Call of the Wild

7 - The Truth

Panic latches onto my chest with icy claws. I can't breathe. Can't think. I can do nothing but let hysteria guide me.

"No," I manage, backing up. "No, no, no, no—"

As I stumble into a retreat, digging my hands through my hair, Mason approaches.

"Aren?" he asks tentatively. "What is it? What's wrong?"

I turn and start for the door, thinking of nothing but getting away, only for Mason to rush forwards and grasp my arm. He pulls me to a halt and I whip round to glare at him. A challenge. A threat to my escape.

"Let go of me," I demand.

He stands his ground, his eyes blazing with reassurance. He does as I ask and lets me go, but he doesn't back up. If anything, he steps closer. Getting right up into my personal space.

"What's wrong?" he asks again.

A primal terror sends my thoughts scattering like embers caught in a hurricane. Before I can stop them, the words tumble out.

"I have to go. Now. They're here and if they find me, they'll kill me—!"

"Hold on," he says, waving his hands about as though attempting to clear the confusion from the air between us. "Who's here? Why would they kill you?"

I retreat further into the house, staying away from the windows, trying to remember where the stairs are but this house is a fucking maze and my thoughts are muddled and fuzzy. Hysteria tightens around my throat, cutting off my airway. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, as though the wolves are breathing against my skin already.

Fuck, how are they so close? How did they find me so soon?

With the chaos of being stolen, I've let my guard down. Now, it's hastily thrown back up. Reinforced.

I'm gasping for breath, my vision flickering between clarity and blurriness. My nerves buzz with dread and the urge to shift. To run. To hide.

Mason pulls me to a stop again, out in one of the many hallways. He turns me around and keeps his hands on my shoulders to stop me from retreating any further.

"Aren," he snaps, a hardness to his voice, a no-nonsense tenor that calls for focus. It makes me want to bare my throat in submission and bare my teeth in fury. "Stop. Breathe. Talk to me."

My thoughts are slipping away as instincts set in, but his firm yet gentle grip on my shoulders is like a tether. Keeping me grounded, if only barely.

"What's going on?"

I look away again, my eyes dragging to another window — this one looks out over the driveway of the house, revealing another clue towards the wealth of Mason's great uncle, with a broken fountain and an ornate gateway covered in ivy — almost desperately in search of the wolves. I cannot find any, but it's not a reassuring thought.

If they're hiding—

"Hey," Mason says, shaking me a little to gain my attention.

I look at him again and find myself staring into his eyes like a mouse caught in a trap, or a doe looking at approaching headlights.

Wow, brain. Way to bring up the whole 'hit by a car' thing. Asshole.

Absently, I realise just how close the shade of his eyes are to the woods I raced through during the Call of the Wild— all mossy hues and sage undertones. A beautiful sight made horrifying by the shadows biting at my heels.

Focus, for fuck's sake.

He doesn't say anything. He just keeps staring; his gaze imploring, his expression open and seeping with silent reassurance as he waits for my answer.