Fighting the Wolves

Chapter Twenty Six

I feel nervous. Not your normal run of the mill type of nervous where you feel a tingly sensation in your stomach and your palms get sweaty, I'm talking about, 'I just swallowed a brick and it hit full force into my gut' whilst also having a mild panic attack.

What else am I supposed to do when I meet the Alpha, aka Jackson's dad?
He's a freaking Alpha, the big bad wolf.
The guy that probably did eat someone's grandmother.

Jackson slows his car as he enters the forest, heading towards his house. His father doesn't stay too far ahead of us, peeking behind him to make sure we're actually following him. If I was driving, I'd probably be flooring it and on my way to Canada or some other place far from here.

Far far away?
Where can I book my plane ticket.
Shred here I come.

"I'm sure it's not as bad as you think." Jackson smiles anxiously in attempt to make me feel better, too bad it's not working. I turn my head to stare into the woods, trying to focus on the trees as the float past my vision. The pit in my stomach has crumples the brick by now, and is now stabbing my entire body with anxiety.

The trees begin to slow down along with my mind as we pull up to Jackson's house and park in front. Jackson's father disappears into the garage for a moment and reappears with a loose t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants on. He strides towards us with a distasteful look in his eye, glancing at the both of us as he approaches. I climb out of the passenger seat and nearly fall to the ground as the nauseating feeling in my stomach threatens to make true it's unforgiving promise.

Please don't throw up.
Please don't throw up.
Please don't throw up.

I notice Jackson's dad drop something at his own feet, a pair of fluffy moccasins, which he slides on as he stops a few feet in front of us. Moccasins? Fluffy ones? Is the floof made from a sheep he slaughtered this morning?
I gulp as he looks me up and down, I unconsciously try to grab Jackson's hand, but he's still coming around the car, not standing close to me like he always wants to.

"I got a call not to long ago, guess who from." I love the guessing game, especially when it's from a guy who could potentially kill me. Although the fluffy moccasins are trying to persuade me to think otherwise.
"Haha, did you like my prank call? I think I'm going to be a comedian one day!" Jackson bites his lower lip in attempt to fool his dad in thinking this whole situation is hilarious. Wouldn't it be just dandy if it was?
"You're not getting out of this one you little shit, you found your mate and didn't tell neither me nor your mother," Mr. Miller pauses to shake his head in a mix of shock and utter disapproval, "Now you're out with some human and getting caught by the FBI? Why did you kidnap some regular ass human?"

What...?
Is he...is he joking?
He must be.
Haha, soooo funny.
I see where Jackson gets his humor from.

"Uh, what?" Jackson drops his fake joke act, his face showing his pure confusion.
"Where's your mate, son?" Jackson and I look at each other in sync, then back at his father. We do this again...then again. It's a great mental battle, one that neither of us can hear but totally know what's going down.

You tell him!
You tell him!
He's your dad!
But your my mate, introduce yourself!
BUT IT'S YOUR DAD!

"Um, well..." Jackson starts, looking down at the ground, as if words would appear from the forest floor and speak him wisdom to get out of this situation. Or he's possibly looking for some black hole in which to throw himself into because that's honestly what I'm currently hoping for.
"This is your mate." Jackson's dad says in a matter of fact tone of voice. His eyebrow is raised as to give me the 'dad look'.

Dear God, not the dad look!
It's super affective!
I feel..weak.
The judgement...it's too..too strong!

"Yes dad, this is my mate, Amelia Walker." I shiver slightly at the sound of my name. I'm not sure if it was because of the tone of voice Jackson used when he spoke my name, or because I'm strangely scared that his dad will rip my toes off.
"Well Amelia...let me ask you something." Jackson's father demands, his voice Low and his index finger pointed at me. I squeeze Jackson's hand with all my might, hoping that I'll causes some sort of distraction if his bones start to break.

"Would you..." dear Lord above, don't let him eat me alive and burn my corpse, "..like to stay for dinner?"

...w h a t..?

"E-excuse me?" I stutter, taken aback on account of the sudden change of voice and stature. Mr. Miller suddenly looks like he could be your overly happy neighbor who wants to invite you over on the weekends for a barbecue.
"I asked if you would like to stay for dinner, I believe my son Paul is making a quiche." With that, I'm suddenly making my way into the Miller household for the third time.

I somehow end up more and more confused about everything each and every time I step foot in this house.

"Did he get you?" Jackson whispers in my ear, my ear drums feeling blessed with the sound of his voice.
"I uh...yeah." Jackson chuckles lightly.
"He got me a bit too." He says as we enter the dining room where Paul is currently placing a large round pan on the table. I'm presuming it's filled with the quiche that Jackson's dad mentioned. Also, I'm going to take the next ten seconds to myself to memorize the sight of Paul in an apron.

"Yes Amy, I bake." Paul catches my eye, winking as he takes his apron off and exits to the kitchen. Jackson gently places his arm around me and guides me to a seat right next to him at the table. Jackson's mother walks i, glancing at me with a confused expression before sitting at her own seat.

"Hello again." Mrs. Miller says cheerfully, but her eyes are skeptical of my presence.
"Honey, that's Jackson's mate." Her eyes bulge out of her head as Jackson's dad speaks. Mrs. Miller attempts to immediately rise from her seat again, only to bump into the table and cause two forks to fall to the carpeted floor.
"Oh my God! Excuse me, I'm so sorry for never introducing myself properly, I should have known!" Her hand covers her mouth in disbelief as she picks up the now dirty forks.
"It's totally fine—" Mrs. Miller reaches across the table eagerly to shake my hand. I gingerly accept her extremely firm handshake. When I say 'extremely firm', I mean extremely firm.

"I'm Mariah Miller, but you can call me Mary!" She pauses, "or actually, you can call me mom!" Jackson glares at his mother, she innocently mouths 'what' in return as she finally lets o of my hand. "My husband here, his name is Finn." I awkwardly wave to Jackson's dad as Mary formally introduces me.

The feeling of overwhelming anxiety floods over me in waves as Jackson begins talking to his parents. His voice is muffled, as are theirs. Whenever I see anyone look at me I simply give a small smile; internally I'm attempting to pursuance my anxiety attack to just blow over for once.

Suddenly the muffled voices snap back to reality once I hear Paul's voice loud and clear.

"Let's eat!"

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I'm really freaking tired. I need sleep.
Happy Thanksgiving.

Song above is So Tied Up by Cold War Kids.