My Best Friend's Werewolf

15 I Learn the Hard Way Why Running Away is a Bad Idea

I don't push back the tears. No one will know I am crying anyways. I step off the porch and turn right, making my way into the forest. My feet easily maneuver over the stumps and rocks.

She's not dead.

Why?

Think.

My way is blocked by a cluster of boulders. I place my foot on top of the smallest one and hoist myself over.

They were young.

Extremely good looking.

I shake my head at that thought. That's not important. How they look doesn't change the fact they're kidnappers.

The one who seemed to be in charge looked at Eliza like she was the only thing in the world. He called her his. And his eyes. . .they turned black. But that part had to be my imagination.

The tears on my cheeks annoy me and make me feel hotter and stickier than I already am. And the ones in my eyes blur my already not so great vision. I wipe away the ones on my cheeks, smearing dirt up to my glasses. I don't try to clear my eyes. That could be disastrous.

The one who carried me to the bridge lifted me up without any problem. Almost like he didn't exert any strength at all.

The forest is quiet. Almost like every living things has run away or is dead.

Like Eliza.

No!

I take deep breaths and suddenly fall down on my hands, scraping them on pebbles. My foot is looped over a root I was unable to see clearly.

I try pointing my foot. A little sore but not sprained.

Eliza isn't dead. If I'm right, they wouldn't have killed her. But me on the other hand. . . they didn't seem to have a problem with the idea.

I flex my arms and push myself into a plank position. I laugh bitterly. They almost sound like—

A growl comes from behind me, causing a cold chill to settle on my body like mist. The steps of the creature behind me crunch leaves as it approaches. I hold my breath. I don't want to startle it. Playing dead is pointless. Wolves are scavengers. Moving or unmoving the wolf will still tear into my flesh. Great going. Why did I have to think that?

Something cold is placed on the back of my neck. It tickles. By the sniffing, I make the safe assumption that it is a snout. All it would take is a snap at my neck and I'm done. One little flinch and I'm gone from this world. My arms begin growing weak, and it's all I can do to keep them from shaking. Wolves are smart. Even if it couldn't hear my pounding heart, by my awkward plank position it must know I'm alive.

And then the snout nudges my stomach. It wants me to roll over. He—I'm calling it he—wants me to show submission to him. At least I think.

My arms can't take anymore.

I roll over and land limply on my back, hitting my head. I wince and the wolf growls. I hesitantly open one eye and see three wolves. Two of them hang back and watch the black one that growls at me. He bares his teeth, but makes no other move against me.

One of the other wolves bark, causing both of my eyes to open automatically. I don't think any noticed because the black one is looking at the brown one that barked. He seems annoyed.

Slowly the head of the wolf turns back to me, his eyes locking with mine. Snarling he approaches and lowers his snout to the base of my neck and snaps.