"If the cold doesn't kill you, the wolves will."
NOT A WEREWOLF STORY
Book 1 of 2.
In which an 18-year-old girl flees to Alaska to escape being accused of murder & to uncover what happened to her uncle. Involves two gentle giants.
Completed. :)
Fea...
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A.N// Hi I'm updating this early bc I won't be online later. I hope whoever's reading this has a great day. ❤️
I take a deep breath as I'm escorted up to the stairs of the Spokane police station.
The large stone building blocks the sunlight at this time of the day, casting us into a large, cold shadow.
I'd led up the steps two at a time, wasting no time at all as we step inside the warm building.
The faint smell of coffee drifts over, and I try not to focus on how long it has been since I've put anything besides water in my stomach. My stomach, which conveniently happens to growl and gurgle right as I'm greeted by more officers.
Of course it does.
But then again, what do I care?
I no longer see officers as potential coworkers. I only see them as the enemy.
Which might be a bit dramatic, but do I care?
No. I do not.
My bag is handed off immediately, and I'm led into an interrogation room and sat down in a metal chair at a metal table.
But I'm not handcuffed.
Instead, when the man returns, he comes with a cup of coffee for me.
I only raise an eyebrow in silent reply.
After setting it down in front of me, he tilts his head to the side slightly when I make no move toward it.
Instantly, my mind recalls the many times Vaughn did that, and suddenly all I can think about is him. How is he? Is he still in Chickaloon? Have the people found him yet?
"Miss Eriksen," the man starts. "I'm Detective Garcia. How are you today?"
Silence.
I internally smirk.
I learned from the quietest, after all.
Okay, maybe not, because in the end, Vaughn decided to talk to me, but that's beside the point.
I don't recognize this detective; I'm guessing he's new.
"Do you know why you're here?" Detective Garcia asks.
I close my eyes briefly, deciding to get this over with.
She's dead because of me, after all.
Well, maybe not directly, but indirectly.
I could have at least tried to help her.
I feel guilty, I am guilty.
"Yes," I say, looking him directly in the eyes. "You've brought me in because you think I have a connection to the murder of Fiona Williams."
