Slaves to the Moon | DRAFT

I ■ Motel 6

Clutching the stained motel sheets closer to my body, I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. With a quick glance over my shoulder I sighed, realizing Freddy was already gone. Hopefully, he was out getting us some breakfast or something-- my stomach rumbled in agreement.

I lifted my discarded jeans from the night before, and fished around in the back pocket for the pack of Newport's I'd picked up the other day. With a flip of the lid, I pulled a cigarette out and placed it between my lips. Just as I was about to lite up, the motel door flew open and a very flustered Freddy blew in with the wind.

"Alexis!" His tone was sharp as he called out to me. "C'mon, Love. Get up and get dressed," he instructed with a quick clap of his hands.

My own hand quickly shot up as I tried to shield some of the brightness of the sun. Goddess, I swore sometimes I was actually supposed to be a vampire instead. My eyes squinted on their own accord as I turned towards Freddy.

"Not again," I growled, scrubbing aggressively at my face as I watched him shove our few belongings into a duffle bag.

"I'm afraid so," he replied as he came to stand in front of me. Usually, his wonderful, British accent was like music to my ears, but right now it was laced with nothing but dread-- a tone I had become all too familiar with.

Bending slightly, he kissed the top of my head before handing me the rest of my clothes.

"The Alpha of this territory is on his way here," Freddy explained. "And he's not particularly happy that we snuck past his patrols."

I huffed before rolling my eyes in annoyance. "It's not like we're doing anything wrong," I grumbled.

"Except that we're Rogues, Love," he reminded me for the millionth time this week. "And that alone in itself, is wrong enough for them."

I sighed before resting my head in my hands. Rogue, vagabond, deplorable. We might as well have been labeled the scum of the Earth.

"Speak for yourself," I growled before grabbing the tequila bottle sitting on the nightstand. "If they picked up on anyone's scent, it was yours," I pointed at him accusingly. As far as anyone else was concerned, I was just along for the ride.

Freddy silently nodded his head, knowing it was pointless to argue. As I watched him scurry about the room, I began to feel guilty for snapping at him like that. He wasn't my mate-- if I even believed in such a thing-- and despite being a werewolf, he wasn't the most handsome or strongest I'd ever seen. Yet with me, the man was more patient than a catholic saint, and of course those perfectly kissable lips and experienced tongue made a pretty good case as well. In my book, Freddy was damn near perfect.

I took a long swig from the bottle in my hands and continued to watch him pack. As the golden liquid burned down the back of my throat, a lock of chocolate brown hair flopped over his hazel eyes. I longed to trace the stubble over his jaw with my finger, but now wasn't the time for that.

For the last twenty years, I had been fortunate enough to have Freddy by my side. With nearly seven billion people in the world, I knew the odds of him finding his true mate were slim, but that didn't stop me from fearing that one day, the possibility could become a reality. Suddenly, my chest tightened as the wolf inside of me howled in frustration.

And what about your own mate? She challenged.

As she paced incessantly inside my head, I noticed how she seemed a lot more restless today than usual.

What's wrong? I snarled. Afraid I might make good on my promise?

Regardless of the beast inside me, I refused to identify as a wolf. I have never shifted, and I swear on my own dead mother's grave, I will never submit.