Chapter 7
SEVEN
It all felt more intense, somehow, every time I had to pull off something like this. What was so messed up about their lives that they ended up here, sneaking around in the dead of night? What was out there that made them run, change their names, and try to start over? These thoughts buzzed in my head as I shoved the drawers back in place, creeping into the lounge like a thief.
My mother was still out cold, her bag dumped unceremoniously on the coffee table. "Mum?" I whispered, half-hoping she wouldn’t stir. The last thing I wanted was another go at the argument we’d had earlier.
Luck was on my side; she didn’t so much as twitch. Eyes glued on her, I edged over to her bag. The zip screamed like a banshee in the silence.My heart kicked up a notch, but I fought to keep my cool. This wasn’t exactly new territory for me. But there's always a first time for getting caught. My hand slid into the bag, fingers seeking out the familiar shape of the keys. I clutched them tight, praying they wouldn’t jingle and wake her. If she ever found out about my little escapades, she’d probably lock me up for good.
Down by the back of our block was a row of garages, each one tied to the flats upstairs. A so-called ‘extra’ that probably cost more than the flat itself. But my mother insisted on it, feeding her endless paranoia with a place to stash our car, out of sight and mind.
Yeah, we had a car. But if you asked me whether it could actually run, I’d raise an eyebrow. It had been sitting there for so long, a part of me wouldn't have been shocked if the wheels decided to part ways with the car the moment we tried to take it for a spin.
Slipping out of the flat and down the stairs was the easy part. Our building had a back door that led straight to the garages, a convenience that felt like a secret passage in moments like these. The only risk was Mum waking up and deciding to glance out of our kitchen window. With the sun setting, casting long shadows and drawing night closer, it felt like the darkness was lending me a cloak.
Stepping out, I paused, tilted my face towards the sky, but this wasn’t about savouring the night or filling my lungs with cool air. No, it was that feeling again, like the night before. A sensation crawling across my skin, an unreachable itch on my soul.
Lowering my gaze, I surveyed the dimly lit surroundings, each shadow stretching out as if reaching for something in the fading light. There was a presence, a nearly tangible tension in the air. It felt like a word stuck on the tip of my tongue, elusive and frustratingly out of reach.
I flexed my fingers at my sides, then brushed my hand down the hip of my jeans as I headed to the garage. Casting a glance back at the window of our place—nothing stirred. Then, I unlocked the garage door and gently pushed it open. The small family car sat there, likely with a full tank of fuel, just waiting.
Circling around to the rear, I found what I was really after, hidden away and covered by an old blanket. There it was: my motorbike. My heart always lifted at the sight of it—a slice of freedom reserved solely for me. It evoked a rush of adrenaline and anticipation for the adventures it promised. My mother insisted the bike stay in the garage, unused, which meant I was resigned to walking everywhere. I couldn't fathom her concern; it wasn't as if the bike was a beast. The engine was just a 125cc—hardly a powerhouse. It wasn't like I could tear off into the sunset on it.
One day, though, I vowed to get something that truly matched my spirit. Perhaps a Harley or something equally formidable. Something big and bold that reflected who I was, allowing me to ride wherever I wished.
This bike had come into my possession through sheer luck. When we moved into the flat, the previous tenant—God only knows where he ended up—had left behind some of his belongings. It was as if he’d stepped out one day and never returned. The fridge was an example to how long he’d been gone, its contents decomposed to mould and sludge. I had a sneaking suspicion he might have met an untimely end. Why else would you abandon your possessions?
The room that became my bedroom was a disaster—literally filled from floor to ceiling with junk and rubbish. I'm not exaggerating. The moment we opened the door to our new place, we were hit with an indescribable stench. "Clean this out. Keep anything you want. Bin the rest. You pay for the skip," that's what the landlord had tossed at us. Our choices were stark: clean up after some stranger's mess or face homelessness.
At the time, it felt like the lowest point in our lives. Maybe that sentiment was amplified by our desperate circumstances. Yet, beneath all that debris, I found the bike. It felt like it was calling out to me, resonating with something deep inside. I’d always harboured a distant dream of owning a bike, and suddenly, there it was—destined to be mine.
Glancing up at the window once more, I pushed the bike out, darted across the road with it, and tucked it out of sight before hurrying back to lock up. I chained the bike to a lamppost; well aware it would vanish if I didn’t. My only hope was that Mum was still asleep by the time I got back to return the keys.
Someday, I planned to “borrow” those keys long enough to get a copy made for myself.
I was pushing the bike to its limits, heart hammering against my ribcage. The fear of being caught by my mother transformed into a flurry of butterflies as I pulled up beside the clock tower. It was fully dark now, and although I was running a bit late, Tia hadn't shown up yet. "That's fine," I reassured myself. The important thing was she hadn't come, found me absent, and left.
I bit down on my lip, refusing to let the worry get to me. No, she'd show. She was just running late too.
The night was quiet, except for the distant echo of a football team practising under an aggressively bright set of floodlights. My eyes were glued to the clock tower's hands, watching them inch forward—ten minutes late, then fifteen ... With each passing minute, my optimism dipped further. No, she wasn’t going to show, and who could blame her? After I’d picked her up last night, helped her, only to make a clumsy pass like some kind of brute. What kind of fool does that?
I found myself tapping my foot against the pavement, trying not to fixate too much on those slow-moving hands.
I'd give her until the hour, maybe stretch it to ten past, then head home. She must have changed her mind. Or maybe she'd just been held up. That had to be it. These thoughts chased each other around my mind, reigniting the frantic beat of my heart. Ah, the folly of a boy thinking he’s a man. I was still so much a teenager, naively bumbling through the world.
Every noise was amplified in my heightened state, every shifting shadow a false alarm.
She wasn’t coming.
I began to manoeuvre the bike, preparing to leave without kick-starting the engine—riding it in the park would only attract police attention, and the last thing I needed was to explain that to my mother. But then, a figure darted across the path on the other side of the bridge. My heart skipped a beat, and I froze, watching intently. Could it be ...?
It was her.
She hurried through the gate towards me, breathless. “I'm so sorry,” she gasped, a hand pressed to her chest. “Got caught up in class, then couldn’t find my room key. I was so worried you might have left.”
“No, I got here late too. Thought maybe I’d missed you,” I replied, easing the tension with a smile. I unhooked the spare helmet and held it out to her. “Fancy a ride?”
She hesitated, a spark igniting in her eyes as she surveyed the bike, then me. The bruise on her face had mostly faded, leaving just a cut that seemed to heal slowly—probably the silver's doing. “I’ve never been on a bike before. This is yours?”
“Yep.”
She bit her lip, contemplating. “How far is the Fell?”
"Not too far. You could walk from here if you really wanted, but it’d take a good while. It’s about a thirty-minute ride."
Her grin, with that lip caught between her teeth, was distractingly alluring. Oh, hell. My seventeen-year-old brain was in deep trouble.
She accepted the helmet, and I assisted her with securing it before she climbed onto the bike behind me. The way her thighs wrapped around mine, her arms encircling my waist, sent a rush of heat through me. Every point of contact was acutely felt, stirring butterflies within me that were hard to ignore. It was challenging to maintain my mental barriers, difficult to discern whether the emotions swirling inside me were mine alone or mingled with hers. Alongside the excitement, there was a trace of apprehension, a shadow of dread, but I dared not dwell on it.
I didn’t pick at it. That’d do me no good.
To reach the Fell, we navigated through the winding lanes, each turn revealing more of the countryside's stunning beauty. Trees stretched as far as the eye could see, encapsulating the essence of tranquillity. This reality was, without a doubt, the most splendid place on Earth. Tia’s grip tightened around me as we zigzagged through the twisting paths, her closeness a constant reminder of the journey we were on together. I could navigate these routes blindfolded; every curve, every irregularity in the path, every tree was etched in my memory. This was my sanctuary, a haven not just for me but for all of us who sought refuge.
I kicked the bike into park at the third car park, feeling like we’d spiralled up the hill on a helter-skelter. This spot, right here, was top of the world stuff—levelling out to give us a king’s view over the town sprawled below. Freedom felt more tangible up here, like you could almost grab it and stuff it in your pocket.
Tia, using my shoulder for a bit of support, hopped off the back of the bike. The move was graceful in a way, a smooth transition from passenger to explorer, ready to take in the vista that had us perched high above everything else.
Watching her remove her helmet was something else—she looked completely taken in by the spot, not even remembering to hand the helmet back immediately. "You come here all the time to shift?" she asked, her eyes wide with amazement, her excitement nearly tangible. "I never knew there was anything like this here."
I took off my own helmet, securing it to the bike. "I make it out here now and then. It’s a bit out of the way for a quick shift, and if the weather’s rubbish ..." I left unsaid how much of a hassle it was to sneak my bike out every time. No need to go into that.
She seemed unfazed by my vague response, wandering a few steps away, still clearly awed by the view. "I'm surprised it isn't busier."
"It has its moments, but the area's massive. There could be loads of us around, and we'd never bump into each other." I reached out for the helmet she was still holding. "Here, let me take that. There’s a clearing just up ahead. It’s got the best view of everything."
She tipped her head back, eyes flitting across the canopy that enshrined us in solitude. I knew that feeling well, having lost myself to the forest's embrace countless times. Here, it felt like coming home. My panther thrived in this tranquillity, the closeness to nature a call he couldn't resist. "I'd live out here if I could, or somewhere similar. Do you want to head up? The clearing's just past those trees."
Her response was immediate—a keen "yeah." Then, unexpectedly, she slipped her hand into mine. I hesitated for a split second before my fingers wrapped around hers. Our eyes locked, and damn, my heart took flight, sending a thrill through me that my panther revelled in. The melding of excitement with my pounding heart was new, intense. I fought to keep my mental barriers up, sensing her emotions nudging at the edges, eager to intertwine with mine.
I craved to experience this on my terms, to feel what was genuinely mine. My panther prodded me on, urging closer contact. Her lips, so inviting, became the focus of my yearning—I ached to taste them again.
Forcing my gaze away was a struggle; staying put or bridging the distance felt like standing at a crossroads. Perhaps that kiss the night before was just a momentary lapse, a slip into shared vulnerability. I couldn't risk assuming more, not when the stakes of misinterpretation loomed so large.
Hesitant, I cautiously placed my hands around her waist, fingers lightly tracing the contours of her hips. Questions raged within me—did she truly desire this? Was this the right move? A fog of doubt and hesitation enveloped me as we stood locked in an embrace, enveloped by the profound silence of the moment. My fingers brushed the hem of her t-shirt where it met her jeans, and then, emboldened by a mixture of desire and memory, I kissed her—echoing the intimacy of the previous night. I felt her breath catch, her tremor at our contact.
For a fleeting moment, I considered retreating, worried I’d ventured too far to a place we weren't ready to explore. Yet, when she kissed me back, all those fears and uncertainties dissolved into nothingness. It was as if two puzzle pieces clicked together, everything falling into place, making perfect sense.
Her lips, tender and inviting against mine, were intoxicating, sending my senses into a whirlwind of heightened awareness. Every part of me was alive, tingling with anticipation as my panther stirred, its longing mirroring my own, leaving me breathless and yearning to drown in this moment with her.
Time seemed to stop as we kissed, our bodies pressed together, surrounded by the forest's silent embrace. Her heartbeat, rapid against mine, created a harmony so profound, it felt as though our very souls were intertwined, merging into one entity.
Eventually, I withdrew, albeit reluctantly, to look into her eyes, finding no reason to utter apologies. She held on, her arms still draped around my neck, her gaze capturing mine with its depth and clarity.
I was about to speak, when she beat me to it. Her voice was a whisper, but in the hush of the forest, it sounded crystal clear. "Don't stop," she murmured, her eyes locked on mine, a depth of feeling in them that I hadn't dared to hope for. It was as if she saw right through to the core of me, to the very essence of my being.
Her words, simple yet profound, banished any lingering doubts. They reaffirmed the connection I felt, the undeniable pull that drew us together. It was a validation of the feelings that had been simmering below the surface, feelings that now seemed destined to boil over.
My panther purred in satisfaction, its primal urge mirrored by my own. This wasn't just a fleeting moment of passion; it was the beginning of something deeper, something real. This was where I was meant to be.
The night around us seemed to hold its breath, the world pausing in reverence to the connection unfolding. We resumed our embrace, the kiss deepening, exploring, as if each of us was a continent the other had just discovered. Her response, fervent and eager, was the answer to every question my heart had asked.
Everything else faded away—the worries about the future, the fear of getting caught, the complexities of our lives. There was only us, two souls intertwined in the quiet majesty of the wilderness.
"Shall we?—"
"Raven McCulloch." At the sound of my name, I immediately let go of Tia and stepped in front of her as a shield.
My fleeting relief evaporated the second I recognised that voice. Ah hell. “Davies …"
"You're not a bad kisser, it seems. Looks like she was enjoying that." His words stirred a mix of irritation and protectiveness in me. My panther, always alert to the hierarchy of our kind, acknowledged the presence of a higher-ranked cat—a tiger.
Stephen Davies and Cade McDonald, as inseparable as ever, loomed at the edge of the car park. Their friendship was a puzzle; Stephen with his loud, brash intelligence, and Cade, the more reserved and thoughtful of the two.
"We're just here for a run," I countered, feeling no need to justify my presence. "What do you want?"
Stephen feigned shock. "Us too. What a coincidence." His tone dripped with sarcasm. "You're following me."
Stephen might bear the title of Malcolm's Son, destined for greatness, yet his youth and arrogance were all too apparent. "Did daddy let you drive tonight?" Despite being peers, our worlds couldn't have been more different, divided by the vast chasm of wealth and privilege.
Daddy wasn’t just any Other. Daddy was Malcolm Davies.
If it were just Cade, I wouldn't feel this tension. But Stephen, he required a careful approach. Despite his tendency to lord over others, he showed a respect for those who stood up to him.
"Cade and I were just curious about what you're doing up here. Don't see you much. Who knew you knew the way?"
I tilted my head, unimpressed. "Some of us actually have to work and study to get by in life."
Stephen shrugged, an air of faux contemplation around him. "If it wasn't so dreadfully dull, I might bother myself. So, where are we running to?" He had a way of pushing boundaries and there was a way to talk to Stephen without crossing the line—a tightrope walk when speaking to the alpha's son. There's banter, and then there's disrespect, a fine distinction in our hierarchy.
"Maybe we should head somewhere else," Tia suggested, her grip on my hand tightening.
Stephen craned his neck, trying to get a better look at Tia around me. "Fancy joining us for a run, darling? We know all the prime spots." His grin widened, a clear challenge.
"Stop being an idiot," Cade said, pulling Stephen back. Despite his reserved nature, Cade was no less formidable, carrying the weight of his own legacy as the alpha's son of the wolves. His strength lay in his silence, his decency, not flaunting his status.
"I'm not being an idiot," Stephen protested, undeterred. "She's interested in me. It's obvious."
"I'm not. I just ..." Tia's protest was cut short by Stephen's smug smirk, a look all too familiar to those who knew him.
"Oh sweetheart, every girl ends up interested," he boasted, eyeing me with a proposition. "How about we race for her? You and me. Winner spends the night with her."
The audacity of his challenge was staggering, but not surprising. Stephen lived in a world where everything was a game, including people's feelings. But this wasn't a game I was willing to play.
"Or we could act like adults and go our separate ways," I said through gritted teeth. The reality was, Stephen could do whatever he wanted, and I was powerless to stop him. He could take Tia if he chose to. But his antics seemed more about the game than genuine intent. Was he a threat? Maybe not directly. He was harmless until he wasn't, like most.
"Stephen ..." Cade began, a note of warning in his voice.
"Cade ..." Stephen parroted back in an exaggerated, exasperated tone. "Geez, you're so serious. Lighten up, McCulloch. I'm just messing with you." With characteristic lack of modesty, he stripped off his shirt, flinging it onto a nearby wall. His muscles flexed.
Stephen proceeded to remove his belt, and then his jeans, throwing a cheeky look back at us as he did. "I'm going for a run. Try to keep up, losers. If you can."