Chapter 10 Mona
The filing cabinet is on a track, and I do my best to close it gently, but before it can click shut, the long metal drawer sucks inward, resulting in a loud crack. I freeze, glancing around the room as if someone will pop out at any moment and catch me.
My heart pounds in my chest, doing nothing to ease my nerves. "What am I even doing here?"
Our destiny lies in Silent Peak. The answers to our questions are here. Her sentences are getting so much better. Even if she does sound like an extra in an epic fantasy.
"Thanks, Beep, real helpful. Who in the hell even uses filing cabinets anymore? I mean, I know most shifters still live like it's the early twentieth century, but still…"
There's nothing here. We finally headed north, following that weird tugging sensation in my gut—like an internal compass, yanking me north, then east—and we ended up here, in Silent Peak, Maine.
The tugging sensation disappeared, but so far, all I've found is a filing cabinet full of useless financial and personnel records.
I snuck in after sunset, hoping to avoid the locals.
I don't even know what I would have said had I come across any.
Unlike the rogues we ran into on the road, this place has families.
Pups. Elders. I've never been this close to werewolves who seem so.
.. functional. And while that restlessness to get here is gone, so far, I've learned nothing.
Why Silent Peak specifically? What makes this place significant? Why am I being hunted? Why did that wolf on New Year's Eve do this to me? And now that I'm here and found nothing, where do I go next?
The questions mount, unanswered.
I creep to the other side of the small office toward a massive oak desk with a hand-carved ornate wolf howling against the full moon. A little on the nose, if you ask me. My fingers trace the worn detailing. I can almost feel the lives of those who sat behind it, weathered into the wood.
There's one particular scent pulling me closer.
I drag out the office chair tucked behind the desk, squeaking when it rolls, and sink into it.
Immediately, I'm enveloped in the most beautiful scent—cinnamon, like a gooey bun from the bakery near my old apartment, dripping in sweet cream, fresh baked, mixed with hints of firewood and smoke.
Closing my eyes, I can almost feel the warmth of the fire, hear the crackling wood.
I inhale deeply, and the strangest sensation settles over me. I feel warm and safe. My skin tingles. I feel calm. It almost reminds me of…
No.
He gets my nightmares; he doesn't get my waking hours, too.
My head rolls to the side and I shamelessly rub my face against the buttery-soft material of the worn leather. I don't care how it looks, and Beep seems equally content, nuzzling right along with me.
My omega lets out a soft moan and something tingles along my spine, straight to my core. I squeeze my legs together in surprise, shivering, as the cinnamon scent spills over my skin, making my vision go hazy. After a moment, I realize how weird I'm behaving, and pull away.
My sense of smell is incredible now, but I wish I knew more about it in instances like these. With shifters being so secretive, I had nowhere to turn when I changed. Online forums were useless—all full of contradicting, delusional info dumps.
I find it strange that there aren't more records of wolf attacks like mine, because if there were, I'd think there'd be more information out there.
Sometimes I wish the guy who turned me picked someone else.
I feel Beep fidget inside me. "I wouldn't give you up for the world," I whisper to her. And I mean it.
I inhale one last hit of the wolf's intoxicating scent, but before I can roll myself away from the desk, Beep's ears perk up, and I freeze.
The problem with wolves is that they are fast.
I'm fast too, but if they catch me off-guard, it makes things more difficult. Quickly glancing around the room, I realize I'm not outside, where I can disappear into the trees, which is what I usually do. I'm stuck in a confined room.
It's too late for me to sneak out a window. The door crashes open. A blonde she-wolf with corded muscles stalks in, eyes gleaming. A man follows, and I can feel their dominance wafting off them in waves.
The woman's face contorts, her snarl ripping through the air. "Rogue!"
I shriek, my hands slamming the desk as I desperately shove backward, but the chair is cumbersome and slow. Beep's voice slices through my panic. Duck! Under the desk, she directs. Roll under and get to the door. Faster! Move faster!
Beep thinks with the rapid precision of a war general, but I'm just not that quick. I can't make my body move like she wants me to.
I dive under the desk, belly-crawling toward freedom, but the woman's iron grip yanks me backward by my ankles.
I try to dig into the ground, Beep half shifting with me, fingertips turning to claws, but the man's boot comes down on my hand with a sickening crack that sends white-hot agony shooting up my arm.
Our partial shift fails, and he stomps again, crushing my fingers.
The pain explodes inside me, but the scream dies in my throat when the woman drags me out like a rabbit from its hidey-hole.
She looms over me, straddling my legs with a wicked look of triumph on her face. First female wolf I've ever seen, and she's about to tear my throat out.
But I've been through too much shit to just give in and roll over. I snarl back at her, bending my legs, then slam upward with everything I have. Her kneecaps should break, but she doesn't even stagger. Barely flinches, just laughs, like we're playing a game.
Holy shit. She's not just strong—she's a fucking beast.
I wrench sideways, narrowly avoiding her boot nailing me in the stomach. My broken hand screams in agony as I scramble up, vision swimming, only to collide with the man.
His fingers grip my shoulders, pinning me in place.
I thrash uselessly while he drags in a deep breath through flared nostrils.
His pupils blow wide, a feral look of hunger crossing his face that makes my blood freeze.
I must smell like cotton-fucking-candy because I've seen that look before, on every shifter I met while on the run.
His grip tightens. "You're—you're—" The words strangle in his throat. I wince, and something flickers in his eyes. His fingers soften—barely—but enough, and I wrench free, then lunge.
Run! Beep yells.
I make it three strides before a force slams into my back, catapulting me forward. My hands reach out on instinct to catch my fall, and the already-broken bones shatter with a wet crunch.
"Andrea, stop, she's—she's—" the guy's voice cracks with wonder. "Is that what I think it is? Is she real?"
The longing in his voice ignites rage in the she-wolf. Her boot connects with my ribs. Beep thrashes wildly beneath my skin, clawing to break free.
Shift! she shouts. Partial shift, now! Like the man on the cliff!
But the man on the cliff was distracted.
This woman isn't. There's another kick, another crack, and I howl.
My ribs are broken, for certain. I try to get up, but I can't. Something sharp pokes my insides.
It feels as if I've been stabbed, and she just keeps kicking.
Blood floods my mouth. I claw at the floor, desperate, but my body won't move. I can't breathe.
"Andrea, wait—"
"Shut up, Stance." Her voice is like ice. "Don't be weak. It's pathetic. Don't you think it's a little suspicious?"
Another kick, this time into my stomach. I dry heave, but it feels like I'm drowning. Another kick, then another.
Shift! Beep pleads. Shift!
I'm trying, Beep. I'm trying. Tears spring to my eyes. I don't want to die here. Not like this. Of all the attacks on the road, they were by frantic wolves who were too stunned and reckless to formulate a plan. This woman is calculating. She's in control.
"A lone omega shows up here on our territory out of nowhere? After our Lune asks about witches? Something's off. Grayson said to snatch the intruder. That's what I'm doing."
Another kick, this time to my face. My nose breaks, eye splits, and I choke on the blood as it dribbles down my throat.
Shift! Just our claws! Let me fight! Beep shouts in my head. We can outrun them, but you have to fight back!
The wolf stops her rapid assault. Their voices sound underwater, muffled.
"She's an omega, Andrea," the man reminds her.
I can smell the guy's anxiety. His desire.
It's sticky. A little burnt sugar with a sour undertone.
There's something weak and desperate for approval in his scent, like he'd do all the wrong things to get what he wants.
Still, he tries to stand up for me. Which makes me think, in this instance, I'm what he wants.
"Have you ever even met an omega?"
"No… but. I just know she is one. My wolf knows. He's not happy about this."
The woman snorts. "Your wolf is pathetic. Whipped by another piece of pussy."
"Don't kill her," he demands.
"Don't worry. I won't. This wolf is trouble, trust me. And Grayson will be happy to find I've caught the intruder."
I whimper in fetal position. My ribs are cracked. My nose is broken. It feels like my cheekbone is shattered. My ankle hangs in a funny position. Tears, blood, and snot leak out of my face. I can't move, I can barely breathe. Every breath stings. Not enough oxygen.
Still, I look up, my vision reduced to a slit through puffy eyes. They're so swollen I can barely make out her vicious expression—bared teeth, nostrils flaring. A strand of blonde hair sticks to the corner of her mouth, floating with every exhale.
It's the last thing I see before a boot stomps my face.