Hunting Love

~ Chapter Two ~

~ Chapter 2 ~

I woke up in a small, old fashioned hotel room. The place smelled of old perfume and dust, and the furniture was old and worn out. As I stepped out of the old bed that I had been sleeping in, I see another note across from where I was sitting. I can’t believe he left me again and left a crappy note. This is getting old. But I anyway crawl over the bed to the note and open it so fast I cut my finger on the edge of the paper. “Shit,” I breathe out and immediately stick my finger in my mouth. Keeping the finger that had been cut in my mouth, I looked at the note that Dane had left me. The note says, “Go home. I’ve had enough of you chasing after me. I don’t want you interfering or getting involved in this. It’s too dangerous. This is between me and the wolves. Besides, you hate getting dirty. When you are ready to leave, you will find Lace is outside tired to a post in the field, resting. Goodbye, Mayriss.”

I feel a mixture of emotions flow over me. I feel angry, but slightly hurt at the same time. Does he even care about how I feel? And besides that, he knows that I don’t give a shit whether I get dirty or not! Why all the sudden change of memory? And apart from that, he should already know that I’m not going to quit. Who gives a damn if it’s between him and the wolves? Whatever troubles him, troubles me. That’s one of the points of a relationship, right? I sigh angrily and head toward the bathroom. I flick the switch on, and stare at myself in the mirror. I gasped in pure, thick, shock.

I had scratch marks down my face, three in each direction. There were bruises all over my body but my face. More scratch marks down my arms, and I looked down at myself. My legs were battered; scratched, cuts, bruises and bite marks all over them. I tugged up my shirt, revealing my bare chest and stomach. My side where my ribs were supposedly placed were bruised and swollen, and I touched gingerly at the swollen place. Immediate pain coursed through my body, and I jerked away from my own touch. Yep, definitely broken, I thought, with a few tears in my eyes form the pain I just caused myself.

It was then that I realised that the arm that I had touched my side with was the one that was supposedly broken as well. I marvelled at my perfectly healed arm and I poked at it, trying to see if it was a trick of my imagination, or if it really was healed. I marvelled further when I realised it wasn’t my imagination. It was real. Oh, ok then. My arm had miraculously healed overnight.

What the hell? I started to panic. Broken limbs are not meant to heal that quickly! I heaved a sighed, letting go of the thoughts that swam around my brain. I turned toward the shower behind me and opened the glass doors. The doors to the shower had stains on them, probably of aged. I mean this whole room and the bedroom looked old and used. But I liked it; it gave the place some character. I turned the hot water on, which I noticed was actually the cold water, and I took a long shower. When I came out and wrapped a towel around my head and then one around my body, I headed toward my backpack in the bedroom. I bent down toward, and looked through the bag until my fingers pulled back up some pairs of clothing. I put on a black singlet and skinny leg jeans. I went for my runners again, and I put them on too. I looked up toward a window and moved closer to it, peering out of it. It turns out that this place was a one-storey, because when I looked out, I was at ground level. Up, and there were no other storeys to the building. Weird, I thought. I could’ve sworn that there were more storeys.

I looked back down again and stared. I almost screamed. Almost. Right there in front of me was a guy, staring at me from the outside. He had tanned skin, and pale, pale blue eyes. They were so much like white, my eyes had to focus on his irises so that the blue and the white didn’t blend together, giving him he illusion of no irises. They must be contact lenses. His mouth was full and beautiful, and his dark hair that was stylishly pulled up into spikes on his head gorgeously framed his face. He didn’t look more than two years older than me.