The Road North
Charlotte
Ares Westwood drives like the road has personally offended him, just like the rest of the world seems to offend him.
He isn’t speeding, but there is a certain aggression in the way he handles the car. One hand on the wheel, changing lanes far too suddenly, broad shoulders tense, the infamous Westwood jaw set and brows knitted.
It’s obvious he’d rather be anywhere else but here, which, to be fair, so would I.
The Academy disappeared behind us over an hour ago, and since then, the car has been filled with the low hum of the engine and the occasional flicker of my tablet as I try to memorise the underground routes.
I tried to make conversation, but like any other conversation that involves Ares Westwood, it’s shut down.
His eyes remain on the road, and I finally close my tablet, confident in what I have memorised.
I’m about to reach for the stereo to put some music on when his stomach growls.
I look at him, raising an eyebrow.
He ignores me, and I begin fiddling with the radio channels.
“We’re stopping,” he says suddenly.
“Why?” I ask. The plan is to get there without being spotted, discreetly and swiftly.
“Food.”
His one-word answer is simple but final, as if it’s supposed to make me instantly agree.
“You should have eaten before coming. We had enough time.”
He shrugs. “I did, but I need a lot of fuel, so we’re stopping.”
“We are on a time-sensitive mission, remember?” I remind him, trying to hide my annoyance.
His eyes flick towards me briefly. “Too bad. I’m driving, so if I say we’re stopping, we’re stopping.”
I clench my jaw. “Right. Because I remember Leo putting you in charge,” I murmur sarcastically.
“I’m older than you,” he says dismissively, and my lips curl into a mocking smile. “Actually… I’m older.”
He frowns, pauses, then scoffs. “Who the fuck cares? I’m stronger.”
“Want to test that?” I ask, trying to stay calm, but with every passing second, the urge to kick his ass grows. Technically, he may be stronger as he’s favoured by a god, but I’m also a Solaris wolf; I am not weak.
“We could, if you’re ready to lose,” he remarks.
I press my lips into a tight line. I’m not going to argue with him; that only makes him more stubborn and arrogant, and I have no interest in giving him the satisfaction of winning anything against me.
A few minutes later, he turns into a service station. The petrol pumps are lit with white lights above them, and the rain is falling weakly. The service station is quite large and is brightly lit.
Ares parks in an empty bay and cuts the engine before getting out. I slip my coat on, the rain landing softly in my hair as I follow him.
A man near the petrol pumps turns as we pass.
I notice him because I’m always paying attention, and well, when it comes to men, it’s quite easy to figure them out.
I notice the way he lifts his head, trying to be discreet, the slight pause as his eyes flick to me.
I turn my attention to the front, yet I can still sense him watching even though I ignore him.
Men staring is hardly new, and I refuse to give every poorly-mannered stranger the satisfaction of thinking he has earned my attention. I continue towards the entrance, head high, fingers wrapped around my tablet.
Ares, however, slows until I’m suddenly walking ahead. I feel it without even looking back: the cold shift in the air, heavy enough to brush the back of my neck, and the weight of his suppressed aura.
I glance back to see that the man has looked away quickly, and I turn my attention to Ares, who has stopped entirely, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the man, head tilted as if wondering if murdering him would be a hassle or not.
“Westwood,” I call.
His eyes cut to mine.
“What?” he asks – no, almost growls. This man doesn’t talk like a normal person; he growls like he’s let his wolf take control 24/7.
“Food, remember?”
For a moment, he only stares at me.
Then he starts walking again. “I’m coming.”
Once inside, Ares leads the way to the food quarter, deciding on a sandwich shop.
Humans are sitting around the small tables, eating from paper trays and scrolling through their phones, utterly unaware of anything beyond their own small inconveniences.
A child argues with his mother near the snack aisle.
The cashier looks bored and isn’t trying to hide it, and someone is complaining about the self-serve coffee machine.
It is strangely comforting.
Ares heads straight for the counter. “What do you want?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
He turns his head. “Nothing?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“We’re heading towards abandoned pack land. I doubt there’s going to be a packhouse kitchen prepping food for you.”
“I’m aware of that,” I answer dryly.
“Then don’t complain later that you’re hungry,” he growls.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
The cashier looks between us, and I offer her a polite smile.
Ares orders enough food for three men, and I wonder if he’s forgotten his brothers are not with him.
“Do you want a drink?” he asks me.
“I’ll have a bottle of water,” I say, reaching into my pocket for my card.
Ares places his card against the machine before I can even bring mine out.
I look at him. “I can pay for my own water.”
“Good for you.”
“Ares.”
“I paid for water, Arden; I didn’t carry you across a battlefield.”
My lips press together, and the cashier tries to hide a smile. Ok, fine. I’m not going to cause a scene here.
Ares takes the receipt and steps aside. “You can argue about it once I’ve eaten.”
When our order is ready, Ares collects the tray, which is embarrassingly full, and carries it to the seating area.
“Couldn’t you eat it in the car?” I ask, noticing how his jeans hug his thighs. He’s infuriating, not unappealing.
“No,” comes the grumpy reply.
Fine then, I pick the table before he can argue. I select a table near the corner, with my back to the wall and a clear view of the entrance. Ares doesn’t seem bothered as he puts the tray down unceremoniously, sits down, and begins to open up the wrappers.
The smell of hot food rises at once, sharp with salt and grease, and I resist the urge to wrinkle my nose.
Ares pushes the extra chips towards me.
I look at them, then at him.
“I didn’t ask for those.”
“I know,” he replies, unbothered.
“Then why are they in front of me?”
“Because you’re going to eat them.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” he counters.
“You do realise ordering people around does not make them more likely to obey you?” I ask, frowning slightly.
“The quicker you eat, the quicker we get out of here, or is this meal inadequate for the Arden Princess?”
I detest that title. I narrow my eyes. “It’s adequate,” I say through gritted teeth before I pick up one chip.
The faintest flicker of satisfaction crosses his face before he smothers it.
“Happy?” I ask sarcastically.
His mouth tightens, though there is something close to amusement in his eyes. “No. Eat your chips, Princess.”
My gaze lifts sharply.
There it is again.
Princess. Something deliberately chosen to annoy, as if he knows it’ll irk the hell out of me.
I’m tempted to tell him to stop calling me that, but I’m not about to give him ammunition because people like Ares Westwood don’t listen, anyway.
Instead, I eat another chip.
“Careful, Westwood, so much concern about me eating or not, I might begin to think you care,” I remark, trying to irritate him.
He grunts. “You wish.”
“Trust me, I don’t,” I counter, just as the man who had been staring outside walks towards the food court.
I see him in the reflection of the window before he reaches the drinks fridge. His gaze turns towards our table, lingering for a moment too long.
Again.
Ares turns his head as if to see what I’m looking at, and I notice the water in my bottle ripple.
Tiny, but visible.
I nudge his foot with my boot, and his eyes snap to mine.
“Don’t,” I say quietly.
“I wasn’t doing anything.”
“The water in my bottle says otherwise.”
Irritation flits through his eyes before the water stills, and Ares turns his full attention back to the man. If he even has just a few brain cells, he will leave.
After paying for his drink, he disappears, and Ares shakes his head, turning back to his food. He’s already demolished one baguette and is starting on a burger.
“I can handle people looking at me,” I say evenly.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”
“Then don’t act like I need you to step in.”
“I wasn’t protecting you.”
“No?”
“No. I was deciding whether he was irritating enough to become a problem. I’m a tad pissed and need to beat the shit out of someone.”
I sigh. “Right.” I almost smile and suppress it; I am not going to encourage his behaviour. Nope. Definitely not.
His gaze stays on me a second too long.
I look down first, more annoyed by that than I should be, and take another chip simply to have something to do.
For several minutes, we eat in silence, and I welcome it. Ares finishes half his food before speaking again.
“Come on. Let’s get this mission over with so you can return in time for your Blood Moon Ball.”
The sarcasm is obvious, and so is the judgement beneath it.
“You say that as though attending is a crime,” I remark.
“It’s a waste of time.” He shrugs as he stands up and leads the way out.
“It is tradition.” I pick up my bottle of unfinished water.
“So are a lot of stupid things.”
I study him for a moment.
There are plenty of things I could say, but he already knows them all. That the Blood Moon Ball is where many will meet their mates. That finding our mate matters to many of us. That many traditions are NOT stupid.
Instead, I simply stare at his back as he opens the door and holds it open with his foot before I catch it, and he continues to the car.
“So, I’ve noticed you don’t attend any balls. Your brother Renji and Carter attended the last one, and Renji and his girlfriend Shahira ended up being mated.”
“You noticed? What? Were you looking for me?” he asks, clearly trying to deflect the conversation.
“Why don’t you attend?” I push, refusing to let it go.
“I have better things to do.”