Call of the Wild

9 - The Road Trip

The first stretch of the drive passes in silence as we gather our thoughts. I'm still waiting for Mason to pull over and kick me out, deeming me too much trouble. He'd have every right to do so. Granted, he's feeling guilty and responsible for running me over, but there's quite a leap from 'I've got to help this poor dog' to 'I've got to help this poor wolf shifter being chased to death for killing his alpha'.

I wouldn't blame him if he wants to be rid of me. If he wants to tell me to leave.

He doesn't. He keeps driving, lost to his own thoughts.

Absently, as I think, and as I try to calm my racing nerves, I eat the crackers. I'd practically crushed them to crumbs in my earlier panic, but they're still pretty good. I let my eyes fall closed and melt against the seat, savouring the brittle peace while it lasts.

A voice startles me. I bolt upright, eyes snapping open. But the voice is strange. Soft. Artificial.

A radio.

Mason sends me an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry," he says, swiftly turning a dial on the dashboard. The voice gets even softer. "I'll have to stop for fuel soon— I can get us something to eat, too. Then it's up to you how far we go."

I let the music flow between us for a short while. Let it weave into the silence.

"I don't know where I'm going," I admit, my voice tentative and quiet. It feels strange admitting this out loud, but after everything Mason is doing and sacrificing by helping me, he deserves to know. "I don't know where I belong."

Mason glances at me with a frown tugging at his features. There's a little line between his furrowed brows— I can't help but stare. "That's the fun part," he tells me. "You have the freedom to figure that out for yourself. And for now, you're here with me."

"Why are you helping me?" I ask, my voice thick with accusation tinged with icy suspicion. "I'm not even human— and you're not scared of me."

"Do you want me to be scared of you?" he asks instead, turning his focus back to the road.

I narrow my eyes at his deflection. "No," I say at last.

"I am scared of your friends, though."

A shudder rockets down my spine and, reflexively, I turn to look out the back window. Nothing but an empty road and woods crowding in on either side, forming a canopy with their stretching branches above us.

"They're not my friends," I mumble, returning to my seat and crossing my arms. "And you should be scared of them."

The silence that stretches between us is broken by Mason, this time.

"I'm helping you because I hit you with my car. And because all you've tried to do since then is run— even when you couldn't. You don't scare me, and I can see you're terrified. If I can help you out by driving you across the country, and make up for almost killing you, then I'll do that. Hell, it's better than dealing with that mess of a house, anyway. Even with the psycho wolves chasing us down."

"You don't like the house?" I venture.

He pulls a face. "I like it. But that's only because of the memories I have there. And now it's just empty and falling apart and so, so quiet. It's not the same, you know?"

I'm not sure I do know, but I stay quiet anyway. Something about the strain to his voice makes me think he needs to vent. Given he's driving me somewhere safe, I figure the least I can do is listen.

"I wasn't expecting it. I mean, I used to go there with my family a lot when I was a kid, and I got on well with him. But when he died, I didn't expect anything— let alone his whole house. My parents think it's a good idea, that I should do it up and live there and keep it in the family, but... I had a whole life back home. And now I'm here, and everything's changed."