Pack or Prey (Wolfblooded book 1)

Chapter 1, Part 2

July 10th 2008, 10:12 p.m.

"Can we just run away?" I asked, nuzzling my head into the crook of his shoulder.

The stars stretched above us, shining down like a weighty promise that there was so much more to this world than school and a home where I barely felt wanted. Every time I looked up at the night sky I got the urge to run, to take off and leave everything behind. I craved adventure and freedom and I wasn't going to find it sitting in my room listening to music.

Frank chuckled, and I watched his chest rise and fall with it.

"I've told you before, Harls. Say the word and we're gone. No questions asked."

It was the same promise he'd made me over and over again. Three months of me begging him to take me away from here and three months of me making excuses why I couldn't go through with it. It seemed silly to say, but as much as my family pissed me off, and they did it often, something wouldn't let me leave. I would be happier if I left, I told myself. So, what was holding me back?

"I know," was all I could offer him.

He'd heard this time and again. At first he seemed excited at the idea of running off together. The more we discussed it, though, the less likely he seemed to think it was going to happen. It got to the point where stopped believing me.

I turned my head and pressed my lips to his tan chest, kissing it lightly. No sooner than I made that soft smooching sound, he sighed and sat up quickly. I spilled to the ground, still warm where he'd been lying, and looked up at him.

"What?" I asked as he snatched his shirt and pulled it over his head. His movements were rigid and quick.

He mumbled something that sounded like, "Don't worry about it."

I pushed myself up so I could lean on my arm and reached out to touch his back. He twisted away from me.

"Frank, what is it?" I asked again, sitting up a little straighter.

He twisted his upper body to look back at me, his eyes harder than normal. "Are you ever going to make up your mind?"

I hadn't expected that.

"About what?" I asked, though I was pretty sure I knew.

"Don't. Don't play that game with me, Harley. You tell me, over and over, how much you want to be gone from here. I've told you more than once, in more than one way, how we can make that happen. And you pull away. Every time." He loosed a laugh that sounded bitter and jagged. "I mean, I don't think you really want to go. I don't think you want to be with me at all."

"That's not fair. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be with you. I love you—"

"I'm leaving, Harley."

His words were so sudden that I choked on my own. "Leaving?"

"Yeah. I'll be gone by morning."

We sat on the blanket he kept on the back of his bike, and let the silence weigh down on us. He was leaving? Just like that? A dull ache started in my heart just thinking about being left there without him. He was the only one I could talk to, the only one who understood me.

"Why?" I choked out. I wasn't going to cry. Not for some guy who just told me he was going to leave me.

"Jesus." He ran his hand over his hair and shook his head. "Look, I ain't ever stuck around somewhere longer than a month or two, babe. I'm just not built to make roots. I stayed here for you." His eyes softened a touch as he looked at me. "Come with me. For real."