Mated to the Rogue *DISCONTINUED*

T W E L V E

I sat on a plain rock in a plain field of plain grass and wondered why the world was so against being simple; because in that moment of solitude only accompanied by the book in my hands, I could forget all of my problems and merely melt into a world of action and adventure.

When I finally came back to Earth, it was well past noon when I had first settled down and cracked open the spine of my worn hardcover book. Some people drowned their sorrow with food, some in alcohol, and I, with words.

The blanket of the night was slowly but surely advancing towards me, pushing out the last stubborn rays of light.

I stood up, stretching out my cramped legs. I didn't bother checking the time; it wasn't uncommon for me to disappear for hours at a time. I think my parents assumed I was out stirring up trouble, but of course, they didn't really care enough to set down rules.

The only sounds that could be heard in the dusk were the quiet howl of the wind and the swift pitter-patter of my converse-clad feet against the dirt pathway.

I was almost out of the woods when I stumbled on an unidentifiable object. I cursed the impact of the fall stung my knees. Not surprisingly, my book was still clutched tightly in my hand. It's good to know where my priorities lay.

I turned back to the culprit with a scowl on my face, only to be met with a lumpy rock about the size of a basketball. I moved closer to the rock and rolled it over to the side of the path, near the stump of a fallen tree.

I was just getting up and brushing off my knees when I heard a slight rustle in the trees to my left. Darkness was almost consuming the forest by now, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't frightened.

I gingerly peered around the trunk of the tree, careful not to make a sound. There sat Alpha Ryan, staring up at the sky through a gap in the canopy as if he could float through the branches and escape this place. Oddly enough, that feeling wasn't one I was foreign to.

He sighed and stood semi-gracefully, and I was surprised to see him steady on his feet. This meant he hadn't been drinking, which meant at least for the time being, he wasn't going to push the pack members around like the typical, zit-faced school-yard bully. He was now clomping away, disrespectfully pushing the branches out of his way as he barrelled through the once peaceful forest.

I tip-toed over to his newly vacated spot and looked around. It was unusual for him to leave his sheltered life in the pack house. I was about to make my way back to the trail when something caught my eye. I bent down to get a closer look and widened my eyes in surprise when I analyzed what I was seeing.

There, crudely scratched into the thick bark of the redwood trees, was a simple yet effective sentence.

Ryan and Billy were here.

The two Lockwood brothers must have snuck away from the prying gaze of disapproving wolves to do this. The elders in the pack were highly against harming nature, as we all should be, but sometimes the elders got a little carried away.

The handwriting was crooked, like that of a young child who didn't know how to hold a pencil properly. It was obvious this was several years old.

I don't remember Billy Lockwood much. Not that it matters anymore; he's been dead for half a decade, after the atrocious acts he committed.

That's the thing I hate about this pack. There is so much death and gloom and misery surrounding it, everyone's minds are polluted with negativity and it's a never-ending cycle of pain.

I looked up cautiously. Somehow I knew I wasn't supposed to see this. Taking a tentative step backward, I straightened and speed-walked toward the trail. It must have been in the air, a menacing miasma crawling over the damp dirt and covering every inch of the dark forest. Deciding I didn't want to be a victim in a murder tonight, I swiftly made my way back home.