Eden Ch 03 1

CHAPTER 3: Escape and Evade

-----I find myself running through a forest again. The Cathedral Forest.

This is the eighth time I've had this dream, so I've learned to recognize the difference between the hazy, indistinct details of my normal dreams and the vibrant realistic details of this world. I'm starting to suspect that this is more than a dream, but I can't help but think that my overactive imagination is just running away from me.

The forest is exactly the same as the first time I was here. The freshly fallen snow, the barren trees, the dappled sunlight created from the massive overhanging branches, the perfectly smooth lavender sky. Nothing has changed. It's as peaceful and serene as ever. Now all that's missing is the entrance of the white tiger.

No matter what direction I go or what speed I run, every road leads back to him. That fearsome white tiger with the dark, piercing eyes. I know it's only a matter of time before I come face to face with him again in this dream.

Resigned to my fate, I look up at the branches and admire the graceful forest ceiling in the same manner as I've done every time I've been here. I don't think I could ever get used to the beauty of this place. The poignant silence touches my soul, as if trying to tell me Gaia's secret of nature itself. I want to phase into my cat and fully blend into the white snow that covers the ground, but for some reason I feel like I should be in human form. I am always compelled to stay in human form in these dreams.

As soon as I feel the telltale prickling sensation on the back of my neck, I know he is there, glaring at me from behind. I sigh, exasperated and annoyed with these recurring and all-too predictable events, and turn around to face my adversary.

Bracing myself to face his unforgiving glare, I turn and look into the black abyss of his eyes. Those eyes, which I've only seen in the ripples of my dreams, always haunt my waking hours. They are deeper than any I've seen before, almost ageless and eternal, stretching into infinity. For some reason I know they have the ability to physically pierce my soul, peel back every layer of my being until they can dissect the essence that is me. The very anatomy of my cat. The mysterious past of my tiger blood. I want to shut my eyes against his probing stare, but I can't.

He is standing in the same proud position that he stands in every time I've seen him—tall and bold and unmerciful, as if I'm trespassing on his territory and he holds my life in the palm of his hand. Which, given his size, he probably does.

His white fur glistens in the sunlight and I can see that the fur on his back is standing on end. He is angrier than usual. He growls threateningly and stalks toward me. I can feel his bottomless black eyes burning into me, but I still cannot find the will to break eye contact.

This time I refuse to run away, even though I am practically panting in fear now. Every time he approached me in the past, fear would flood my veins and I would flee before I even made a conscious decision to do so. But now, I am making a conscious decision to hold my ground.

'This is, after all, a dream,' I think, panicked. 'You can't die in a dream.'

He makes a straight line to where I am, tense and clenching my fists repeatedly, until his snout is inches away from my face. I see his nostrils inhale, taking in my scent. I've already tried to catch his, but it's always only a faint wisp, as if his scent is just around the corner and I could fully discover it if I followed the trail.

His body blocks out everything else, it's all I can see. Blinding white fur, deep black eyes, flaring nostrils. I imagine how it would feel if he decided to end me—his claws ripping through the flesh of my belly, cutting through me like butter. I wouldn't stand a chance. Are all male tigers this massive? I really wouldn't know—I've only been around Zane, and he's barely bigger than me in cat form.

I'm anxious and on edge after these long moments of closeness, and I can't help but give in to my instinct to slowly back away and put more space between us. He loudly chuffs in annoyance, making me jump. He obviously doesn't want me to move, but he keeps advancing. And I keep backing up.

Until I feel the ground disappear beneath me and hear a splash. Water—I've started walking into some sort of pond, I guess, but there's no way I would risk taking my eyes off the tiger to see for sure.

When I continue backing farther into the pond, the tiger chuffs louder and his eyes flash—eyes that I had once thought pitch black suddenly become a dark, haunting green.

"Edie."

I bolt up in my seat, immediately tense and alert like a rubber band stretched taut. My heart is pounding and I scan my surroundings thoroughly until I see Zane stretching outside of the stopped car.

"Edie, we're here." Zane peeks in the opened door of the Chevy truck, letting the bitter cold morning into the previously heated car.

For a moment I'm thoroughly disoriented. I don't know where I am. But then it all comes rushing back.

After leaving Portland, we headed straight toward the border of Maine and into New Hampshire. We needed to get past state lines as fast as possible—before the Pureblood tracker could get to the border. We had been running for days before we found a car that Zane deemed inconspicuous enough to steal from one of the isolated houses nestled in the thick New Hampshire forest. He conveniently forgot to mention his talent at hot-wiring unsuspecting vehicles.

We ended up running north through White Mountain National Forest and into New Hampshire, heading straight for the Canadian border. Out of the city, out of the state, and straight on out of the country.

My eyes grew moist at the thought. Leaving behind my past and all my roots proved more difficult that I had imagined.

The tracker had been following us for days and Zane insisted that if we were to escape and evade we needed to find help from other werecats we could trust. So we aimed our exodus for Quebec, where Zane knew some trusted Panthera Tigris, in other words loner Purebloods similar to Zane himself. He already told me that he cut all connections to respectable Panthera Tigris on account of his "good sense of distaste." I rolled my eyes at that one. What a drama queen.

We had to be extremely careful to only phase into our cats when it was dark, so as not to be seen, which aggravated me since we would have been moving a lot faster without the hindrance of our human bodies. I longed to free my lithe white tiger and stretch my legs out in a speed unconstrained and unrestricted. To feel the wind in my fur and the soft dirt of the forest under my paws was something I had not experienced in many months. But, remembering the dangers of phasing in human living areas and realizing the fact that our lives were at stake, I ignored those impulses and made due with my human legs, all the while looking forward to the moment when I would be free to unleash my cat.

With only a backpack filled with a map, water, and some junk food stolen from a gas station, Zane and I weaved our way through long miles of trees. I regretted the fact that we had to abandon all our clothes and belongings, but we made sure not to leave anything valuable behind. The only thing I owned that had any value to me was an amethyst pendant necklace, which remained heavy and reassuring around my neck.

The amethyst stone, a dark, almost unnatural violet cut in a delicate teardrop shape, was the only proof I had that my mother even existed. The old-fashioned necklace once belonged to her, before she died in a car accident when I was only a week old and left me to grow up in the oh-so-capable hands of my foster parents. It's the only connection I have to my mom, a woman I never knew and who never knew me. And I probably never would know anything about her, because no matter how hard I researched, I could never find out anything about her.

I unconsciously rubbed the pendant in between my fingers, hoping to somehow absorb strength from the lost soul of my mysterious mother. It was a habit I'd picked up after many anxious nights of no sleep.

And so we went. Me and Zane running through the forest wilderness with nothing but a backpack and an amethyst necklace to our names. Luckily, having a body temperature of 107 degrees, the frosty November weather didn't bother me as it would a human. In fact, the cold wind exhilarated me while I ran, and from the wild laughter Zane randomly bust into, I could tell it refreshed him also. Before I knew it, I was giggling right along with him until, at random intervals, we could be seen sprinting over fallen logs and mossy hills hysterically laughing like a couple of deranged children.

I couldn't deny that his carefree antics relaxed me in this mad run for our lives. Through wind, rain, and hail, we ran on, and I tried to ignore the underlying fear that crawled under my skin.

By that time we were in Canada and Zane was positive we had lost the tracker.

He passed the time explaining the details of the Panthera Tigris world and I just listened, not interrupting nor asking questions for fear that he'd change his mind and stop talking. He told me about the Purebloods' hate for the Mixedbloods, and how certain Mixedbloods, called dissenters, rallied back against their own persecution.

"They created their own headquarters," he told me, "where they plan attacks against Pureblood-held cities, like London, Milan, and—well you know, the most expensive cities are usually controlled by Purebloods because they thrive on being envied and fawned on by the humans. They are extremely cultured and intelligent, often responsible for history's greatest art, literature, and academic discoveries. But not always, I mean sometimes humans are responsible for the great discoveries...but not often.

"But anyway, not all Mixedbloods are dissenters, because these guys are basically terrorist radicals of the community, they take things to the extreme. It's stupid really—you can't fight fire with fire when it comes to the Purebloods. Although the last time I heard, they had some successful missions..." he trailed off musingly.

I thought about this. It makes sense that there would be factions within the races since Zane told me that some Purebloods don't even agree with persecuting the Mixedbloods. Those Dissenters usually leave the Panthera Tigris community, although some try to aid the Mixedbloods' cause.

I suddenly realize that that's what Zane is—a Dissenter. I had been suspecting for some time that he was a Pureblood, given his experience, strength, and reluctance to talk about his personal past. I mean, Zane is very intelligent and resourceful—it makes sense that he would be of a Pureblood.

Zane's friends are Dissenters as well. "And that's why we can trust them," he said, "They all know what it's like to have to escape those slimy trackers."

At night we would climb into the trees and sleep in the branches together in our cat forms. Under the stars, the wind grew colder and louder, but my white tiger's thick pelt protected me and kept me warm. And in the mornings we would wake up to frigid air that battered our human skin and actually made our teeth chatter. But we would distract ourselves by racing each other across the mountains and making bets on who would win. Which, I was proud to say, I usually did.

And that made me pause. I had been listening to Zane's stories of the Panthera Tigris as if I was an outsider looking in. But for the first time in my life I'm not an outsider—I'm part of the Panthera Tigris world. If Zane was a Pureblood, supposedly stronger and faster than Mixedbloods, and I could beat him in a race...then what was I? Was a turned human even considered a Pureblood or a Mixedblood? Or did we have our own separate category to fit into? I felt a frown form on my face when I realized that I might not even fit into the Panthera Tigris world that I thought I belonged to.

Zane, being the ever-observant werecat that he is, immediately noticed my disgruntled expression and badgered me until I gave in and asked the dreaded question. I didn't really want my outsider status to be confirmed out loud, but his answer surprised me.

"I can't be sure, because there haven't been too many successful turnings, but supposedly when a werecat bites a human, he transfers his genetic code into the human's DNA and causes a mutation in the human's genes which turns them into one of the Panthera Tigris. So if the werecat was a Pureblood, then I guess the turned human would be also. I think that's what happened to you—a strong Pureblood bit you in order to turn you...But, it doesn't make sense that he would just abandon you afterwards..." I ignored the part about being abandoned.

"So I'm a Pureblood?"

"Yep I'm quite positive about that, Edie." But, he looked thoughtful and disturbed, as he though out loud, "I just don't get why a werecat would abandon the first successfully turned female werecat... It doesn't make sense...unless he fled right after he attacked you...or maybe he attacked you, and then thought you were dead so he didn't need to stick around..."

I blocked out his musings. I didn't want to think about the werecat that turned me. I didn't want to have to relive it—there were some details that I'm pretty sure would just be better forgotten. Like the feral expression on the homeless man's face as he ran towards me. Or his mangled, disjointed transformation, so painful and unhealthy. Or the feel of his sharp claws ripping through the soft flesh of my stomach. Or the moment when I looked down at the bloody mess of my mutilated stomach afterwards—NO I can't think about that.

I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed back the memories that were rapidly bombarding my head. I thought of a metal vault, and imagined stuffing all the painful memories behind the thick door of that vault in my mind. When my mind quieted, and the memories were locked away, I opened my eyes to see Zane staring at me concernedly. His platinum blond hair was now a shade darker from a layer of dirt and his clothes were muddy and wrinkled.

"You okay, E?"

I paused. Was I okay?

"Yeah...I just...let's just not talk about that time." Seeing the pain on my face, he agreed wholeheartedly.

We had been hoping to make it to Quebec in about a week and we generally made good time, considering the random zig-zag path we had to take in order to get the tracker off our tails, no pun intended. From the looks of it, the tracker was very skilled, and had probably enlisted some of his contacts to help his search.

And after 8 frantic days of no showers and barely any sleep, here's where our journey ends: standing in front of a regular white house in a normal middle-class neighborhood in the suburbs of Quebec.

I open my door and slide out of the car, both groggy and confused. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I self-consciously smooth down my long, waist-length brown hair. I've already failed at untangling the dirty knots, but at least I can make sure it doesn't turn into a complete mess. Zane and I stopped at a gas station bathroom to wash the dirt off our faces as best we could, but I'm sure I still look grungy and unkempt. I grimace apprehensively at the modest white house.

Zane, reading my face, gives me an apologetic shrug and comes around the front of the car to wrap a reassuring arm around my shoulders.

"Don't worry. I've known these guys my whole life. Sure, they may be shocked as hell to see a gorgeous female werecat on their doorstep, but trust me, they won't be copping a feel while Zane is around."

I scoff, and then pause.

"Zane, who are these guys? How do you know we can really trust them?" I'm tired and hungry and I've just run across two states and into another country on foot—that makes for a very grumpy werecat. But, of course, the ever-cheerful and resilient Zane is still as happy as a clam.

"Beck and Stello live here together, but usually Hanson and Casey and sometimes Esteban are mooching off them. They're all Pureblood Dissenters like me, so they have the strength and the means to help me protect you. And they will," he declares confidently.

Zane squeezes my shoulder and nudges me to look across the street toward the white two-story house with a low fence. The healthy green grass blends in well with the other houses on the street, except for the bushes of fully-bloomed roses adorning the stone pathway. The roses are lively and vibrant, even though they're not in season, and they light up the house with beautiful reds and pinks and yellows, and even unnatural colors like purples and oranges and blues. I wonder who in the house breeds roses as a hobby.

The colorful yard is a stark contrast to the cold, dark sky that heralds a storm in the harsh wind. The cheerful roses even make me feel out of place, dirty and smelly as I am.

All in all, the house is delicate and tasteful in a simple cottage way, and I gaze at its simplicity while Zane continues on. "Edie babe, just trust me. Beck and Stello and me, we go way back. They're as loyal and trustworthy as they come. And they'll love you just as much as I do, so stop worrying—it'll give you wrinkles," he teases me, adding a wink for good measure.

But I'm too nervous and jumpy. A lot of things could go wrong—there might still be tension and unresolved problems that could lead to some difficulties. It seems that the adventurous atmosphere of our journey has dissipated and now we're in a very real world—a world where there are dangerous trackers looking for me and I can die in a snap.

"So will you go in now or do you wanna keep sitting out here contemplating life?"

I look at him, his outrageously hopeful expression waiting for my reply. His hair, although dirty and windblown, still highlights his boyishly handsome face—of course he looks perfectly in his element, even though he is wearing week-old clothing and smells horrendous. I huff and throw my head back to look at the cold blue sky.

Worst-case scenario: they refuse to let us hide out in their house and we have to leave. I doubt they'll report us to the Panthera Tigris Court, because those are the werecats who track and murder Mixedbloods, and according to Zane they hate the conforming racist Panthera Tigris population just as much as he does. Well that's reassuring.

But most likely they will help us, especially because I'm a female werecat. It makes sense that they'd want to keep me away from the Capital so I don't mate with a male werecat and produce more Mixedblood-hating werecats. That would probably be their worst nightmare.

I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and shake off his arm. That'd make me seem weak and that's the last thing I need in front of a bunch of unfamiliar werecats. Zane, obviously pleased with my decision, grins at me.

I try to keep the cold mask on my face but my lips twitch as I try to suppress the smile that threatens to bloom in response to Zane's grin. Damn him.

We quickly walk down the narrow pathway and up the front steps. I catch the faint smell of werecats, but I can't hear anything inside the house.

I look at Zane questioningly and he glances at me, shrugging, and rings the doorbell.

It's silent for a moment before I hear a shuffle on the second floor, and then stumbling footsteps coming down the stairs and towards the door. At the last second, Zane suddenly maneuvers me behind him, and I take a deep breath to calm my annoyance. He is obviously having an attack of overprotectiveness. But, my uncertainty lets it slide, and I lift my chin with an indignant huff that Zane knows I don't really mean. I'm too nervous to fight with him right now.

The door opens to reveal a disheveled young man, seemingly in his early twenties like Zane, with short brown hair and big brown eyes. He is short, just a few inches taller than me, but very muscular, built like a wrestler. He is extremely tan, but in a tanning salon kind of way so that he's a kind of orangish brown. His eyes fly straight to Zane, who greets him with a warm, "Stello, my good friend."