Cry Wolf

Chapter Six - The Wolf

The Wolf

I'm warm.

So warm.

Did the landlord finally fix the radiator?

I can't remember my bed ever being this comfortable and warm. Was my duvet always this soft and thick?

I never want to get up.

Sighing, I bury my nose in my pillow. A familiar scent of pine trees and leather engulfs me. I reach out for the jacket, my hand sliding along the bed.

It's not here.

Strange.

The scent is coming from my pillow. And from the bedding. It's all around me.

I slowly wake up further. I feel so groggy and out of it, my head swimming in a fog. With a groan I try to sit up and immediately stiffen as a searing pain shoots down my neck. Wincing, I cup a hand over a thick bandage covering part of my neck and shoulder.

What the hell?

It's then I realize...this is not my apartment.

Reality comes crashing down on me, my mind immediately snapping into focus.

Shit. Shit.

I don't know where I am.

I look around with wide eyes. I'm in a beautiful bedroom suite decorated in burgundy and golds. One that could easily fit three of my apartments inside it. The room is masculine in design, but elegant and comfortable. There's a sitting area with a leather couch and chair in front of a fireplace. A fire is burning within, the wood cackling softly. I stare at the flames, shock slowly permeating through my body.

Memories rush over me, frightening and dark. My throat tightens, air struggling to hit my lungs.

The quarry. Noah attacked me. And then...and then...

I feel sick.

Practically falling out of the bed I stumble towards what I hope is a bathroom. Thankfully, it is, the marble tile cold under my feet. I begin to dry heave, a bitter chemical taste in my mouth. Once the nausea passes I run the faucet, cupping the cool water in my hands and drinking it slowly. The water is crisp on my parched tongue, easing my discomfort. Leaning over the sink I take a deep breath, my body shaking.

Noah is dead. Killed by a monster.

I stare at my reflection, pale faced and wide eyed.

It chased me. It bit me. He bit me.

The memory of his voice - of the heat of his hard body against mine - makes me shudder violently. My fingers trembling, I slowly peel away a side of the bandage. The harsh red bite mark marring the crook of my neck is a stark contrast against my pale skin.

How am I not dead?

I grow dizzy, sliding to the floor. There's a strange emptiness in my chest, like a gaping hole in my heart. It's painful and unknown to me. I'm confused and scared. Panic rips through me, uncontrolled. I struggle through it, my hand pressed against my aching chest. I need to breathe. I need to think.

I hate my own weakness.

There's nothing I can do but ride it out, bundled into myself on the floor of a strange bathroom in a strange place. The cold of the tile seeps into my skin and I have to clench my jaw to stop my teeth from chattering.

Stay calm.

I repeat to myself that I'm okay and after several moments the panic passes.