[1st draft] Bora's near-death experience caused a brief separation from Gemma, but to live in peace, he must end the Seven Shadows.
Bora Hawk, the polar wolf, has an unexplained target on his back. His enemies want him dead, caged, or becoming the...
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Amid the drizzling air, the sound of raindrops hitting the pavement echoed through the empty streets. I jogged out of the bar into the humid droplets, taking shelter under the bus stop coverings. But no lingering person hanging about. Why am I drawn to him? It tastes, no - no, I can't admit that. Wait. There. The lamp post casts a bisection of an orange glare across the body, determining if it is him with many stares in a darb olive field jacket.
An eerie aurora of being near the pressure of death kicks in my flight sense. The earth shifts, helping the glow with a glint on his pale cheekbone. That's not him. I couldn't recuperate from agitation but glowered, recognizing that crisp crease line anywhere. Wow, this is not happening. I faded out, heading to where I came.
"Gemma, stay!" His sweeping footsteps and the energy closing in. I am glad I bumped into you. He clung to my forearm, forcing me to confront him as I shoved him off.
"Why are you here, John?" The nerve of this man to show his face.
"Dad. I am your father."
"Okay, Darth Vador. It's more like a boyfriend killer."
That is not fair. I did not capture to kill him.
The level of hate and love I have for my parents. Puke sits in my throat. Your experiments stirred confusion and premature separation. I've blamed myself, but in reality, it was your ridiculous scientific practice. So again, why are you here?
"To see you."
With a simple "Okay," I pivoted on my heels, wandering elsewhere. At this point, I do not entrust a damn word he says and my evening, ruined. No way, after all this time. He decides he misses and wants to see me. Crude and heartless are the gray eyes I read now.
"Gemma!" The ignorance. Why is he screaming my name? It brings me to tears, such a waste of time. My tears only move for you and you only. The one who deserves it has the saddest story of all of us. "Gemma."
"What!" I wailed, chest bumping him.
"I'm not here to cause trouble, but don't judge me."
"We're past that. Already set and buried."
"I am... searching for a werewolf." When I thought it could not become much worse, he enabled a train to splatter my skull against the railing, becoming rail-kill. Gawd, I am a jar of cliche feelings, and not even the desirable kind, an absolute slap to the forehead.
"After everything?" I could not fathom the words to understand. The elevation of agony I endure showering over the curves of my shoulders with aches in the thoracic area of my back. Picking at wounds that are raw, still stitching from the damage he caused alone. I never saw somebody single-handedly throw out years of family memories for food for a dying garden to regrow it. What about the roots that you threw away that he could not use? Where's my happy ending?
