Run
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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing11m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Mon, Jun 25, 2018
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Fiction
Paranormal
Run. Don't stop running till I find you. I always do. Those are the words engraved into my mind taunting me day in and day out for the past two months. He ensured I'd never stop running. It's some sort of twisted game to him now - just to how far can I make it till he finds me again? No doubt in mind that its just a matter of days till he finds me again and hauls me back to Oregon again. Oregon. I use to consider that to be home. Now all I can see it as is my own personal prison. The place that once held the biggest portion of my heart now hangs above me in my sorrows - all because of Him. He took everything from me. Can one person be enough for her to stop running? What if that person is her so called "mate" and will do anything to protect his love? Bound between what she knows and what she wants can she ever stop running?
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Re-posting. The common story is that finding a mate is supposed to make the wolf stronger. For an alpha, finding his mate, blessed by the moon goddess, strengthens the pack. But there can be such darkness hidden in that dynamic. Even those of cruel hearts can seek the power of a mate. And the damage they cause might not ever be healed. ***** Prologue: Drip. Drip. Drip. The rhythm or the water would have been soothing if it hadn't been so cruel. Drip. As it was, it was nothing more than a taunting form of torture. Drip. Ears could hear the soft thudding of raindrops at the end of the hall as a door was pulled open in squeaking protests and then shut with a harsh metallic clang. How the rain made its way into the depths of the cement room, it didn't matter. It was there. Drip. Step. Drip. Step. The footsteps were strong and full of purpose. Though just as unwanted as the drops of water that fell too far out of reach. Unable to quench the dehydrated desperation chained to the wall. Drip. Step. Drip. Step. Only one set of footsteps. There was no question of the destination or purpose that carried them down the hall. Not that it was a surprise. It was always the same. First the pain, then the visit. The cell door opened to darkness. There was no energy to move, not even enough to will eyelids to open. Not that it mattered. The visit never changed. What more could be said? What more could be done? All that mattered was that stale, barely edible food was only given after he was done. Only then, could there be any comfort from hell. ***** WARNING- This story does delve into topics of kidnapping, imprisonment, rape, murder, and violence. Though the scenes are not explicitly detailed, underage readers are discouraged. Also note that I do not own the rights to any photos I have or might post for this story. Just photos I found online, cropped and edited. The story however, is all mine. No copy of content is permitted.

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