Fear

Chapter Seventeen

A/N Soooo, ignore my mistakes, I'm fucking pissed at wattpad's new "ideas" for writing, and it's put me in a fucking bad mood, so I apologize beforehand if anything seems off.

-unedited-

Harlow looked over her shoulder, eyes coming in contact with nothing but the mindless landscape of thing wavering trees, wallowing in and out of sight, wavering like alive bodies, writhing and biding their time for acknowledgement.

The drab droll of frozen wispy fingers of wind creepy against her paleness shone against the thin layer of perspiration, enlightened only by a sliver of moon that slivered against the trees.

Four black wolves came slinking out of the shadows, each identical to the last, their bodies hunching, curving, skating across leaves and twigs without making a sound, eyes cast upwards towards the moon, but still drifting back to her form.

You're not welcome daughter of mortal.

It was obvious, the hostile slump of their backs, the way their legs and arms cleverly avoided turning in her direction. One or two of the wolves would let their mouths pull back just enough to catch a sharp glimpse of those glittering teeth.

Her hands felt airy as they lay at her sides, body racking with bumps and the rocks of cold air, the light white chemise that was cast upon her shoulders doing nothing to insulate her heat.

Though the glares of the wolves set her off, they did not cause racks of fear to go through her, she was not afraid of these creatures. Simply wary of their unnatural grace.

Icy limbs strung together by the airiness accustomed to frost, a thin lying layer of unavoidable turmoil and catastrophe.

And then they lunged.

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Harlow woke with a gasp, the light kind of huff that just jerks you out of your sleep enough to realize who and where you are.

But not enough for reality to sink in.

Harlow has never liked the dark very much, but she's always hated daylight more, because that unsuspecting thin veil that held during the day was what kept the monsters that lurked in it just beneath the seeing ability.

But in the dark they were free to roam, your nightmares, no longer sleeping underneath your nose.

She let her feet touch the floor, the coldness not jolting her icy skin in the least, just tensing her muscles enough to actually jolt her brain enough to move.

Louden wasn't next to her.

She made it very clear after movie night that she had to take things slow. And sleeping in the same bed with a stranger was not slow.

But now- now she was regretting her adamant decision, she was missing Louden's warmth, that constant reassurance that always seemed to be there, was absent.

And something in her, something deep was tugging at the loss of him, deeper than heartstrings.

But she didn't go to him, instead she found herself trailing down the long worn hallway, with the red rose wallpaper, and stained carpet, she made her way down the stairs into the kitchen, a small bay window expressing the moon's glow, only muffled by calico curtains with bleach stains, and faded from washing.

Harlow didn't know how to take the woman in front of her- with had long blonde hair, and plain features- but her eyes, the kind of eyes that you wrote books on- the kind of eyes that wars started over- the kind of eyes that gestured to anything but human.