Page 3 of Timber Hollow

3

Stingray

two days to full moon

I t's been a month since the Senator last attended family dinner. He's coming again tonight, bringing his sons with him this time. Ethan has been home all day, riled up about whatever deal would be solidified at tonight's meal.

I've been the recipient of all his focus, all his excess energy all day. At any given moment, he'll walk up behind me, grab me, and immediately start pawing all over my body. Sliding his hands under my shirt, tugging my leggings down. Denying Ethan takes more effort and willpower than just accepting his advances. So I let it happen. Let him use my body, because after he'll leave me alone for a few hours at least. I stay out of my library selecting a few volumes to read early in the day before he wakes, settling in the Sunroom. I don't want to… taint my only haven in this monstrosity of a house.

Looking back, I'm not sure how I missed all of the glaring red flags the man waved in my face. How I grew to care about him at all. Because I do, I love Ethan. He has his moments. It's what is under the straight-laced exterior that I missed. The rot .

When it comes time to prepare for dinner, I try to avoid going, telling Ethan that I have a migraine. A little while ago, he joined me in the Sunroom, talking at me even when I had a book in front of my face.

"I've got something that will cure you, Princess." Is Ethan's only response to my migraine, and he fists his cock through his lounge pants, waggling his eyebrows at me from where he reclines on a sofa.

"Stop it, I'm serious," I reply, rubbing my temples. I really do have a headache, My neck and shoulders are painfully tight. If I had to guess, I would say that being around Ethan today– all day has caused it.

"No, you've got to come with me. I can't be the only one without some ass on my arm." Ethan says dismissively, his attention firmly returned to the phone screen.

"Of course." I sigh, slowly rising from my chair to begin the process of dolling myself up. Can’t wait for an evening of being absolutely ignored. Fantastic.

Ethan smacks my ass as I pass by, saying "Wear the red outfit. I want all of them to be jealous of my Princess' fat ass."

I grit my teeth, saying nothing as I make my way upstairs.

I'm going to bite his hand off someday. My wolf growls from the darkened corner of my soul where she rests.

Someday I might just let you.

My backpack is heavy. So is the suitcase I toss into the back of the car. I've already loaded the trunk. There are so many different models in here, I wonder how long it would take Ethan to notice which one I've taken. If he'd notice at all.

Not all the cars within Ethan's collection are antiques, even if many of them are. He has a McLaren over in the corner, and he is always bragging about owning a supercar- even though he's only driven it around the loop of the Estate, never out on the road. The beautiful thing doesn't even have plates on it. Tonight he'd been particularly braggadocious about the hunk of metal, and I have to fight back the urge to fucking smash the windshield and dent the hood and rims.

I end up choosing the Corvette Stingray- flashy, even if it is entirely black. The Stingray is a stick shift, though not the convertible—that is across the garage, sitting amongst an array of drop tops. I couldn't find those keys, and I am too impatient to go and look for them again. In any case, the lowered top would cut into trunk space.

I’m ready to leave. To get the fuck out of here.

Ethan doesn't know how to drive a stick shift and despises the fact that I can. So—the Stingray—one of only a few models in here with a standard transmission, it is. The plates are only on it because it was all handled by the dealer, driven over here by a salesman with slicked-back hair. I remember the day it was delivered, how Ethan had sat in the driver's seat out in the driveway, cooed about the rumble of the engine, and smoothed his hands all over the interior. Then instructed a servant to park it. He just hoards the beautiful cars because he can.

Unbeknownst to him, the next day before he came home from work, I took it for a spin. Drove it down the highway, steadily shifting through gears, windows down. I have been itching to get back in it since.

He's an asshole. My wolf grumbles.

No argument there.

Earlier I'd watched Cassandra smooth the lapels of Ethan's jacket down with a small secret smile on her lips. Then she straightened his tie.

From where I stood at the balcony's edge of the grand staircase after family dinner I'd felt sick for just one moment, and then, nothing .

Ethan had long disappeared from where all the women were congregating. Cordelia wanted to look through the album containing all the previous generations of White weddings again before her baby boy's wedding. Ever the dutiful daughter-in-law to be, I went up to the library and got it for her, and then put it back again when they were done. While I was gone, apparently everyone began moving from the parlor where Cordelia had been holding court with her circle of old money women to wherever in the Estate they fancied. The Senator's wife has that same sort of predatory glint in her eye that Cordelia does.

It is almost like I am invisible to them unless I am on Ethan's arm. Servants see me, of course. I am the stranger amid the White Estate. But no one else ever even glances my way, unless Ethan is beside me. So, naturally, no one saw me at the top of the staircase, watching what was unfolding between Ethan and Cassandra in a darkened corner of the mammoth house.

I’d worn the red dress he’d asked me to. Apparently, Cassandra had also gotten a similar instruction. Hers bares the entirety of her back, and dips below her sternum. Someone might say that she was overcompensating.

Unable to look away, I watched Ethan's gaze track her lips, and roam down her body hungrily. The way he pressed her against the wall, pulling her leg up to his hip tells me they'd done this multiple times. There is familiarity in the way he dips his hand beneath her blood-red skirt, and kisses up her throat.

There is experience with the way she claws at his shoulders, tilting her hips, unzipping his pants.

I'd expected tears.

Rage .

Something .

Anything .

But no, there is just ringing silence in my brain.

Relief .

Immediately, I turned around, took the servant's staircase, and left through the back patio. I didn't even know if Ethan was aware of its existence, or if he knew that I knew of its existence. The Whites even have a small driving range on the grounds, golf carts parked under a small overhang. I took one back to the house Ethan had moved me into. If I shift, I leave my clothes and shoes behind. I don't need to leave breadcrumbs for them to follow.

No one saw me or paid any attention to me as I packed up what little I'd come here with, well, what was left of it anyway. The clothes I actually wear all fit in one suitcase. There are a few items I've accumulated that I didn't want to leave behind, my laptop, headphones, books, and a handful of jewelry that would be handy if I needed money. And I may have raided the safe that I know Ethan never locks. He is too lazy.

Twenty grand in bills would come in handy. They'd never miss it, anyway. I doubted they'd miss me either. At least I wrote them a note. It is a complete lie, but I still wrote one and left it on the fridge in the house Ethan and I had shared.

I'm going to the spa. Pre-wedding pampering. See you soon! Kisses.

The highway is dark, but it doesn't matter. I can see as easily as if it was broad daylight. The Moon is high, almost full but not quite. There are only a few days until the full Moon, to leave the city and find somewhere safe to shift.

The Moon is full, bright— and lonely. She hangs low in the sky, the tops of the Sequoia trees partially obscuring the face of the Full Moon. The Sturgeon Moon. Perhaps I'll find a river to fish in tonight. Pay homage to the great hunters of the past.

When I left the White Estate, the first destination I had in mind was the forest. I know the Pack that lives within the Yosemite forests. Sam introduced me to them when we first became friends, she does graphic design work for the Packs coffee business. The Alpha had invited me to join their ranks, even if it was only for full Moon runs. He said " A wolf needs a pack. We'd be happy to have you within our ranks. A black wolf is a thing of rarity ."

I declined. At the time, I'd merely said I'd think about it, but I never had any intention of joining the Yosemite Wolves. Just like I never had any intention of joining any of the Packs I'd visited years ago on my way to California.

None of them had felt like home.

Standing on the remains of a petrified Sequoia tree— the trunk as wide as I am tall—my breath steams as it leaves my lungs, black fur rippling in the breeze. Fall has not arrived yet, but within the trees, you can feel it. Autumn will be here soon, bringing with it even colder nights.

I tilt my head back, letting that single, lonesome note free.

And then, with a burst of speed, I'm moving. Tearing through the underbrush, darting around massive trees that are hundreds, if not thousands of years old. I run without a true destination, feeling the wind through my fur, tracking all the wildlife with ease.

I catch the scent of blood. Elk. A feast waiting to be devoured. Turning my nose towards the scent I easily follow the trail. In my shifted form, the tips of my ears hit the four-foot mark. I'm a few hundred pounds heavier, stacked with pure undiluted power. But even so, taking down an elk by myself would be a challenge.

Nevertheless, I follow the earthy musky scent of the elk's blood. Almost as soon as I begin following the animal, I find the scents of the Yosemite pack. They're hunting the elk, too.

As easily as I found the scent of blood, I turn away from it. I guess I won't be feasting on elk, after all.

Hours pass, the Moon inching across the sky as I race under the canopy of trees. The Pack never finds me, but I know when they take down the elk. I hear the beast scream before it cuts off abruptly.

I can't help how my jaw aches, saliva dripping out of my maw. My wolf and I are hungry. Had I joined the Pack on their run, we would be feasting already. Sinking our teeth into the hot, wet meat. Our paws helping to tear chunks free. I could see them all in my mind's eye, ripping the carcass apart in a frenzy. Blood coating their muzzles and dripping off the fur.

My stomach rumbles almost painfully. Still, I keep running. Running and running through the trees. Eventually, when I find a river I stop, wading into the cool waters where rocks make small rapids and wait for the fish. It doesn't take long before the animals are throwing themselves up and out of the water to move upstream.

I catch one between my teeth, devouring it on the spot, holding its triangle-shaped head between my paw and the rocks to rip it apart. It's gone too soon, so I catch another, and another.

I gorge myself on fresh fish, ears moving like satellites, looking for any sign of other wolves. I wouldn't be run out of the forest by the pack, but that doesn't mean I want to talk to them.