One of the many lessons Cory had learned during his four years of freedom was to observe his surroundings stealthily. It was a skill perpetuated by his paranoia and cynicism. Ambrose was still in the cottage drinking another cup of tea in the kitchen corner of the miniscule cottage. There is an extremely subtle way an individual will act if they feel they are being watched – more so if they know there are only two people in the room.
However Cory had mastered the art. It’s relatively easy to see where someone is looking by the position of the pupil in the eye. If the pupil is to the left of the sclera, then that person is looking left. Ambrose sat to the left of the cottage in the corner of the small kitchen. Cory kept his head forward and rested against the headboard of the bed; he crossed his left leg over his right leg to give the impression that he was looking to the right.
Ambrose was clearly oblivious to Cory’s observation. The mixed-blood took the opportunity to closely inspect the new pack sorcerer. Cory hadn’t had a particularly good look at Ambrose – his time spent with the sorcerer was limited to stressful interactions and torturous rituals. The mixed-blood did remember Ambrose’s long black hair. It was longer than Cory’s; whose scarlet hair barely reached passed his shoulders when loose. Ambrose’s black hair was much longer – it cascaded down to his waist. Behind Ambrose’s black framed spectacles were his thin, hooded eyes. They were a deep brown – so rich in colour that they genuinely appeared onyx. Housing his eyes were thin black eyebrows that almost looked completely straight if it weren’t for the slight arch at the very end. He was thin – his cheeks seemed to slightly hollow in; yet he wasn’t an unhealthy type of thin. His pale beige skin tone greatly accentuated his glossy hair.
Ambrose seemed to always wear formal clothing; all of them were black. A black button-up shirt, an accompanying black waistcoat, professional black trousers and polished black shoes. He dressed as if he were attending a funeral – and carried the same disposition that came with such a morbid event.
Cory noticed the slightest shift in Ambrose’s body language and he quickly snapped his gaze back in front of him.
“I am going to fetch Grayson. My duty to observe you has been fulfilled”, the sorcerer spoke dispassionately.
Cory kept calm – hiding the erratic energy that pumped within him at the available opening. His heartbeat increased steadily, pushing adrenaline through his blood like a reliable pump. Once Ambrose left the cottage, Cory would wait until he couldn’t hear the sorcerer’s calm footsteps snap littered, dry twigs and then he would run. He would run in a frenzied kind of desperation.
The sorcerer opened the decrepit door, stepped outside and closed it quietly. Cory kept his ears sharp – although his hearing was nowhere near as sharp as a pure-blooded werewolf. He swiftly got out of bed and put his glasses back on, relieved that he didn’t feel dizzy or light headed. The wooden floor was refreshingly cool. He knew he had to act quickly as this opening would likely never happen again. He rushed to the miniscule bathroom and tugged on his black skinny jeans that he had discarded two days ago from the hellish fever. He then threw on his black shoes – not caring that he wasn’t wearing socks. In a panic he tied the shoelaces of his combat boots sloppily – his hands were trembling from a cocktail of adrenaline and anxiety.
He ignored the sour smell of his sweat scented grey long-sleeved shirt and hastily undid his dishevelled scarlet strands that were vaguely held together by his barely clinging on elastic; he loosened the elastic, sloppily re-gathered the scarlet strands and tied them up again. In a haste Cory hurried to the front door. He slowly opened it and peaked outside; his eyes peered through the crack of the open door. His eyes had to adjust to the slight brightness of the outside world – they squinted as they did so. It wasn’t shockingly bright – it was simply a matter of fact that the cottage didn’t have any windows. It relied solely on the fireplace and randomly placed candles for light. Once his eyes had adjusted Cory could see the gentle lighting of the day.
By his estimation it was around ten in the morning. The sunlight was gentle – barely peaking over the tall trees of the forest. Cory’s head sharply turned to the left; the direction Ambrose wandered off to – the direction to the Alpha manor. It would take the sorcerer roughly twenty minutes to reach the manor.
Cory had no time to waste.
He began running to the right, straight into the forest. Joy’s cottage was already located on the far western edge of the pack lands. Normally that would make the mixed-blood more optimistic about his escape. However, there were elements that acted against Cory’s swift exist. For starters, he had completely forgotten just how vast the Lightpaw pack lands were; and how more vast the heavy woods surrounding the territory of the pack was. Cory reasoned that he would just have to figure it out – he needed to figure it out. Failure was not an option.
The trees varied in height and girth – in no discernable pattern. Some were as wide as cars, others as thin as streetlight poles. Despite the variation in height – all of the trees were an intimidating height. Stretching so high to the sky it evoked a sense of inferiority and insecurity inside Cory. He continued running, his heart palpitating in desperate hope. His lungs were burning slightly, as were his legs. Every breath was a huff – a gasp for rest. The mixed-blood ignored his body’s tired prayer. He passed a particularly thick, captivating tree – its lower bark was decorated with a blanket of splendid green moss. Cory frowned in confusion as he ran passed the tree. Something caught the tip of his boot and the mixed-blood fell to the rich soil. He reflexively held out his hands so he didn’t fall face-first into the ground. His left palm made abrasive contact with a rugged rock – but ultimately it stopped Cory from making full contact with the ground. He stood up, palm stinging and realising why he was confused by the strange tree.
Four years ago, when he had left the Lightpaw pack he had taken a different route out of the pack territory. He had never been deep into this particular part of the forest.
Cory looked around in stubborn determination, “I’ll find my way out of here.”
He chose to continue going straight – surely that would lead to some kind of ending of the forest. The scarlet-haired man continued running, but he had slowed down from a sprint to a jog from exertion; he was sweating all over again. He heaved in breath but refused to give up – he had to be close to the end of the surrounding woods.
There were eerie periods throughout Cory’s desperate attempt at escape. Parts of the forest were vaguely dark from the thick foliage of the trees above – blocking out the sun. The wildlife was frighteningly silent. Cory swore he could hear his huffs echo throughout the empty woods…
He sluggishly walked through the forest, now accepting the real possibility that he might have ran further into the forest instead of towards its end. He had heard of people getting lost in the woods – how they panicked and feared that their loss of direction would be their mortal end. Cory smiled a tired smile.
Death would be preferable, Cory’s mind darkly humoured.
As he stumbled through the thick forest, he tripped some more – tearing a hole in the knee of his pants. That would surely leave a bruise. Yet, Cory remained firm on not giving up. He kept going – refusing to succumb to doubt. He got out once before, four years ago, he could get out again.
His nose perked slightly. A scent of grass ghostly teased his nose. He was near a field. If his memory served well, beyond the thick woods were a series of wild fields. A revelation – divine in its appearance – washed over Cory. He followed the scent trying to pick up pace. He was getting closer – still far but getting closer and closer.
Loud, heavy, steady and fast approaching thumps were coming toward Cory. The mixed-blood looked behind him. Someone was chasing him. He should have expected that – and in the back of his mind he had anticipated that. Regardless, he denied the fact that his magic had been kidnapped from him, it had been held captive in a frustrating silver bracelet around his forearm. He was truly defenceless.
Cory was reminded that his scent had now been released. He visibly scowled and pushed his body – pushed his exhausted legs. They could have time to be tired later; right now they had to fulfil their anatomical purpose. Cory began running again, he was getting even closer to the exit of the forest. The crazed footsteps behind him were gaining on him quickly.
I’m so close! Just a little further! Cory screamed internally.
He could see the field through a clearing of the abundant trees several feet in front of him. The luscious green grass was gently swaying in a caressing breeze – a painting of freedom. Cory gasped as he hurried frantically to the edge of the woods. He could smell the end of the scent marked territory – the border of the Lightpaw pack lands.
A couple more feet!
The mixed-blood’s scrapped left palm was grabbed by a bone-chilling hand. It was so extremely cold that Cory worried it would freeze the blood from his scrapes, Cory whined hopelessly in pain. He was so close! He still is!
Grayson tried to pull Cory closer but the mixed-blood struggled desperately, tugging harshly on his arm to free his hand. Every slight friction between his captive hand and Grayson’s firm one sent glacial shockwaves through his hand that travelled up into his wrist. Cory was not ashamed to show the pain and discomfort on his face.
“Cory, stop struggling! You’re going to hurt yourself!” Grayson uttered apprehensively.
“NO! I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE! I DON’T WANT TO GO BACK THERE! I WANT TO GO HOME!” Cory cried out loudly; he continued tugging harshly on his hand. The pain was otherworldly but he wouldn’t relent.
Grayson yanked Cory forward and grabbed his clothed shoulders, “THIS IS YOUR HOME!” The Alpha snarled lowly.
The mixed-blood tried to shrug Grayson’s hands off his shoulders but the Alpha had a strong grip. Cory then harshly pushed against Grayson’s firm chest – shoving him back slightly, “NO IT’S NOT! THIS IS A FUCKING HELLHOLE! YOU CAN’T FORCE ME TO GO BACK!” The younger man screamed in rage and desperation.
“OF COURSE IT’S YOUR HOME! AND, I AM FORCING YOU TO GO BACK WITH ME!” Grayson roared angrily, he grabbed Cory’s waist to fling him over his shoulder. The scarlet-haired man began writhing and firmly placed his foot on Grayson’s stomach, using it to push himself out of Grayson’s hold. Cory landed on his back in the dirt. He had hoped he had knocked the air out of the frustrating older male but Grayson was unaffected. He huffed and stepped toward the mixed-blood.
“I LEFT TO ELIMINATE THE SHAME YOU SAID I BROUGHT TO THIS PLACE!” Cory cried out, angry tears slithering down his pale cheeks from his hazelnut eyes.
Grayson faltered in his approach and came to a stop.
Cory was panting in air from all the running and screaming, “You said that I brought shame to the Lightpaw pack. So I left – I solved the problem, didn’t I? I left so there was no disgraceful wolf that couldn’t shift and no eye-sore of an ex-mate within sight anymore.”
Grayson’s face was unreadable. His blue eyes stared at Cory; they assessed him. His jaw barely clenched as did his fists, then he let out a tired sigh, “You’re going back with me, Cory.” He murmured, walking up to Cory.
Cory chuckled dryly as Grayson easily scooped him up into his athletic arms, “You’re cruel, Grayson Lightpaw… So very cruel.”
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