Chapter 2 - Pack
He doesn't move, and neither do I.
We stand there, staring at one another, waiting for the other to do something, to say something. He seems to realize that I have no intention of moving from my spot, my feet anchored to the ground, so he began to move through the crowd. As soon as he begins moving, the parade stops, watching.
Nicholas is twenty-six. He's gone eight years unmated; by now, the assumption was that she'd died, or he'd never find her. But he had. I just happened to be a child for the last eight years, a juvenile.
He's stalking toward me, one loud step followed by another as he ascends the stairs, gaze fascinated and fixated on my features, and I find his power contagious. Everyone seems to cower, but I feel myself squaring my shoulders, feel my hands forming into tight fists, jaw clenched as he moves closer.
He keeps moving toward me, and as he gets closer, not stopping, I find myself backing against the house. My body presses against the screen of the window, the smell of the waffles wafting out from the kitchen, and he doesn't stop until only inches separate us. He's so close, I can all but taste the scent of his toothpaste and his laundry soap, and it occurs to me in that moment that I recognize that smell.
"I think we use the same laundry soap." The words fall out of my lips before I can stop them. They're not a protest, I don't tell him to go fuck a bowl of fruit. I comment on his laundry soap, and heat floods my cheeks, but my features don't change. I still regard him coldly, harshly, unwillingly.
Emotions shift so rapidly across his features I have difficulty keeping up with them, categorizing them. Confusion shows in the furrow of his brows; his lips curl into an amused smile; his eyes reflect a deeper sense of longing and frustration.
"Breeze scented?" He finally asks, that same intensity in his voice that he carried with each step.
"Clean breeze, actually." I mumble, and I'm not sure why. I'm not sure why I'm standing here, centimeters separating us, talking about laundry soap. It's mundane, it's domestic, and this situation is anything but. My heart thunders in my chest, overwhelming me with the urge to run, but I resist. Even if I could run, there's nowhere I can go. There's nowhere he won't find me.
He nods slowly. "Yeah, sounds right."
We stand there. Seconds tick by, tension growing in the air, my palms sweating, and we stare at each other. He looks at me like he's trying to memorize my face, the coordinates of every freckle, count every eyelash. All I can do is stare back, stare at the depth of his gaze and the beginnings of facial hair that need shaving, and eyebrows that could probably use a little trimming.
"Go inside," he finally says, voice quiet and level, "pack a bag with whatever you need. You've got five minutes." He steps back, only a foot, and tucks his hands into his pockets.
I part my lips to speak, but no sound comes out. My hands hang limply at my sides, as if itching to do something, and as I process the eyes on me, I cross my arms, suddenly self conscious. I turn, meeting the frightening eyes of my family, and all but cower beneath them. Shouldering my way through, I slip through the front door, and the sound of half a dozen footsteps behind me indicate my entourage following.
Behind the closed doors, away from the army, my mother grabs my shoulder. It’s rough, in a way she’d never handled me before, pulling me to turn and there’s fear in her gaze. “Darcy—” Her voice is thick with pain, with fear, with the suffering of a mother about to watch her daughter walk away. People didn’t return, not when they went to Nicholas’ pack. And I was walking away with the king of them all.
“What do you want me to do?” I whisper, and I try to keep my voice strong, but it cracks a bit at the end. It breaks. It breaks because I’m breaking. “I don’t get to say no. This isn’t a world where women get to say no.” This isn’t a man women get to say no to.
She’s trembling, her arm still on my shoulder, searching for the words. But his footsteps all but reverberate the house, carrying authority in each step, and my eyes are attracted to him like magnets as they find him over her shoulder. He moves so easily, so confidently. Hands in his pockets, wearing a tee shirt and jeans with the confidence of a man who doesn’t need to dress nicely to prove he owns the place. There’s something about him, even dressed so normally, that looks out of place in a house like this. A little four bedroom house that was worn and frayed at the edges. He didn’t look domestic enough for a place like this.
“Four minutes.” He says this quietly, but it carries.
I grind my teeth at that, my eyes sharp as they meet his, but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t wither beneath the heat of them. He just stands there, unbothered, features saying nothing.
“I need to go pack.” I tell her quietly, turning to walk up the hallway.
“So, you like hockey?” Tyler’s voice is awkward behind me, obviously trying to make the best of a shit situation. If Nicholas responds, I don’t hear it; I’m slipping up the stairs in a rush, hurrying down the hallway and into my room.
Eighteen years of memories fill it. Pictures on the walls, stains on the carpet, memorabilia lining every surface. My heart aches at the thought of leaving it, at the thought of being without the world I’d always known. Leaving my family, my friends, my home.
“This place is gonna be so quiet at night, without you snoring.” Candy’s voice is soft, and I jump in surprise at it. I’m so alert, half expecting Nicholas to come drag me out of there, I’ve all but drowned out the energies of everyone else. I glance at her, but turn away just as quickly, moving to my closet to pull out the suitcase I’d taken on that trip to Florida we’d taken a few years ago.
I toss it on my bed, unzipping it, and Candy doesn’t say anything. I don’t speak as I hurry around my room, grabbing things and tossing them in. Clothes, pictures, chargers, my wallet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be back, if I’ll ever see her again, but somehow saying goodbye seems infinitely more painful than saying nothing. I dump my jewelry box into the suitcase, my sock drawer following. All of a sudden, having enough socks meant the world to me, like I’d never have the chance to get more. Maybe I wouldn’t.
His footsteps are quick as he ascends the stairs, distinctly not rushed but natural instead. He’s a powerful Alpha, speed must be nothing new to him. Panic fills me, and I find myself moving faster. Throwing things into the suitcase until it’s overflowing, with no chance of being zipped properly, and I look up to see him a foot behind Candy in the doorway. She doesn’t move, doesn’t let him in or even acknowledge him; she only stares at me with tear filled eyes.
“Move.” He speaks firmly, curtly, eyes trained on the back of her head.
“Fuck off.” She replies through ground teeth, and I feel every muscle in my body tense as I realize what’s coming.
Before I can react, she’s spinning around, swinging a fist, ready for a fight; before she can land the hit, he has her restrained, arms twisted in a way that makes me flinch, and an arm around her neck. He doesn’t look at her, though; people rush up the stairs, but he doesn’t look at them either. His eyes are cold, trained on my features, jaw clenched tightly.
“I’m letting her live as a favor to you.” He says this pointedly, and I feel the blood drain from my body at the implication behind his words. The danger in his eyes. The animal within him, hungry and angry and bursting at the seams. “It’s time to go now.” He releases her, shoving her forward sharply, and she stumbles onto my carpet, looking angry and frustrated and— powerless.
Exactly how I felt.
But this wasn’t a man that could be fought. Candy was the most dangerous member of our family, and her inability to so much as land a hit against him spoke volumes. She couldn’t do anything, so who was to say I stood any chance? I had no choice but to give in, to go along with him like a lamb to the slaughter.
I lean down, take Candy’s hand to help her up, but my eyes don’t leave his. My regard of him is cold and hard, paling in comparison to his own, but it’s all the rebellion I have the nerve to muster. “You can carry my bag.” I mutter under my breath as I release my sister, grabbing a picture of my parents off my nightstand as I move forward, twisting to avoid touching him and heading out the door.