Night Alpha

8 - Runner Red

When I decide I've been laying around for too long, I glance at the sun glazing through the curtains. It's warm and inviting, but couldn't sleep. Couldn't close my eyes. Even afraid to turn, I've lost all feeling in my legs. I know he's still there, the heat of his body has been trying to lull me to sleep, I haven't heard him move.

I turn to look at him, but his eyes are already on mine, dark circles probably mimicking mine. So he hasn't slept either. I sigh and rub my eyes. I don't know why he hasn't, if he was uncomfortable he could have moved. Or was he afraid I'd run? The small smile he gives me when I sit up doesn't reach his eyes. No, his eyes carry an eerie feeling, dark and lonely.

I take the time to pull at knots in my hair, from aimlessly tossing around. He takes his phone out, I notice the time, 6 am. The phone is softly put in my lap before I can blink, his fingers don't linger put he lays his hands palm up by my thigh. I take it, ignore its heat and in the morning light, I notice the subtle cracks on the screen.

« Breakfast ? » my stomach almost grumbles at the word but I swallow my saliva to calm it down. I don't look at him, head laying back on bed by my feet, bed hair and tired eyes. I decide to play his game too, grumpy from the restless night. His eyes widens just a bit when he notices my fingers moving on the screen.

The fingers of his open palms twitch for just a fraction, in the corner of my eye. He doesn't move to stop me, simply waits. I wonder what he thinks I'm doing, checking the news, calling home. However the night, while warm and terrifying, has given me my next step.

« Tell me about mates. » I inspect the sentence, let my fingers roam over the words. As much as I hate them, between needing him and the bind, I'm more hungry for information. I let my eyes track the word, spell it in my mind again and again, what a strange thing.

A hand engulfs mine and the phone. I didn't even see him move, but he sits by my legs on the bed, body stretched above mine to reach for the phone. I feel a bit trapped but try not to show it. He pulls the phone out of my hands, I let it slip. I feel warmer now that he's closer.

His fingers skim over the screen and I can't quite see his expression from the side but his shoulders are relaxed and low. He shows me the breakfast message again. I open my mouth to go back on subject but decide to raise my shoulders instead. Do they eat cereals or game for breakfast ?

I think he takes it as an affirmation because he rises, starts to walk to the forbidden door. I don't dare to look at it, shudders come back, reminder of what went down last time I touched it. I scratch my neck when the feeling awakes, catch him stop in his track and turn.

There's something that makes him stop, his arms lay low at his side, already halfway through the bedroom. My hand leaves to clutch the duvet, knuckles white. I notice the barely there shake of his body, the muscles of his arms twitching, his fingers jumping. I think he even looses his breath because when he turns back to the door I hear him take a sharp inhale.

He face showed nothing but I saw how his body reacted, yet I don't know what it means. I decide to engrave it in my mind to stay away from my own neck, on top of that door. When I hear the it open and close, I stretch once more before before rising as well. The floor is cold on my feet, so I make a detour for the wardrobe, shuffle around to find socks before slipping them on. Much better.

When I head for the window, I feel my throat clench, when my fingers reach for the curtains, I see them shake. I have wondered many times where we were. Scared I wouldn't even recognize the landscape, having never been outside of Detroit. If I was too far, running would only end up in either dying by meeting a less amicable wolf or of thirst and hunger.

When I finally draw the curtains open, the sudden light blinds my eyes, I take a second to close my eyes and enjoy the warm feeling, take a second the swallow down the dread. I open them. I blink from the stun. Right in front of me, surrounded by forest, is lake St Clair. We could have been thousands of miles away, but we are right outside of Detroit. Only a lake apart.

I'd recognize it anywhere, shape familiar from years of looking at maps.

I press my palm onto my mouth to stop the scream. I can make it. The closest military roadblock is Fair Haven, maybe 5 hours of walking away. Three hours, that's all I need. I'm a good runner. Can I outrun him? I need him either distracted or detained long enough. What about others? How many are there? Will they try to stop me ?

When I lower my eyes, I catch 2 floors below, there's a trail around the building but only a few yards to the forest. I open the second curtain but don't dare to look, go back to the bed instead. I just have time to sit after arranging a pillow as a back rest before he opens the door. Tray in one hand, he looks at the window before pushing the door close.

I try not to look guilty, because all I did was open a curtain but there's tension in his body, it makes me wonder just how much freedom I can get. I try to relax my shoulders when he approaches, but I forget to breathe until he sets the tray on the bed in front of me. I almost choke when he sits on the bed as well, crouches in front of me, just separated by the tray.

I eye it suspiciously, because this is not friendly territory. There's a mix of berries, pancakes warm enough that I can see it fume and various topping and even hot coffee. He grabs a whole pancake and douses it in syrup. Bends it to fit in his mouth, his eyes never leave me and  swallows it in seconds. So, definitely not game for breakfast. That's a nice show of persuasion and I may not know much about wolves but I do understand poisoning isn't what mates do.

While my stomach rumbles, it's not enough to drive me to dive in. He pushes it a few inches towards me, frowning. I debate flipping the tray but that won't get me anywhere. Stress doesn't sit well with my stomach, so my fingers reach for the berries, I unconsciously hum at their sour yet sweet taste. He goes for another pancake and I think he might finish the whole tray but there's enough for four people.

I wonder who cooked it ? I leave the berries to look at him once more. He doesn't seem the lie the type, so a cook probably. This building is at least 3 stories high, if there are many people, the presence of a cook could be justified. He waves an outstretched palm in front of my face. I blink away, he has a questioning look on his face, other hand midway to his mouth to feed on another pastry.

He tries to go for his pocket, probably for his phone, but his fingers are coated in sticky syrup. I point at my own lips, tap it's left corner. His eyes widen and cheeks redden when he uses a clean finger to swipe the corner of his mouths, coated in maple. He reddens even more, bends his back to lower his face away when he catches some on his nose.

I still catch the red on his ears. I take advantage and go for a pancake too. Its warmth wakes me up, I take a coffee cup placed by. It's easier to eat than I thought. When I'm full and he has regained his composure, I keep the cup, sip on it slowly to keep my hands busy.

« So, mates? » I question him casually, the red comes back immediately. 

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hi, let me know if you spot errors in language :)