startled awake by hot breath washing over my face. It’s smells coppery and gross, and I reach up to shove whatever it is away from me before my mind catches up to what’s actually happening.
Fuck .
My whole body freezes, my eyes now clamped tightly shut.
It’s just someone’s dog, right?
Someone out for a walk in the middle of the night in the woods.
Yeah, right, who does that?
Serial killers, that’s who.
Jesus, Morgan. Just open your fucking eyes.
It’s harder than it should be to force my eyes open. Even with the moonlight, it takes a few seconds for my vision to adjust. And then I immediately wish it hadn’t.
What the actual fuck?
Maybe I’m still asleep. Maybe this is like one of those waking dreams where everything seems real but isn’t.
That’s got to be it, because what else would explain the four fucking wolves staring back at me? I mean, I think they’re wolves. They look like wolves, but this is England for god’s sake. They can’t be, right?
Someone’s probably got some big, and probably illegal, dogs.
And they’re all watching me.
My pulse races, heart pounding so loud it’s like a drum solo in my head. It takes all my willpower, but I manage to tear my gaze off them and scan the forest for a torchlight or anything to suggest they’re just pets out for a midnight stroll.
But there’s nothing.
I swallow, but there’s no moisture to be found in the desert my mouth’s become.
“You’re not gonna eat me, right?” Nervous laughter follows that ridiculous statement, but the wolf directly opposite me cocks its head to the side like it’s considering my question, and I swear the other three are smiling .
And then the wolves are gone.
In their place stand four very naked, very huge, and disturbingly familiar men.
My heart stops.
Literally stops beating for what feels like years, before setting off at the speed of light.
I can’t find words, can’t form a single thought in my mind, because...
No.
I shake my head, like that’ll make it all go away, and it’s met with mocking laughter.
“Well, look who it is.” Birch leers down at me, gaze lingering on my exposed throat, and I instinctively sink more into my sleeping bag.
More laughter.
I don’t know the names of the other three, but they’re the ones from the pub the other day. The ones who challenged the Wild Wolves.
Oh my god.
Wild Wolves, Feral Beasts.
My mind races a mile a minute, but it can’t be true. Their names can’t be literal, right?
Right?
I’ve heard the rumours about things that can’t be explained, we all have, but I didn’t think they’d be on our fucking doorstep.
In front of my face.
And more frightening than anything else—and let’s face it there’s a lot to be terrified of right now—they recognise me too. That can’t be good.
“Nothing to say?” Birch raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “No questions?”
Oh, I have questions all right. And I’m sure I’ll ask them once I work out how to speak again.
My mouth won’t work.
My limbs won’t work either.
My whole body seems to have gone into lock down from the shock and I’m trapped in my sleeping bag.
And what would you do if you could move?
Absolutely nothing, that’s what.
I’ve seen enough horror films to know that once you run, it’s all over. But lying here waiting for them to do something isn’t any better, is it?
“W-what do you want?” I manage, not even caring that I stutter. It’s a miracle I got words out at all.
All four of them laugh.
Birch turns to the guy next to him and grins. “W-what do we want, Phil?”
More laughter.
Phil’s gaze sharpens as he looks at me. He looks... hungry . And not in an I-want-to-rip-your-clothes-off sort of way either.
Birch crouches down next to me, and I can’t even flinch away, held captive by my own sleeping bag. He gets closer still and at this range I can pick out the dried blood around his mouth and down the side of his neck.
Somehow, I know it’s not his.
He inhales, long and deep, then snarls.
It’s the most terrifying sound I’ve ever heard, and my heart stops all over again. At this rate, it’ll give up before the night’s out.
“Fucking Harper .” Birch sits back on his haunches, gaze focused on my neck.
“Told you,” Phil says, coming closer. “He fucking reeks of them.”
Do I? I’m tempted to try and sniff myself, because that’s the important thing right now, Morgan .
I’d roll my eyes if I wasn’t busy trying not to piss myself.
“You been there tonight?” Birch reaches out and trails a finger down the side of my face and fucking ow !
I hiss as his nail digs into my skin, the pressure increases as he moves it downward, and something wet trickles down my cheek. When he draws his hand back and licks his finger, I have to bite back a whimper.
Claws.
Not nails.
He’s got claws coming out of his fucking fingers.
And that’s my blood he’s licking.
I feel sick.
“Did they pass you around like their own little human toy?”
Once again, I can’t speak. Can’t move. Can’t do anything other than lie there and feel the terror rise inside of me.
“No?” Birch’s eyes narrow. “Maybe Harper kept you all for himself. He looks like a selfish fucker.” He glances back over his shoulder at the other three with him, then back at me. “We share everything.”
Oh fuck, no.
That gets me moving. My flight response kicks in, and I scramble backwards to get out of my sleeping bag.
A massive hand clamps down on my leg. “Going somewhere?”
Before I can answer, he yanks me towards him like I weigh nothing. Material tears where his claws sink in. I freeze as he leans in and runs his nose up the side of my throat. My arms are pinned at my sides, so there’s nothing I can do but lie there and take it.
“You really do smell like him.” The words are soft but there’s something new in his voice that sends a cold lick of fear down my spine.
As if I wasn’t already terrified enough.
“Change of plan,” Birch says as he rips the front of my sleeping bag open wide. “We’re going to leave Harper a little gift.”
I don’t have time to think what that could mean before I’m hauled to my feet and slammed into the nearest tree. Breath whooshes out of me, and bark scrapes my back through my T-shirt, but I barely feel it over the pain of fucking claws digging into the base of my throat.
It hurts.
Like five tiny, sharp-as-fuck knives sliding into my skin. Birch licks a stripe up the side of my neck, and I flinch, making his claws sink in further.
“Now, now,” he whispers. “I thought you liked playing with wolves.”
Fuck.
A small part of me was happily in denial about what I’ve seen, but he has to go say it out loud. “Let me go.” My voice cracks as he tightens his grip. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Who would believe you?”
You’d be surprised.
I keep that to myself. “ Please .”
There’s a beat of silence when I think maybe he’s considering it, but then he lifts his head and looks me right in the eyes. All hope vanishes at the cold viciousness I find there.
“No.”
White-hot pain erupts across my belly, my scream cut off by a rough hand slapped across my mouth. Wetness coats my fingers when I wrap them round my stomach.
Blood.
So much blood.
Teeth sink into my shoulder, then the side of my neck before I’m thrown to the ground. I barely manage to brace my hands on the forest floor before they start in on me. Claws rake across my back like fire, then along the length of my thighs. I can’t catch my breath.
Pain. So. Much. Pain.
Oh god, I’m going to die.
And no one knows where I am.
I’m going to be lost forever in this fucking forest because pride wouldn’t let me go home.
Hands pull me to my feet again, and then I’m suddenly weightless. For one, two seconds I feel nothing but the air whip past me, and then I slam into something hard and unforgiving, crumpling in a heap on the ground.
Blackness dances at the edge of my vision.