The Little Red Wolf//klaus mikaelson☾

05//the aftermath

Pain

My arms, my legs, my eyes. Every single damned part of my body burned. It was more than hurt; it felt as if my muscles had warned me and sent me into the depths of the darkest forms of pain. It was more than the fact that I had just spent hours on the cold, bloodied floor. More so, now than ever, was the fact that the pain from all the lies had kept me unable to move.

On top of the fact that my clothes were strewn about in shreds and the soreness was too much for me to handle.

The only reason I was assured to that I was still alive was how much the pain had bothered me.

I knew I was alone. There was nothing to feel or sense around me. The only thing I was conscious about was how lonely I truly felt. After Mason had gone, I felt abandoned, a lost cause.

An Omega.

I hoped that he would understand why I did not come home this morning after last nights events. Hell, I hoped he would be here within seconds of me waking up. I was unsure of how many hours had passed or how long I had been here, but I yearned for the comfort of a steaming, rose-oil bath. My hair and skin was caked with my blood. I could practically taste the smell on my skin and it was horrifying.

But, not as horrifying as what I had realized I had become.

Mason, which I think I believed deep down, turned out to be one-hundred percent correct in the diagnosis in which led me to turning into some hairy beast. It terrified me to think that every single full moon my body would contort that way into some monster.

"Abby," he sighed, looking down at my uncovered body.

To be honest, modesty was not what I was looking for.

"Uncle Mason," I dryly whispered, my lips chapped. "I can't move."

"I figured that when I caught your scent still here," he laughed, throwing a red, flannel blanket around the front of my body and hoisting me over his shoulder.

He did not say much after that, only carrying me over to the backseat of his truck. Dirt covered him head-to-toe, worse than me. However, he seemed to be holding himself pretty well as compared to myself, who longed for the touch of my soft sheets and an afternoon spent napping. I wrapped myself in the cocoon of the flannel picnic blanket, warming me like a climber found in the woods. Quite frankly, I thought of myself as the newest member of Where the Wild Things Are but we all have our own analogies.

"We need to talk," Mason blurted, looking back at me in the rear-view mirror. "You can't tell Tyler about any of this. Or any of your friends. It's just me and you who can know, okay?"

I paused and furrowed my brows before asking, "Isn't Tyler like us?"

My uncle frowned and sighed.

"He hasn't killed anyone yet," Mason argued.

Mason didn't say another word before we pulled up to the house. Tyler's car was in the driveway, but my mother's wasn't, which I was thankful for.

"Don't say a word," Mason snarled, angrily opening up his door.

I had no idea why he was such a spitfire today.

Tyler came running outside, his feet pounding on the gravel as he made his way to the truck. Mason hadn't opened the door yet, so I doubt he had any idea that I was in the car.

"Where's Abby?" Tyler interrogated, his voice obviously annoyed.

I had my head pressed deeply into the leather. My body still continued to pulsate and sting. It didn't take much for me to feel the uncertainty rising deep within the air. Mason held his back against the side of the truck and sighed. Tyler was pushing too far by the sounds of it.