6. Apollo
Apollo
I would be lucky to make it back to the compound alive, the way I was shaking, but I couldn’t seem to stop.
I gripped onto the steering wheel for dear life, with my foot heavy on the gas.
I needed to put as much distance between me and that forest as I could.
My teeth were chattering, and although my clothes were soaking wet, I didn’t think it had anything to do with the cold.
My head was a total mess, unable to cling to any thought for more than a few seconds at a time.
The man, the wolf, the forest, the storm, the scorched ruins, the wolf—the man, his deep blue eyes filled with such—
A blaring car horn had my eyes snapping open, blinded by headlights.
When the hell did I close my eyes?! “Fuck!” I shouted, jerking the truck back on course out of the way of the oncoming vehicle.
The near accident was a bit of a wake-up call, adrenaline sharpening my senses, and I managed to stay focused enough to get back to the compound in one piece.
But as soon as I put the truck in park, the confusion returned, anxiety multiplying now that I didn’t have anything to distract me.
Mate, go back, mate, ours.
The voice hadn’t given me a single second of respite since I laid eyes on the man.
Shit, no, the monster, I reminded myself, though it was nearly impossible to align the image of that beautiful naked man with the predator that would so gleefully tear out my throat.
I shook my head sharply. He would never hurt me—the thought was there before I could reason against it.
Because how would I know something like that with any level of certainty.
He was a feral wolf! The more I tried to convince myself of that fact, the more my stomach twisted with nausea.
Conroy. He’d called me Conroy.
A wave of conflicting emotions surged up so fast that I gasped. Fear, anger, confusion, and a joy so hot and bright that it was blistering. I slammed my fist down on the dashboard, hard enough to crack the plastic, but I barely felt it.
I should’ve shot him, but I just… couldn’t. Even now, the mere thought of hurting him caused severe revulsion. The only option had been to run. Gods, I’d never run from a target before. What made him so different?
His image was still painted on the backs of my eyelids.
I’d never seen anyone who looked quite like him before.
He was tall for an omega, with lean muscles covered in so much ink that I could spend a lifetime looking at him and still find new details.
My fingers itched to trace over the patterns.
His hair was green—green!—and when the moon came out, it glinted across so many piercings, it was like he was some kind of precious gem.
It didn’t seem to matter that I didn’t know his name or anything about him, the scent of him was somehow embedded under my skin like one of his tattoos.
It was warm and crisp and sweet, like apples and tree sap.
And just like that, I pictured a young boy with familiar blue eyes, his hand warm in mine.
I blinked and it was gone. Was that a memory from my childhood? I thought I’d forgotten everything from before.
The house’s front door opened, and Pater’s silhouette appeared. Even though I couldn’t see his face the way he was backlit, I could tell he was in a foul mood. His back was straight, shoulders rigid, chin set high.
Scrubbing a hand over my face, I forced my body to move. I got out of the truck and grabbed my gear from the back. The storm had passed, but the air still held a crackle of electricity, a promise of violence. “Pater,” I said in greeting from one step below him, wood groaning beneath my boots.
He said nothing, just arched a brow, a reminder for me to lower my head in respect. My muscles fought the action as I forced myself to bow. His eyes missed nothing. When he held his hand out for my quiver, I handed it over without a word.
Examining the clean blades, he frowned. “You were not successful?”
His judgment weighed heavily on me, and years of striving for his approval left me feeling like a failure. But the thought of telling him the truth set my teeth on edge. Lie, the voice whispered to me, and for once, I was inclined to agree. I settled for, “The storm interrupted my hunt.”
He grunted, then reached out and grabbed my chin roughly and tilted my head up, fingers digging painfully into my jaw. “Your runes have washed off.”
My hand came up, and I touched the skin of my brow, now clean and smooth. “Oh. I hadn’t noticed.”
He narrowed his gaze, assessing, perhaps searching my answer for a lie. “And you’re feeling well?” he asked carefully.
Could he tell that I was falling apart inside? Did that have anything to do with the runes? I affected a casual shrug. “Sure.” Keeping it simple was best.
Pater eyed me suspiciously, waiting for me to crack, but after a silence filled only with frog song, his stony expression morphed into a kind smile, the one he used to dole out so generously.
“Well, it’s been a long night, and you no doubt need some sleep.
” He reached into his robe and pulled out a small glass vial filled with a murky green liquid.
“Here, this should help settle those nerves and give you a dreamless sleep.”
“Thank you, Pater,” I said, keeping my voice from shaking as I took the vial. It felt icy against my heated skin. I waited for him to move aside so I could enter, but he remained blocking the doorway, his eyes still on the vial. He expected me to drink it now.
Stomach churning, I uncorked the vial and upended it into my mouth. It was cold at first, before it slowly began to burn against my tongue. The taste was bitter, and my throat locked up, refusing to swallow it. I kept my face neutral and moved my throat to let him believe I’d choked it down.
Pater finally nodded in satisfaction, then took the empty vial back. “Sleep well, son.” I nodded solemnly, my lips pinched tight to keep the herb tonic in.
He let me inside, squeezing my shoulder on the way by, and it was all I could do to keep from spewing this shit out across the floor at his feet.
How I managed to keep my gait steady and my mouth shut all the way to my room, I would never know.
I breathed heavily through my nose, fighting my gag reflex.
But as soon as the door was closed behind me, I lurched toward the basin on my dresser and spat it out, rinsing and spitting until the bitter paste was no longer coating my tongue.
In all the years I’d lived with the Order, I’d never questioned Pater’s commands or those of the elders.
I’d been their perfect soldier through it all.
But tonight, with the full moon’s energy electrifying my veins, a mysterious voice whispering in my ear, and the image of a certain green-haired, blue-eyed man running through my brain, I found myself filled with doubt.
What was in this so-called sleep tonic, and why didn’t I feel safe enough to ask—or to decline?
Who’d assigned us the task of saving the human race?
And who were we really saving them from?
Monsters? I’d never seen evidence of their supposed violent nature, not even when fighting for their lives.
Would the monster/wolf/man have really harmed me tonight if I hadn’t fled?
Once the house settled into its usually creaky quiet and I was sure everyone was asleep, I dumped the basin out the narrow window into the weeds below, ditching any evidence of my disobedience.
Because while I wasn’t sure what to believe anymore, I knew with certainty that I would be punished for not following a direct order.
Then I crawled into bed and stared up at the ceiling.
I felt the voice more than heard it at first. Its presence in my head was more stable than it had been before.
It felt… soft, gentle. Like the wind through my hair or velvet against my fingertips.
Certainly not malicious in any way. I was expecting another round of mate, mate, mate, but instead, it asked, Are you okay?
It was so strange to be invited to interact with it. Did it make it better or worse that the voice in my head wanted to be friends? It felt like important advice not to make eye contact to avoid unwanted interactions, but maybe this disembodied voice could give me some answers.
So, instead of ignoring it like I usually did, I found myself asking, Who are you? Though I couldn’t help but wonder if the real question I should’ve been asking was… Who am I?
Because if I wasn’t a hunter of the Divine Order, then what kind of monster had I become?