The Wild Hunt

[ 10 ]

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I described it to Griffin like that of a Frankenstein retelling converged with a modern-day horror film. The ivory moonlight washed out her pallid features when she rolled her eyes at me and moaned with the blood-thirst of a reanimated corpse... He scoffed in that usual way that told me he might have laughed... but he just didn't care for it at the time. For the time being, he was popping the cap off an aged wine bottle he couldn't possibly have traveled with, but he refused to explain its origins. Sans wine glasses, he poured two hardy mugs of white wine for the both of us.

"I hope you realize this is considered underage drinking for me," I warned, but was already holding up the mug to my lips.

"That's not going to stop me from getting a girl drunk," he said, and upon my scowl he rolled his eyes, "Cut the shit—you've drunk wine before."

"Just straight vodka. Rosanna's the wine-drinker, I'll have you know." Though that was true, I didn't mind the taste as much as I thought I would. Perhaps the cheap crap was what rubbed me the wrong way the first time around.

"Then you know it won't get ya past tipsy," he said. "I'm interested in setting aside the bear girl for now—she's more your problem than mine at the moment. Though I have to say, I'd love to meet her when she isn't haunting your hallways."

"You must have a thing for all the alpha females around here," I laughed, swinging my legs up off the side of his truck bed. I held them straight out like that for a bit, and leveled them with the coast, and the horizon that rippled with whites and blues. I tilted my head to the side, and viewed the horizon vertically. "What did you want to talk about then."

"We don't 'ave to talk," he said, and even though he wasn't looking at me, I had a feeling he would be if I turned to him. I kept my gaze ahead of me and took a sip more.

We were in a cove of sorts, tucked away where the water dropped dozens of feet below us, and was surrounded on most sides by rocky, crumbling cliffs dotted with trees and moss, vines and the sort. I enjoyed the thought of hopping onto one of those lower regions, the shelves in the rock face, and laying there for a while.

I drunk the mug full and set it down to pour a bit more for myself. Griffin beat me to it, the bottle closest to him anyway, and tipped the nose of it towards the mug. It glugged out for a second or two, before he capped it again.

The wine filled all of my senses. The taste was overpowering, and collected like hot air in my nose. My lips leaving the rim of the mug—a soft but audible sound—and the wine sloshing back to the bottom.

"Do you know much about being the head of a pack?" I asked softly. It felt like anything above a whisper would be a shout. The wine's aroma escaped my mouth, letting cool, salty air in.

He shrugged, and after a moment, shook his head. "I never learned. I just observe every now and then," he explained. "I... went to school for a while. Alphas have specialized classes every now and then, and they were always insane. Imagine having ten—no, twenty—hormonal, hyperactive, teenage alphas all in the same room. Some days were complete disasters—one broken nose after the other. Most of them were sons of men who lead packs, raised with arrogance and competitiveness. I didn't get involved much, but it's why my nose is a bit crooked here."

He looked at me then so I could see it. His finger rested on the bridge of his nose, where it seemed a touch out of place, with a bump favoring his right eye. Hardly noticeable, but there all the same.

"Have you broken a nose before?" he asked me, and I shrugged. "What's that supposed to mean?" he laughed.

"Well, I've gotten in fights before. I got hit in the nose, but it was just really bloody. Nothing broken I don't think," I confessed, and raised a hand up as I remembered how it felt. It was like a dam being struck, and it gushed all at once. I could taste the blood in my mouth.