Loving My Pack

by Lane Whitt

  Chapter Two

  I watch his black curls bounce around his shoulders as we jump over the cracks on the hard walking space. He was kind enough to warn me earlier that stepping on the cracks would break his mother’s back, so I concentrate hard on avoiding them. Friends don’t break their friends’ mother’s backs.

  The boy takes my hand as I stop outside of his sleeping place, and he drags me through the door behind him. It smells nice in here, like food and warmness. I hear one of those magic boxes with people trapped inside, like they had in the hospital, but the boy pulls me to a smaller room with a table and a tall person with her back to us.

  “Hey, baby, did you have fun at the park?” she asks my friend without turning around. What is she doing? I hear water and splashing, but I can’t figure out what she’s doing with the eating things. Plates, those are plates.

  “Yes!” My friend tells her as he lets go of my hand and walks around the small room. “I made a friend, can we have a sleepover?”

  “Hmm, I don’t know, honey. Do I know his parents? Do you go to school with him?” she asks.

  “She doesn’t have parents. I promise I’ll feed her and give her a bath. I’ll take good care of her, Mom, I swear!” He pleads with Mom, going to her and hugging her leg.

  “What on Earth are you going on about, boy? She? And everyone has parents, Tony.” Mom admonishes as she dries her hands on a rag. She turns to face me, her eyes going wide and her hand going to her chest.

  “E-ever one h-ham parent? E-even smeee?” I ask hopefully, speaking slowly and as clearly as I can.

  Mom lets out an ear-piercing scream that scares me, while she grabs my friend and pulls him close to her. “What is that? Oh my God, Tony! What have you done? It’s…it’s an alien…or…or some kind of beast!” She continues to yell at me, placing my friend Tony on top of the table and grabbing a long stick with something on the end of it.

  I look behind me for the beast, scared that it will get me. It’s a good thing Mom has a stick. Should I climb up on the table…Oww! Hurt starts on my arm and I look back to Mom. She has the stick raised in the air and she’s looking right at me again.

  “Get out of here! Git! You leave my son alone, you hear me?” she screams, poking me with the stick, hard. I hiss at her. Mom is mean.

  “No, Mommy! She’s my friend! She’s a nice alien, she eats berries off the tree in the park, not people!” my friend Tony pleads.

  She takes a step toward me, the stick raised again to hit me. I back away from her and she lets me turn and run away from their sleeping place. As I run back toward my own sleeping place, I step on every crack along the way. Tears leak down my face as I take time to stomp on some of the bigger ones, wondering if I’ve broken Mom’s back yet. I hope so, because my friend is in danger. I hope she doesn’t hit him with the stick, too. And what about the beast?

  I end up going to the big warm place that always makes me feel better. Maybe one of the tall people will tell stories again. When I arrive, I notice there’s not many people here this time. The tall person called Librarian is at her table, though, and she frowns down at me.

  Before she asks me her usual questions, I ask her one. “W-what tis awien?”

  “Oh, sweetie. Where did you hear that word?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “Awien,” I repeat for her. “A-wi-eeen. I tis awian?” I sound out, like she’s showed me before.

  Librarian clears her throat, like she does when I make her sad and she doesn’t want me to know. “An alien is science-fiction; they’re not real. Some people think they are real, that they’re another species from another planet, or outer space, who might one day try to take over the world or enslave humans, and other nonsense like that.” She steps slowly around her table to kneel in front of me. “So, Kitten, you can’t be an alien, you see?”

  I shake my head at her again. “No, I tis awien. I takes world and swace p-pawents come b-back fur smeee. I not Titten, I awien.” I stomp my foot and cross my arms to make my point. Everyone has parents, Mom said, so maybe mine are out in space, with the lights in the sky, and they just forgot where they left me. They’ll come back for me, I know it, and when they do, we’ll take over the world like aliens do.

  “Kitten. Sweetie, is everything okay?” Reed’s voice is rough with sleep as he gently shakes me awake. It takes me moment to remember where I am, or better yet when I am. That’s the third time this week that I’ve dreamed so hard I become disoriented upon waking. Only they aren’t really dreams, are they? Scenes from my past seem to haunt me, just waiting until I’m too tired to fight them back.

  “Just a dream. Go back to sleep,” I tell him quietly, running my fingers through his blonde locks. His breathing evens out in moments, and I can tell he’s asleep again. After last night, I’m surprised he could even form words. That man and his tongue…insatiable.

  I, on the other hand, don’t think I’ll be sleeping again. I don’t know why these dreams are coming on so strong lately, but I feel like they’re happening for a reason. The reason for this memory was pretty clear. I had thought the term ‘alien’ earlier, about the baby, so I was given the memory of when I was younger and was determined to be an alien.

  A baby. I still can’t believe it. My life has been a constant whirlwind for months now. I can clearly picture the day I first met Tristan and Ash. Or the Giant and Chocolate-eyes, as I had named them that day. Until that night, that day had gone as most days did for me. I had checked in with my various jobs to see if they had work for me. The diner had let me wash dishes, although it was an odd shift that left me returning home after dark. Skipping over accidentally falling asleep, and the resulting assault, I remember how I had felt running away. I had told myself at the time that I refused to give up, but looking back I realize that I had. I made my body move, but inside I had been dying a slow death; a battle I wasn’t aware of. I wanted something more, some connection to this world other than the breath I took into my lungs.

  Then, by fate or by chance, they had shown up. One as tall and thick as a tree and the other with a voice like silk. They saw me. Not just a broken girl, but me. They brought me to their home, brought me into their family. I may have started out as a fun project for Logan, but he took care of me that first day without question. He and Kellan both. I smile to myself in the dark, remembering how I also started out as a threat to Jace, and being scared to death of Remy. Tristan had fed me, Reed had smiled shyly at me, and Finn was and forever would be my Mr. Wolf.

  Paintballing, carnival rides, Noah, motorcycle rides, and shopping trips with Ash. It’s hard not to laugh right now. I loved them even then. Maybe not in the same way as I do now, but it was the start. My love has just grown since then. One of my favorite memories was being on the ice, having them watch me skate from the stands, and finally knowing what it felt like to have people you cared about cheering you on. It happened fast, faster than it probably does for others. I regret being so cold toward Jace. Time is funny that way, isn’t it? Looking back, I know he was sorry for the things he said long before I forgave him. And he never should have been sorry in the first place. He was and is protective of his family, in his own way. I love him dearly for that very reason now.

  I think it was mere weeks before I was taken from them. Actually, I spent more time away from them than I had with them at that point. That’s a place in my head I don’t want to go right now, or maybe ever. It was too late after that, though. I already loved them. Knowing that at least some of them were still out there was all that kept me going. Becoming a wolf, becoming like them, was just something that had happened along the way. Kind of like finding out my last name, that I had blood family ready to accept me, and that an entire pack of wolves would come to depend on me. All of that was just life happening, but my reason for life started the moment Ash and Tristan saved me from giving up at that angel fountain. They were what I was looking for all along. A connection, a place where I belonged.

  And here we all are, getting ready to br
ing new life into our family and accepting another child as our own. We’re growing our pack already, and it’s only been months. I don’t know what my past has to do with any of it, but I as I lay here, thinking over how exactly I got here, I know without a doubt that I can face anything. Because I’m not alone anymore, not because of my mate that I feel beside me, or because of the baby growing inside of me, but because there’s simply no going back now. Not for any of us. And I think that this is what family means. Forming bonds that simply cannot be broken, because we won’t allow them to, because we don’t want them to.

  “What are you thinking so hard about?” Reed asks, pulling me out of my head. I shift around, now noticing that the sun has begun to rise, and my sensitive, multi-color-eyed mate has been watching me.

  I smile lazily at him, reaching out to run my fingertips over his jaw, tracing his thin, pink lips. “I was thinking of us. All of us. We’ve had a crazy ride so far. I keep dreaming of my past, back when I was little. I don’t know what it means.”

  His hand covers my own, placing a kiss in my palm, entwining our fingers and laying them between us. “What was it like when you were little?”

  I frown, trying to find the right words. “Confusing, I guess. Everything was kind of a mystery. What things were named, why people went here and did that. Why I wasn’t like everyone around me. I wasn’t sad or angry most of the time, but confused.”

  “I can only imagine. I guess you learned a lot of things out of order.”

  “I wished for words. That’s what went through my head the most. I never had the words,” I try to explain.

  “Words for what?” he prods.

  “Imagine standing on the grass in your bare feet, still damp from an overnight rain just as the sun starts to paint the sky in every amazing color there is. A soft wind is blowing through your hair, you can feel it on your fingertips. A bakery across the street has been working for hours by that point and decides to open their doors to let out some of the heat from the kitchen. The smell of fresh baked bread and pastries carries on the wind to you.”

  Reed’s smile turns soft and I know that his artistic mind can paint it all clearly for him.

  “Now, imagine not knowing what you’re standing on. Why is it softer here than the hard stuff next to it? What makes the water fall from up above sometimes, when other times it doesn’t? Where does the ball of light go and why does it come back? You don’t know the names of the colors you see, or what presses against your skin. You smell something new in the air that you breathe, but you don’t know why you like it or why it makes your mouth water and your stomach hurt. You just recognize the smell as food, something you’re supposed to eat, but you know that if you follow the smell the tall people won’t let you eat the food.”

  Reed closes his eyes, the skin right below pinkening in the way that it does when he fights back his emotions. The dreamy smile is now gone from his face, replaced with a crestfallen expression. “I can picture that, and I don’t know if I would’ve been strong enough to endure it.” He takes a deep breath, gripping my hands tightly. “Kitten, I know you don’t like me to go “all sad”, but I just don’t understand how you made it through your childhood. Babies and young children can’t make it on their own. Without someone to provide the basics needed for survival, they die.”

  “I’m aware of that now. I should have died a million times over. At best, I should be mentally handicapped from malnutrition and neglect. I should’ve gotten sick from unfiltered water and bacteria. But I didn’t, and I think I know why now. Like right now, from this conversation.” I feel my eyes widen and my heartrate pick up at the realization.

  “Tell me,” Reed says softly, making me realize it’s been a while since I’ve spoken.

  “Because of her…my wolf. I think she was with me this whole time. Everyone keeps saying that I’m different, that I’m not a born wolf but I’m also not a changed wolf. I’m somewhere in between. I think my wolf was always a part of me, waiting to be released. It would explain a lot anyway. The instincts of a human alone wouldn’t have kept me alive, but the instincts of a wolf might have.”

  “Or the instincts of both.” He finishes my thought. “If you had the ability to heal yourself, even slightly, that would explain a lot of things.”

  “Yeah, it’s a theory anyway.”

  He raises himself up, gently placing a kiss on my forehead. “I love that beautiful brain of yours. Whatever the reason, I’m grateful that you survived long enough for me to find you.”

  “Me, too. Enough about me, though. What was it like when you were little?” I ask, curious to know more about him. I know the him now, as I do the others, but I don’t know a whole lot about the before me times of their lives.

  Reed smiles as his eyes drift off behind me, or maybe into the past. “My mother was an artist. Did I mention that?”

  I shake my head no. “That explains you, though,” I tease.

  He laughs, pulling me to him and throwing his leg over mine. “Probably. From the time that I can remember there were always drawings flung all over the house, and her hands and sometimes face had charcoal all over them. She was a sketch artist. She made money as a seamstress, not in art, but it was her real passion. I was born in New York, but both of my parents were immigrants. I can’t for the life of me remember where they came from, but that’s probably because as soon as they stepped off that boat, they were Americans. That’s what my dad always said, anyway.”

  I stay quiet, just listening to him talk. I wonder if our child will have memories like these, of him, covered in paint most of the time.

  “I remember running around muddy streets filled with people, clothes hanging from lines across buildings, and really hot, stinky summers. What my dad did then, I have no idea. He worked outside of the home. He would bring things home, though, something my mother would chide him about not having space for. Then one day we were packing all of that stuff onto a cart, and we left New York for good.”

  “Where did you go?” I ask.

  “I guess my parents had been longing to head out west for a long time. They were saving up for the trip. I remember hating that damn wagon, though. I slept a lot and I have memories of digging the wheels out of mud with my dad. Also, campfires. Lots and lots of campfires and flat bread. I grew up a lot on that trip, but everyday was basically the same, so my memories are all scattered. I did learn to hunt, and I liked doing that. My mother learned to cook, and she loathed doing that.” He chuckles.

  “We ended up in what would be California. My dad was going to dig for gold. However, he got sick one day. Not long after that, he died. Our house had already been raised, but to provide for me and herself my mom converted it into a general store of sorts. She served food, too, along with taking side jobs here and there mending and washing miners’ clothing. She’d collect the gold dust that got caught inside of pockets and whatnot and use that for money as well. By that time, I was old enough to help her.”

  “She sounds like an amazing woman. That couldn’t have been easy. And I’m sorry about your dad,” I tell him honestly.

  He kisses me then, just a chaste one. “It was a lifetime ago. My mom had a long life; there weren’t many times we went without, and people generally loved her. My only regret is that she gave up art for me, because of what she had to do after my dad died. I should have helped her more, given her more time to do what she loved,” he tells me with a hint of sadness in his voice.

  “I think she would have loved to know how good an artist you are now, and that you have your own galleries. I think she’d be proud.” I smile.

  He smiles back. “I think so, too.”

  He turns then, bringing his lean body over mine and settling himself between my legs. Just the brush of his hardness touching my sensitive skin has my blood on fire. Reed’s soft lips brush mine and I open for him, needing to taste him. His tongue dances around mine as one of his hands fists in my hair at the back of my neck, the other lightly tracing my outer thigh. I com
b his hair back with my fingers, one hand sliding down his back. The warm, silky skin and feel of his shoulder blades makes me arch up with my hips, wanting to feel him inside me.

  At the move, Reed pulls back. He loves to take his time caressing me, both with hands and his mouth. His lips skim over my jaw, moving down the column of my throat before I feel the first lick, sending lightning straight to my core. I moan his name, making him chuckle darkly against my collarbone.

  “Not yet, beautiful.”

  He licks all the way down to my nipple, elicting another moan from me before pulling the tight bud into his mouth. His hand at my hair slides around to play with the underside of my other breast, driving me crazy. I run the heel of my foot up his thigh, pressing it into his backside, knowing that drives him crazy. I smile at his groan of pleasure. Sure enough, he rocks his length into me. Just what I wanted.

  “You play dirty,” he pants through a smile.

  “Only fighting fair, handsome,” I tell him as I repeat the move with my other foot. The position leaves my thighs open wide, driving home exactly what I’m wanting. His hips thrust forward harder this time, the full and heavy length of him sliding through my slick core. This time we both moan. He repeats the action a few times with purpose. Once I think I’ve won, though, he slides his body down mine, giving my inner thigh a teasing bite and nearly making me growl in unexpected pleasure.

  Then, he starts. That sinfully amazing tongue of his flicks out to play with my most sensitive flesh, licking and swirling, dipping inside of me over and over again. As sweat forms on my body, and as I’m about to fall over that blissful edge, he repositions himself at my entrance and drives me to ecstasy in one hard thrust of his hips. I call out his name, rocking my hips in time with his as one hand feels his abs flexing and the other holds him to me by his hair. He’s all that grounds me now. My body feels like it’s floating, chasing the last few moments of electricity pulsing through me and around him. He soon finds his release inside me, my favorite part—when I can feel him pulse and the warmth floods me.