Their conversation fades out, "Think we dodged a bullet this time Dominic."
"Nothing we can't handle. Now we take extra precautions, no hunting except in pack land. Take care of that arm Jax."
"Yeah thanks, I will."
By nightfall my arm has almost healed, the bullet totally dissolved. Thank you hyper active white blood cells. My mom's been fusing over me all night and frankly after 79 years you'd think I'd have learned to take care of myself. All I want to do is search that bag. A name, just to know her name. She looks like she'd have a feminine name. Lily, Violet, something delicate.
"I think I'm going to bed," I tell her mid sentence and drag myself up the stairs. Shifters may heal fast, but it takes a toll, there's a definite recharge period afterwards.
Outside the fall rains have started and I open my window to let in the cool air. I breathe deep and wonder where she is right now. What she's doing? Is she home? Who are you? Who are you and why did you cross my path?
I wake later in the night, my face and shirt damp from the rain coming in the window. Shutting it I creep to my door and open it a crack. All the lights downstairs are off. Perfect. In the rain I want to shift like you want to stand and stretch after you've been sitting for hours on end but it's an itch I can't scratch right now. Heading out I keep an eye on the house for any lights, and within seconds I'm drenched, my shoes squelching in the mud.
Finally, the bag. It only takes a second to calculate the risk of bringing it inside or standing out here in the rain. Having a human's possession caught in mine is a serious pack no-no. They won't find it, it's not like my mom cleans my closet. Back in the dry comfort of my room I set the bag on my floor like it's some kind of holy grail. I unzip it and open it wide. On top is a bagel sandwich in a zip-lock. Looks edible enough I think setting it aside for later. More food, bottles of water, a bunched up coat, a bag of clothes, a sleeping bag and some camping gear. Still no id. I rifle through the pockets and pull out a notebook and pen. Fuck, this ain't looking good. Not even a cell phone. Maybe she had her wallet and phone in her pockets? I think back trying to remember what she was wearing but all I can think about is that wet sweater. Jeans? Yoga pants? I search all the pockets of the bag again and reach into the bottom. Nothing. Dammit. I shove it all in except the notebook and stuff it into the back of my closet behind old sports equipment.
Her writing is damn near illegible. It's a book of sketches and the only writing throughout the whole thing is the messy signatures at the bottom of each drawing. No if lost return to so and so at this address. I toss it back under my bed. Dammit. If I close my eyes I can still feel her, the dampness of her clothing pressed to my stomach, the way she shivered and didn't pull away when I held her tighter. And her smell. God, the thing that started it all. Flowers, girly soap and that undeniable female scent she carried on her skin and hair. Others had something similar sure, but there was just some kind of magnet between us. I wanted her like nothing else. I picked up a shirt and crushed it to my face.
God no. This is wrong. Something is very wrong here. I fling the shirt away. What am I thinking? Shifters and humans? Who thought of this sick cosmic joke; not to mention it's forbidden, completely forbidden. Shifters and humans have no more contact between them than strictly necessary. The first time I even saw one was on a supply run. Freaked me right out. Waifish beings drifting around, ugly and frail. If they even found out I'd exposed myself to them let alone saved one -- I'd be in my own one man pack. The bad blood between us runs long and deep.
But. But that scent, the nose doesn't lie, and I smelled a mate. It doesn't matter, nothing matters, rules don't apply to this. Stop thinking Jax and just find her. I pull the coat off the floor and press it to my face, inhaling her scent. No way could I forget it, I'll be able to find her if she's in a 100 foot radius. I begin stuffing it in the bag when my hand brushes a bulge. God, the pockets. I didn't check any of her pockets on her clothes.
Jackpot. I pull out a wallet and a cell phone. Thank the Gods. I touch the phone and a screen with dots in a grid appear. I press one but all it does is turn from blue to red. Figure that out later, I decide slipping it under my mattress. Please have a driver's licence with a home address. I pop the clasp and pull out all the cards she's got.
Hello, Olivia King.
