Fighting with Fire #2 ✔

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵

Trust was always so hard when it should've been easy.

I'd trusted Halia Coralie's information about the pack having been held in Georgia — I'd followed that lead. The electrical room I found had been wired to hold werewolves, and the scratches down the wall told me more than I wanted to know.

And yet I'd spent around three months in the States before I had found any other leads to where my pack could be. And I was so unbelievably alone.

Christmas and New Year had both been dismal and bleak occurrences; I'd spent them in the rainy state of Iowa. I'd just crossed the border on Christmas Eve and was running dangerously low on cash. So, I'd spent the night curled up in a homeless shelter not far from the border.

I'd trusted that Halia had told me the truth. It was blind trust, and I should've pushed her to tell me more about my pack.

The pain that I felt in the electrical room was unbearable. Werewolves can use chemosignals to figure out how a person, or people, are feeling. If the feelings were strong enough, they can be sensed long after the people have gone. And I sensed fear, pain, and hurt. It was almost too much to handle.

The thoughts of my pack... so lost... so alone... but at least they have one another.

I have no one. Not anymore.

After Georgia, the trail had gone stone cold. There was nothing left to go on, other than my senses pulling me home to Montana.

From Georgia to Iowa, I'd hitch-hiked more than I'd ever done in my life before — and it's kinda amazing how many truck drivers will help you out, especially if you do a bit of free labour for them, like some heavy lifting. The whole drive would've been around 14 hours if I didn't have to stop occasionally and check out the nearest power station, that part lost me my ride more than once.

But nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Anger boiled inside of me as every stone I turned over seemed to be pointless. I was angry at everyone, but mostly myself. I was failing the one thing that I'd come back to the US to do — to find my pack. I was failing.

After Iowa, I did some more hitch-hiking up to South Dakota, and I stayed there for about a month. Travelling for so many hours had worn me out, and the next full moon was fast approaching. I couldn't risk being in a car or a truck when that happened.

Because I didn't have an anchor anymore, I was utterly and totally out of control. The full moon that month had been absolute and total hell, so bad that I was trying to block out the memories.

The one person that I'd thought was my anchor had... had... Well, she wasn't there.

We tried to keep in contact for about a month and a half. But when daily calls dropped to weekly, then weekly calls dropped to fortnightly, I decided that we should both focus on what we had to do. Looking back on the past and how things used to be wasn't going to get us anywhere.

Hearing her voice hurt more than I'd imagined it would. Even when she was happy, it was tearing me apart inside.

That was also why I'd told her we shouldn't keep calling and texting each other.

Part of me hoped that she would refuse and say something like 'but I need to talk to you, I need to hear your voice'. No chance; she agreed with me faster than I could run on a full moon.