2. Two
Two
June 2017 - Five Years Ago
Connor Kelly
U sually, I love running with my pack, especially with my twin sister, Niamh. I kind of hate to admit it, but she’s also my best friend. We even had our first shifts on the same night, shortly after our eighth birthday, which is super rare.
Today, though, I need some space.
Tomorrow marks seven years since our mum passed away. Nobody knows exactly why she ended up so far beyond our territory. Mum told my da she was off to do border checks, and when she never came home, he tracked her scent.
Da found her right where I’m standing, in the Forest of Bowland, which is neutral territory. She’d been caught in a bear trap. We don’t have bears here, and the traps have been illegal since the eighteen hundreds. My da spent years trying to get to the bottom of it, and it felt as if he lost a part of himself in the process.
He and my mum were mates. They met when they were eighteen and knew it through scent alone. My mum used to tell me my da smelled like a fine vintage leather jacket and trouble . He would wink at her and say, ‘ Aye, but I’m your brand of trouble’.
Seven years on, and my chest still aches to think of her. She’s the reason I fell in love with books. No matter what was going on in our lives and how busy everyone got, my mum would sit down each night and read to each of us. I’m pretty sure I still read so much because I like the idea of her looking down on me and feeling proud. I'm probably well past the age I should be seeking my dead mother's approval, but it is what it is. Reading feels like it tethers me somehow to her memory.
I try to outrun my melancholy thoughts. It’s best not to stop in this particular forest. Sometimes omegas live here. Omegas are wolf shifters that, for whatever reason, have ended up without a pack. If they don’t join another pack quickly enough, they get stuck in their wolf form and eventually become feral. They usually keep to themselves, but they can suddenly become violent if you accidentally encroach on what they consider their territory.
It rained heavily this morning, so the forest bed is bouncy under my paws, and everything smells more intense than usual. The air has been sticky for weeks, and there’s nothing quite like the crisp smell after the rain has cut through the humidity.
As we head into the summer months, all the foliage is luscious green, and the smell of rabbits and birds fills my nose. Before I realise how far I’ve run, I find myself right on the edge of the forest; slightly further on is Ingleton, which is right on the cusp of the Yorkshire Dales territory—the territory I’m forbidden to set foot on without my Alpha’s permission.
My pack’s territory is one of the largest in the UK. We’re a split pack, so beyond our territory in England, which spans from Liverpool through Manchester and up to the Peak District, we also have land in Mourne, Northern Ireland. My da travels back to Mourne as much as possible, but with the ongoing turf war with the Campbell pack, he can’t be there as much as he’d like.
My da was born into the Belfast pack but was expelled at eighteen because he was an Alpha-beta, and the Alpha saw him as a threat. That’s how he and my mum met. He petitioned to join the Peak District pack, and since the Alpha had no heirs, he took a chance on my da. I think it’s partly why he has hardly any interest in the turf discourse with the Campbells; he essentially inherited this war.
A few of the families in our pack have some strongly held views regarding us holding our ground in the dispute, having lost close friends and family in the skirmishes. They also happen to be the families with the deepest pockets, so my da can’t exactly afford to alienate them.
A secret I’ve never told anyone, not even Niamh, is that something within the Yorkshire territory has always called to me. If I run without thinking, I always find myself here. Sometimes, I have dreams of pounding my paws across the North Yorkshire Moors, surrounded by endless land covered in heather. Maybe it’s only because it’s forbidden, perhaps it’s a delayed rebellious streak, but something deep within me whispers it’s more than that.
My pace slows as I near Ingleton, I shouldn’t go beyond here, but my blood sings for me to go a little further. Since the sun is still shining, I take a break and curl up under a tree for a nap. It's pretty far off the beaten track, so the chances of coming across a human here are low. As the sun travels across the sky, I’m no longer in the shade and stretch out, enjoying the way my dark fur absorbs the heat. Half dozing and half keeping an ear out in case anyone approaches, I try to push thoughts of my mum to the back of my mind.
Peeking one eye open, I notice the sun is long gone, and the sky is dark, lit up only by a sliver of the moon. Peering over my shoulder in the direction of home, I know I should start making my way back. The anonymity of the darkness makes me feel sort of bold, though.
I pad slowly in the direction of the Yorkshire territory, but when I step over the border, instead of the adrenaline rush I anticipated from being somewhere forbidden, a wave of calm washes over me. It’s so quiet out here, with only the sounds of insects rustling and crickets buzzing, reminding you the woods are still filled with life.
As I near Ingleton Falls, I catch the scent of something unlike anything I’ve ever smelled before. It’s damp earth and lavender, only amplified. Without thinking, I’m tracking the scent with my nose to the ground—I don’t think I could stop myself even if I wanted to.
The sound of the waterfall reaches my ears, and I stop dead in my tracks. Someone is swimming in the pool beneath the falls. He’s naked and looks so at ease, drifting through the water. Staying as still and silent as possible, I watch him from afar.
He must sense my gaze because he turns around and faces me suddenly. I’m hidden in the treeline, and a human wouldn’t be able to see me, but he can; he’s a wolf shifter, same as me.
My heart beats fiercely in my chest, common sense telling me I should back away and run safely back to my own territory, but a yearning curiosity has me placing one paw in front of the other. As I make my way closer to the water’s edge, he shifts into his wolf form and approaches me with a look of trepidation.
His fur is chestnut brown, but his ears and paws are closer to a shade of honey. He lowers his head in submission, letting me know he means no harm, so I do the same. As we get closer, I take another deep inhale. I’m engulfed by the seductive scent I’d been following earlier. Damp earth and lavender—it’s him. The scent settles something deep inside me, a scent that says home .
A scent that says mine.
I’m startled by my own thoughts; I’ve never smelled anyone who made my teeth ache with the need to claim. Even if I’m not quite ready to admit it to myself, I know what that scent means.
He comes closer, sniffing my neck. Whatever he smells on me seems to appease him because he lets out a happy whine before gesturing with his head for me to follow him into the water. Because we aren’t part of the same pack, we don’t have bonds to send thoughts through while we’re in our wolf forms.
Once we’re both in the deepest part of the water, we shift back at the same time.
Wordlessly, we appraise each other; he has olive skin and a slight t-shirt tan. His large, soft brown eyes are warm and welcoming, and his hair is short on the sides with a mop of messy brown waves on top. His full, pillowy lips are distracting, and I can’t help but think he might be the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. I offer him a shy smile, and he returns it enthusiastically.
“You’re not an omega,” he says to me. I can’t tell if he means it as a question or a statement. His voice is deep but gentle. Sturdy almost. The sound lights up all the synapses in my brain, and it takes me a moment to respond.
“No, I’m not. I’m a beta like you.” I can smell it on him. Where an Alpha's scent is like iron, betas smell kind of woodsy, like an old oak tree. Omegas can be scented from a mile away, sickly sweet like toffee apples sold on bonfire night.
“There’s no pack on this territory, and you aren’t from the Eastwood pack.” He phrases it as if he’s trying to work out a maths problem. For a second, I’m relieved, thinking this must mean he belongs to the Northumbria pack. I don’t know many people from that pack, so it wouldn’t be surprising for me not to recognise him. Northumbria is the Switzerland of wolf packs in the North of England.
“No, I’m not part of the Eastwood pack,” I say, not wanting to disclose too much.
“Neither am I…”
Bollocks.
I should have known. He sounds posh—pronounces all his t’s.
In a panic, my brain starts coming up with all sorts of ridiculous ideas. I almost tell him I’m from a pack in Scotland. Thankfully, he saves me from myself.
“How about I don’t tell you what pack I belong to, and you don’t tell me what pack you belong to?” he suggests, giving me an out I am definitely going to fucking take.
“Ahh, plausible deniability.” I offer him a smirk to bring some levity to the situation. The truth is we both know the other belongs on opposing sides of a territory war. An ember of guilt sparks to life in my stomach, though, as I realise that while he knows I’m part of the Kelly pack, he doesn’t know I’m the Alpha’s son.
“How old are you?” he asks, interrupting my spiralling thoughts.
“Nineteen, you?”
“Twenty. I was going to ask you your name, but you probably can’t tell me that.” He sounds bummed by that fact, and something within those soft brown eyes of his has me wanting to offer him a sliver of myself.
“How about you call me Cee?”
“Is it what your friends call you?” His furrowed brow suggests he doesn’t like that prospect for some reason.
“Nope, nobody else calls me Cee.” He seems to mull it over briefly before flashing me a smile.
“Cool. You can call me Fee then,” he says, sounding pleased by this solution.
“Does anyone else call you Fee?”
“Nope. Cee and Fee. It can be our secret,” he says, shooting me a look that’s all mischief. I can’t help the grin spreading over my face at that idea, I’ve never really had a secret before, and I’m already feeling quite protective of this one.
We swim together under the moonlight in companionable silence, with only the sounds of the waterfall in the background. It’s peaceful in a way I’ve never experienced before. With a twin sister, an older brother and who knows how many cousins, peace and quiet in my family is hard to come by.
“Do you come here often?” I ask, breaking the silence. Ugh, blush warms my cheeks when I realise it sounds like the world's most clichéd chat-up line.
“I bet you say that to all the wolves.” He winks at me playfully. “But nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “I’m thinking I might start making it a regular thing, though. In fact, I’ll probably be ready for another swim next Sunday night.” Relief and excitement simultaneously battle inside me, and I feel fourteen again, having my first crush.
“What a coincidence; I might be here for a swim next Sunday night, too.” His big grin is infectious, and I don’t hold back my own.
Fee lies on his back, floating along the water’s surface, flicking his toes to make tiny splashes. He’s naked like me, and his dick is soft, floating from side to side as he moves gently through the water. His chest and abs are defined in a way that suggests he works out a lot. My body is slimmer than his but is built mainly from genetics and the manual labour of my joinery work.
Growing up in a wolf pack leaves you relatively immune to nudity. Still, I find myself paying more attention to Fee’s naked form than I usually would. As my gaze works its way up to Fee’s face, I realise I’ve been caught looking for a little too long. His eyes sparkle with humour, and my face heats.
“Enjoying the view?” he asks, and I roll my eyes at him.
“I was thinkin’ you must spend a lot of time in the gym to look like that.” He lets out a deep, throaty laugh in response.
“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a gym rat. I just play a lot of rugby. I play for my uni team, my local team, and I help coach an under twelve’s team.” I’m surprised, although it does explain those thick thighs. Coaches kids’ rugby? Did he have to be a fucking saint too?
“Now would be a good time to start listin' your faults, or I’m gonna think I’m in a fever dream.”
“Hmmm. Well, I’m a duvet hog. When I shower, I leave my dirty clothes in the corner of the bathroom and ermm… I also sing to myself—constantly. Is that enough to keep you going?” His eyes glitter with amusement as he ticks each incriminating item off on his fingers.
“Yes, thanks. You’re totally disgustin’ now,” I deadpan, and it earns me another of his deep throaty laughs. I’m a thief in the night, stealing them to replay later.
As the sun begins to rise, lighting the sky with a warm glow, I begin the run back home. My mind is buzzing with excitement as I fly through the air. Bright smiles and deep brown eyes consume my thoughts, and I wonder briefly if I should tell Niamh about my mystery waterfall man. In the end, though, I decide that for now, I’d quite like to keep him all to myself.