Silas

 

My wolf’s heated blood roars in my ears, reminding me I’m alive—like it or not. Wind rushes by my face, drowning out every other sound until I’m lost in my own black hole of emptiness. No, not empty, lonely. Packless and without a single person left in the world I can call friend. Not one I can ever see again, anyway. Sure, I have Kai and Presley. Maybe even Idrissa. Ash is still a weird concept for me. Or maybe the weird concept is “family” in general. Either way, I have people—but I don’t belong to them.

 

My wolf wasn’t built for solitude and we’re starting to slowly lose our shit over it. Okay, maybe not slowly.

 

My wolf snarls at me to stop whining—again—so I give in and recede, letting him take over fully for a while. Long, powerful strides eat up the earth beneath my paws. My lungs burn like the fucking devil but I don’t stop. Instead, I gulp shallow breaths and push myself harder. Even as a wolf, I have limits to my stamina, and I’ve long since blown past them. I’ve been running for miles now.

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Now, everything hurts.

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And that’s exactly what I crave.

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Pain—physical pain—is like a drug these days. It’s the only thing strong enough to blot out reality. It started as a dark, twisted sort of escape. Running until I pass out. Swinging an axe until my back gives out. But then I’d nearly brought the thing down on my own foot so I gave that one up.

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Running isn’t my first choice as addictions go, but then my choices are limited. With a wolf’s metabolism, it’s hard to get drunk. Even harder to stay that way. Same with drugs. Just not worth the cost. Not that I have money to begin with.

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There’s always sex.

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Unfortunately, that means interacting with another person. And I’m sick of my own company so I can’t imagine anyone else would be able to stand me right now.

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Still, the urge to escape into pleasure is an itch that’s grown stronger and stronger since I first came to hex territory.

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Four weeks I’ve been in this shithole.

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Kel’s tried convincing me to live in the pack house with her but that lasted for all of five seconds before I nearly came out of my skin under their scrutiny. I thought Lone Wolves were bad. Next to these assholes with their haughty hatred of shifters, my pack looks like fucking Girl Scouts.

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Not my pack.

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The moment I remember how alone I really am, the pain turns to something else. Not physical pain. This is a slow, cruel twisting inside my heart.

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It’s not heartbreak.

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It’s not a break at all.

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It’s a twisting of a jagged knife. A constant writhing beneath my skin. I wish it’d break and be fucking done with me but it won’t. It just stabs at me until all I can do is seek out a pain that will drown out my own tortured soul for a while.

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A pain like the one this sprint is giving me.

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Muscles strained, nerves taut, I run like the fucking devil himself is chasing me. He’s not though. The devil caught my ass a long time ago and dragged me straight to my own personal hell. Now, the devil’s inside me, and I’ll never be able to outrun myself.

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Finally, my wolf gives out and I crash hard against the cool ground. Night fell hours ago and I’m far enough into the forest I’m not worried about a hex discovering me, so I don’t bother to get up. Instead, I lie in a heap among wet leaves and enjoy the numbness that follows this kind of collapse.

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It doesn’t last long enough.

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Soon, the blood pumping in my ears dies down and the night sounds creep back into my awareness. As a wolf, I can’t turn it off. So, I shift back to human, a form in which my senses are mildly decreased, and prolong the inevitable a little bit longer. Reality’s a cruel bitch though and even with human ears, I eventually begin to pick up noises.

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I tense, realizing quickly these are sounds that don’t belong.

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Human sounds.

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Talking. Laughing. Music.

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Fuck.

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I’m not alone here after all.

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I get to my feet slowly, wincing at the burn in my muscles. But I welcome it, preferring this pain over the invisible twisted knife in my chest. Needing to be certain I haven’t been spotted, I creep toward the sounds of what feels like a party. The hexes know what I am, know I live among them, but knowing and seeing are two different things. If I’m discovered out here, who knows how they’ll react. So, I use the cover of the thicket to get closer, stopping when I finally see them.

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A group of hexes gathered under the moonlight. There’s a fire crackling in the center, and around it, at least ten, maybe fifteen, hexes are standing around. Most have drinks in their hands. Cans.

 

I sniff.

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Beer.

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A couple of joints are being passed around. Herbal blends I’ve learned they use for ceremonies.

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Celebrations.

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I have no idea what they’re celebrating tonight. The days have blurred together thanks to all the time I’ve spent as my wolf lately. One of the hexes says something and they all raise their drinks to the sky, letting out a round of cheers.

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Then they drink and someone turns the music up.

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I nearly turn away then. Slink back to the cover of the woods. Maybe summon the strength to go for another run until I collapse again.

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Then my eyes catch on a figure.

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A woman.

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She’s young, probably not older than I am. Her long blonde hair is pulled to the side where it cascades down her shoulder. The firelight throws shadows that dance across her face. And her eyes… There’s something in her gaze that catches hold of me.

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I can’t look away.

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She’s fascinating and yet she hasn’t moved an inch or spoken a word.

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In fact, she’s not even participating like the others. No drink. No joint. She sits away from the others; a part of them but somehow also not. From the way her eyes are drawn to the fire, I can’t help but think she’s lost inside her own pain somehow.

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She’s hiding a twisting knife too.

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She looks up suddenly, her gaze aimed straight at me, and I inhale sharply, suddenly alarmed. But there’s no way she can see me. Not with such little moonlight and her woefully inadequate senses. It’s impossible. And yet, she continues to stare at the spot where I’m hidden behind a thicket of thorned branches.

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She’s beautiful.

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Not just that. Mesmerizing.

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I have the sudden urge to go to her. To step out from behind my hiding place and let her see me. To touch her. To—

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I shake my head to clear it.

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What the fuck? Magic, maybe? Is this girl spelling me somehow? I don’t think that’s possible, but I’ve heard some weird shit since coming to hex lands. Who knows anymore.

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And it’s the only explanation for this strange pull I feel.

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Mate.

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The word flickers briefly in my mind but I reject it immediately.

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She’s a hex.

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So are you, the voice inside my head whispers.

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The pain returns then, sending my thoughts scattering into fragmented pieces. I back away from the girl, fighting the urge to get closer to her.  To touch her. To peel away the fabric covering her body and explore what’s underneath.

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A sexual release.

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That’s all this would be.

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Pleasure to combat the pain. It’s not about her. It’s just the urges of my body. The need to fuck to forget.

What would she be like? To taste? To bury myself inside her?

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My thoughts darken with dirty fantasies—her body splayed out before me, my mouth on her skin—but they only drive my need for her toward frenzy. Even my wolf wants this now, and that, more than anything, scares me into action.

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Spinning around, I take off at a run. Two legs, stride for stride, then four paws against the dirt, propelling myself away.

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Away from her.

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Away from this inexplicable need.

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The act of leaving her hurts almost worse than the pain that drove me out here in the first place. It doesn’t make sense but then nothing in my life does. Not the fact that I left behind a pack I never felt close to in the first place. And not the fact that I just looked into the eyes of a hexerei female and felt like I found home.

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The impossibility—the absurdity—tells me sex is off the table. The idea of getting close to anyone, of feeling like that again, is too risky.

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No pleasure for me then. Just pain.

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