NATURE OF THE BEASTS [P]

[grey]

It was not his fault that the dog demanded he reprimand it. It was not his fault that the only way to reprimand a beast was to discipline it, thoroughly and without mercy, until it understood its place upon the hierarchy of alpha and omega. It was his anger that drove him, a fuel that seemed ceaseless, so that Roma had been dragged to the brink of Fallen territory and dropped unceremoniously onto the earth. He waited for her to rouse with the patience of a saint, laying calmly in his wolf form. His large head rested upon his wide paws and his tail flicked behind him with complete indolence, expressing only the sure confidence of a predator. His eyes fixed upon Roma's "resting" form, although he quickly erased the name "Roma" from his vocabulary. This was not Roma he dealt with but, instead, an adversary for him to overcome in order to again address the redhead he desperately wanted to. He did not realize, exactly, that his interest in Roma must have stemmed thoroughly from his own obsession with Nycole. It did not matter in that moment.

What matter was that he now faced an obstacle and, in his experience, obstacles must be dealt with immediately before they procured the chance to multiply. An obstacle would multiply, yes, as though bricks had the ability to divide as surely as cells did. When that occurred, a short wall would become a tall and long one, much more difficult to overcome than a single section. This is how he saw life. This is how he now saw Red; a single, small obstacle that had the potential to become a genuine challenge. 

The sun had begun to rise over the distant dunes. It spilled brilliant red across the sands and the angled face of his captive. Grey's head jerked upright as her expression shifted and her eyelids fluttered. She had slept "restlessly" since he had forced her into a state of unconsciousness and dragged her to this place, in the middle of nowhere, where no man would interfere with his plans. His tongue moved lazily out across his teeth. She would wake soon and until this his fury would boil beneath the surface, bubbling and hot, content to wait to enact vengeance. It was not until her eyes opened and gained coherency that he moved, as quick and sure as the flash of a whip. He leaped across the length of her body (he had positioned her so that she lay flat on her back) and straddled her shoulders with his thick paws. His retractable claws were detracted, digging into the fabric of her shoulders, and he held his jaws a hairsbreadth from the tip of her nose.

Grey stared into the eyes of his enemy. "Have you changed your mind?" He asked, his voice like velvet, soft but keen to catch upon any display of roughness, as velvet would snag upon the callouses of a hand. There was a tremor in it, a note that suggested he would surely snap and raise his voice in an instant. He increased the pressure he placed upon her shoulders, rolling his weight between his forelimb, his claws digging deeper and deeper. "I will stop the moment you let her out. This is your choice, Red. This is you hurting her. It is you making this decision." A crooning, lulling purr. 

He dragged the length of his paw down her shoulder now, both fabric and flesh tearing beneath the pressure. It was a distinctive sound, each similar and dissimilar to the other. He did not seem to enjoy it. He performed the action with the robotic precision of a surgeon. 

And still that sun, bright and brilliant and bloody, bloody red. It warmed his back and matched his temper. 

[ROMA|RED]

The quiet Texas night had been warm, so Roma had left the window open. It was often that the girl slept and the wolf kept watch. For the most part, she left the girl be and only used her ears so that her body could get the rest it needed. The cicadas were the only noise for hours now, but something else had kept the patient wolfess awake. The Bad Man had not yet gone to sleep downstairs, and that was very unusual. Suddenly she could hear the sound of tires from far away hit the dirt road that lead to their house. Curiously she listened, wondering if they were lost and going to turn around. That sometimes happened. Instead, they pulled up to the house and turned off all of their lights. The sounds of the doors shutting were the last thing she heard. If they had been noisy, Sister Wolf would not have worried – but there were many of them, and traveling in silence. Danger, Sister spoke to Roma. She stirred in her mind but did not wake. Danger, DANGER, her worry demanded in Roma mind until their eyes snapped open. She looked around the room and Sister sighed with patience. She would never have let someone get into the room. Listen, she prompted. Just then the front door downstairs was banged off its hinges and immediately Roma’s mind went to Mama and Ashley. She was careful as she released the locks and hurried down the hall to check on the girls. They were fine … a breath of relief settled over them both. Still, there were people downstairs … Strange, she reminded Roma. There were people there and they shouldn’t be. Who were they, what did they want? Should they protect or should they run? She could feel Roma’s body responding to Sister’s anxiety and instinctively Roma began to retreat into the depths of their mind. Weight slammed into them unexpectedly, but Sister had already started to shift and she concealed Roma from her fear before they slammed to the ground. Wiggling free, the small red wolf stood in the hallway, facing The Bad Man. He was supposed to be the alpha, for he was the oldest, the one that cared for their family. But the one that held the responsibility to lead also was the one that was to protect. He did not lead and he did not protect. He beat, and he savaged. He yelled and he abused, manipulated and touched but he was not alpha. Never before had Sister Wolf shifted in his presence, but something was wrong – there were people … and things were not the same and never would be again. Sister knew this. The look on his face as he stared nose to nose with a predator caused glee to ripple through her, she could smell his fear and she showed him her teeth. Her head lowered as a deep rumble issued from her depths and as she drew near he was stupid enough to reach for the door where the Pack was sleeping. She lunged and sank her teeth into his shoulder. MINE, she growled and licked her lips of blood. He would not harm them again; he would not even touch Roma again. She took another menacing step forward. Sister would always protect Roma from those who harmed her. Against The Bad Man, against RJ, against the world … the strange people came then from downstairs holding weapons in dark clothes, and moving on silent feet. Instantly she turned on her heels and ran back down the hallway to Roma’s room. The window was open, and they could escape. She would protect her always … against anyone that would ever harm Roma. They could not have her … they could not have her. The sounds of early morning settled into Sister Wolf’s ears. She felt as though she were partially deft until she remembered that she held Roma’s form. She’d cling to that form through days in unconsciousness as she’d once had to when The Bad Man had sent Roma’s body to the Hospital. There were no hospitals here. She could smell the sand; scented the cool freshness that could only be morning. She was cold, bone cold in a way that made the old breaks and tears in her body ache. Her head hurt fiercely, and her body felt heavy. Her mouth was dry. Where were they? They had been moved … no longer could she smell the trees, and she could smell blood: Hers … and his. These facts streamed into Red’s mind effortlessly within seconds, and her eyes fluttered open. The grey morning sky was all she saw, and her pupils dilated and constricted within brilliant golden hues. Then, all she saw was Grey, the wolf-cat-male. His breath on her face made gooseflesh on her arms. The body of a human responded in strange ways to the world. She was on her back again with the male forcing his supremacy, was it really better to be feared than to be loved? Red wasn’t so sure. His display of aggression was not what she feared … it was when the quiet, almost pleasant question about whether or not she had changed her mind caressed her like baby rabbit fur soaked in poison. Her blood went cold then and she couldn’t stop her eyes from widening. It was the quiet wolf that killed. Thankfully, the pain came back as his hooked claws dug into her. It ripped into her fear as the claws ripped through her flesh, and she sucked air through her teeth and blew it out – screwing her eyes shut and panting to breathe it away. I will stop the moment you let her out. This is you hurting her. It is you making this decision, and she cried out as he cut down, wounding her deeper. Instinctively she tried to curl into a ball but his weight on her chest made that impossible. As it was, he was tall and large enough that her knees could pull in and her boots kicked hard to his middle. The same instant her head lurched up and her teeth clicked audibly an inch from his nose. She was mad, she must be … but she knew this game. This, would anger him, and push him to savagery, but if she cowered it would invite far more pleasure in him. Angry pain, violent pain was ruthless … the battle of one wolf against another no matter the odds. Cowering, fear, subservience would be another game entirely. The game of hunter verses hunted the fear of the deer as you took the pleasure in pulling out its throat. She was no deer, no matter how far he pushed her, this was still wolf on wolf and she would never let him forget that. Pain shot through her stiff back and the weight of the claws dug even deeper than he might have intended. She cried out as he immediately and viciously retaliated.

[grey]

His eyes lit with agony as she kicked him, the pain running like fire in his veins as it tweaked his wound. Grey tensed, his body run through with tension, and it took a tremendous amount of self control to keep from killing her then and there. His lips tightened over his teeth and he snapped back, intentionally skimming her nose with his incisors. It did not concern him if he removed any skin or not; he made his point obvious. 

He would not be played with.

It was again reduced to a staring match; it was clear to him that, despite all her righteous fury, she was at the losing end of the situation. He could move mountains when he was in such a temper and Grey knew it. He would allow her to have her wolfish battle for dominance, secure in the knowledge that he remained the alpha and she the lowly worm. This did not change the fact that he was furious and he would hurt her for her rebellion and the pain she had caused him.

So he pushed his weight downward, until her face twisted in pain and anger both. He felt no compassion whatsoever. It did not matter to him that she resembled his Nycole; it did not matter to him that this was the same redhead who had laughed and joked with him previously. Frankly, he felt nothing except for a very personal contempt for this wolf in Roma's skin.

He shapeshifted then. It would be far more personal if he were a man reprimanding her rather than a beast. That was a very delicate line with Grey; in truth, perhaps he was more of a monstrosity in this form than in any other.

He had made no effort to remove his paws from her and so, when he shifted, his fingers remained stretched in the wounds where his claws had been. He dug the blunt tips of his fingers deeper and twisted. He, strangely, bore no expression aside from the one that raged in his eyes. His mouth had not tightened in typical ire; nor had his brows drawn down in frustration. It was just those damnable eyes, tempest-like and savage, that bore into Red's as surely as his fingers did her flesh. "Tsk," Grey commented, with a brisk and disappointed shake of his head. "It will only get worse the more you fight." 

He doubted, for whatever reason, that she took him seriously enough. In a mechanical gesture he removed one hand from her shoulder and drew out a knife. "Or do you doubt me? Do you think, for some reason, I will keep from crippling you? I don't think you've met a man like me, Red. Should I demonstrate?" He talked as though they were friends in a kindly situation; slowly, softly. It was with an intimacy that was feigned. "What should I start with, to make you understand, Red? A finger? A hand? An eye? A leg?" 

It was almost professional, the way he twisted their positions nimbly so that she lay on her stomach, a foot braced against her neck and head to keep it planted firmly in the dirt. He had twisted an arm behind her at such an angle that it would cause her great pain to attempt and wrench it free; it would not be difficult for him to break it. He caressed her hand lightly, spending time on each individual finger as a decision was made. He settled, eventually, upon her ring finger.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Stark was in the process of washing the blood from his hands. Nycole stood back, in the doorway of the kitchen, and simply looked at him in a way she never had before. Stark could not identify her emotion; it bewildered him more than it worried him. He dried his hands on his thighs and turned toward her. "Do I have something on my face besides my dashing good looks?" He tried to joke.

His smile fell when she did not respond. He eventually decided that she looked haunted. "Cole! C'mon, babe, snap out of it." Grey was growing concerned now. He knew it had been a bad idea to bring her along this trip and he had told them that! Stark stepped toward her and a part of him died when he watched her cringe. This was the first time that their target had put up a fight and Nycole had watched something other than a smooth job, where a bullet was shot and a man was killed, just like that. 

It had not been clean, this time. 

"Stop, please." She continued to stare. She was a million miles away; Stark closed the distance between them and reached out to touch her face, gently. Those were the same hands that had just killed a family. She allowed him to touch her; Stark knew, then, that it would be okay. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Cole. It isn't always like that... I'm sorry."

He embraced her tightly and she put her face against his chest. Yes, it would be okay...

The next day was the day she left. 

When he finally saw her again, months later, she called him a monster.

There was a blood on his hands. It was everywhere. There was blood on his knife.

His body acted. Why was his body moving? His bloody fingers knotted in whiskey-red hair, a few shades away from crimson. He pulled her into a standing position by that hair only so that once she was secure upon her feet, he released her. Grey remained behind her, staring at the silhouette of her shoulders. 

"Run," said his mouth. He was sneering. 

He did not know why he said it; or at least he wish he didn't know the reason. Grey wanted to give her hope; he wanted her to think that she could escape. He wanted to give her that opportunity... so he could snatch it away. 

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[ROMA|RED]

Pain was not the same creature for Red as it was for most beings. Typically, Pain came and went in people’s lives and they simply tried to forget it. Some people Red had met through Roma’s experiences had been familiar with Pain. Those that committed themselves to physical aspirations: gymnasts, boxers, and runners – all athletes knew Pain and in fact kept it around on a daily basis. For them, pain was reminder of strength, of meeting goals. ‘The sweet ache warms your bones.’ There were those that were injured or ill; for them pain meant rest and healing. ‘It takes pain to heal the pain.’ Emotional pain as she had also experienced through Roma could cut like a knife and often it lead to the relief and ecstasy of grief. ‘Each time we let go it is like a small funeral as we mourn another small death of who we might have been.’ There was the everyday Pain that everyone experience that was simply - living. For Red, Pain was a repetitive unrelenting nemesis beyond anything save perhaps prisoners of war would understand. A paradox of unbearable and inevitable … The nip to her nose was nothing, his eyetooth sliced neatly through the fleshy tip of her nose – and a small well of blood pooled and trickled down the side of her face. To Red, Pain was a Living Thing, a simple four letter word given to an entire existence that could pull apart the pieces and put them back together. It made you feel alive … and want to die. It could take control of you, make you do things, and haunt you to your last breath. When he shifted, she half expected a backhand until she realized his digits remained deep in cuts of her body. The instant the realization hit her, his fingers dug in and churned. Her body vibrated from the trauma and her golden eyes bulged as Pain ripped through her. Her stomach heaved as a noise between a moan and a whine escaped her lungs. Her face was crimson as hot tears spilled from her eyes and slid down her temples to the sand beneath her. She swallowed hard, and struggled to breath. She had to breathe … It will only get worse the more you fight, he said. Immediately Red’s teeth seized the inside of her cheek and bit down savagely to draw blood. She had to stop herself from laughing. As it was, a few scattered breathes peppered through her nose that she managed to gulp down. It was a humorless response that, for reasons Red did not understand, this human body seemed to express in morbid giggles every time she’d heard those kinds of things. It will only get worse the more you fight. Why do you make me do this to you? This is your fault you know. Don’t look at me like that. They were all lies. It got worse no matter what. There were no right answers. It would always, and never, be their fault. There was no other way she could look at him, and get up again afterwards. It was that look that settled on him now … a clear, unrelenting golden stare - free from accusation and free from plea, devoid of challenge or resentment. It was a withdrawing into herself, a bastion Red had evolved from years of combats with Pain without choice or escape. The countenance that remained was a simple marriage of resolve and resignation. The duty that had bound her to Roma since the very beginning, Red’s entire purpose, was just this …a shield. Red/Sister Wolf’s entirety was to guard Roma from Pain, from the things that she wouldn’t have, couldn’t have, come back from: Roma’s childhood. I don’t think you’ve met a man like me, Red. She didn’t have to. It didn’t matter the measure of Pain, it was always the same creature and they were all the same faceless enemy. His intimated whispers fell on deft ears. Behind her stronghold words meant nothing. With easy negotiation her face was unceremoniously shoved in the dirt and sand as he flipped her over. The debris shoved its way into her mouth and nose, inching its way into her eyes. Her mouth puffed and her body thrashed involuntarily for air. Her arm ached from the angle he forced it into, and all at once a noxious noise echoed in her head. It took a moment to realize the terrible noise that made pressure build in her head was herself, forcing its way out from her lungs as the knife sliced into her. He was cutting her finger off! Warmth spilled down her hand to her palm, down her arm and dripped on her back and for and endless second … he stopped. Very suddenly Pain picked her up by her hair. Instinctively her hands shot out, gripping his arm for balance and to ease the weight from her scalp. Once he let go her hands dropped from his limb like she’d touched a stove, and she stood on her feet. She did not move, only stood there coughing and gagging, her shoulders hunched and her head low … she might have been looking at something on the ground. Despite herself she couldn’t help stealing a look at her hand, and though bloody and full of pain, she still had all her fingers. Run. Instinct was hard to go against. Every fiber of her being wanted to burst into her wolf form and run like she’d never run before … but experience was impossible to ignore. Oh she might get away. As angry as he was, he was also injured. Then again, one of her eyes would not focus and she couldn’t breathe right. Her injuries thus far wouldn’t keep her from running and she was fast too … but might was not a strong enough assurance to do what she knew would make things worse. If she ran he would catch her. If she stayed he would find amusement in it, or become angry that she wouldn’t play his game. Her blood dripped to the sand from her finger … he’d cut to the bone, then started around it. She could feel the heat and pain pulsing around the open wound. She was finally catching her breath and slowly she turned around, swallowed hard, and looked him in the eye. Running away from a predator was the worst thing one could do, and Red sure as hell was not going to be prey in his owning game. He might kill her. Might was an interesting gamble. He couldn’t have Roma, and he couldn’t have Red. The same pure unchallenging gaze settled on him, her ocher eyes bright with a touch of fear mingling with courage and the ever present Pain. He couldn’t have them.

[grey]

HONEY, YOU'RE FAMILIAR LIKE MY MIRROR YEARS AGO
IDEALISM SITS IN A PRISON, CHIVALRY FELL ON IT'S SWORD
INNOCENCE DIED SCREAMING, HONEY, ASK ME I SHOULD KNOW
I SLITHERED HERE FROM EDEN JUST TO SIT OUTSIDE YOUR DOOR

A tactic wolf packs utilized to catch prey was considered "swarming". Grey's father had told him that, in a clipped and detached fashion, going so far as to elaborate. "The term makes you think of bees, doesn't it? This is something like this. Imagine a pack of ten or fifteen wolves. They bring down their prey by outnumbering them. They attack in a mass unit and will savage whatever they come in contact with." They would exhaust an animal by the sheer extent of their numbers until the beast succumbed to fatigue. Then it became a matter of tug-of-war. When they began to eat, the prey animal was often still alive and struggling, albeit weakly. "Wolves will eat their prey alive. That animal is in you, Stein. Remember that. Remember that is the tenacity we need for the Imperium. We need you to be merciless."

His father gave this advice just prior to Grey boarding a plane that would take him half-way across the world. Grey did not see him again for two years. They were what echoed in his head now, a reminiscent of times long past. We need you to be merciless.

He watched her as she watched them. He stood, locked in her gaze, with her blood up to the middle of his forearms. It hurt her. Grey saw that pain, alongside her stupid bravery, and the smile he gave was a wicked bearing of teeth, void amusement. She would not run. He saw that now, and it enraged him. He wanted her to do so badly. He wanted to give chase; he wanted to bring her down as though she were a deer. The time for words had passed; as had the time for games. Grey no longer wanted to play. He wanted to taste blood on his teeth and see the life leave her eyes. He waited. He waited for her to flee and found himself extremely disappointed when she did not.

His lip curled in disgust. His hands shook with his rage and anticipation, both. He would end this, then, without her running. He would kill her as though she were a cow lined up for slaughter. So docile, he thought, jaw clenched. The look in her eyes was one of complete abandonment. She was not there, she was far away, resolved to her fate.

It meant he would lose, in part. He would never talk to Roma again. He would never address the nature of her betrayal. But he now dealt with a creature beyond breaking; he dealt with an animal that would not relent, no matter the measure of pain she underwent.

He had only ever been taught to eliminate threats, after all. He did not have the patience for this. He did not like how she made him remember Cole's words, again and again and again. Monster. Monster. Monster.

I am not a monster, Grey thought. With that thought he moved, shifting mid-stride. His walk transitioned into a coiled, powerful leap.

I am a soldier.

It mattered not what he fought against; merely that he fought. It did not concern him, his lack of purpose. This was what he had known to do his entire life. Hurt.

Kill.

He hit her solidly as a wolf-cat, his paws outstretched to slam directly into her old injuries. He would end this. He would end any sense of betrayal and challenge simply by killing her. It was the most effective end to an unpleasant relationship. He did not wait for them to hit the ground before biting at her throat. He felt her jugular between his jaws but, for some reason, he did not bite down harshly enough to break skin. He mouthed her throat, tongue hot against her skin, teeth pressing hard enough now to make her bleed and bruise. He did not, however, crush. It was a threat. It was a promise. Both and neither, all at once. He held her life there, in his teeth, and if they had been outside the dome he would have killed her. He would have.

You're a monster.

Cole's words, loud in him. "You kill innocent people without asking questions, Stark. How can you do that?"

His father. "Be merciless."

His orders. "Eliminate the threat. They know too much."

What had Roma... Red... done? He could hardly remember... so much had been done.

"Don't do it, Stark."

He remembered the border, when the Fallen had captured Roma. He remembered saving her. Now he wondered why. The only sound was that of their rasped, pained breathing. It was all he could hear, alongside their frantic heartbeats, and he wondered. Why had he intervened if it was only to condemn her? "Please stop." He could imagine Nycole's eyes on him now; he could imagine her stumbling across this scene, in her new territory, and the idea sickened him. He drew back, licking his mouth disgustedly, shifting abruptly into a man.

They had come full circle. He redelivered her to the Fallen, as though she were a package he had stolen and found wanting. His eyes did not hold mercy when he looked at her and leaned low, a hand against her throat and another against her jaw. He caressed her. Gently. Kindly.

Really, he thought, she looked nothing like his Nycole. Grey struck her one last time, the backhand that she had originally expected. It was hard. As hard as he could hit. He wondered if he fractured his knuckles, but that was of little concern. "Then don't run, bitch. Lay here and die." Grey stood with no nimbleness, no grace. He hurt too badly for that. His eyes burned as he stepped away, sparing one brief second to spit on the sand beside her face. "Lay here and die like a dog." It was all she was.

He turned and left her there, not even sparing a backward glance to see if she would retaliate.

[ROMA|RED]

The blood from her finger flowed sluggishly, dripping to the sand as for an endless moment they watched one another, weighing and measuring moments that slipped through their fingers like water. He was so furious he trembled, and when the malevolence in his eye hit her it was almost physical. He was going to kill her. He leapt. It wasn’t that time slowed. Rather, it was that panic and fear filled every part of her and it escaped in a tiny involuntary cry as he crashed into her. The abomination was once again an animal, and as a wolf-cat was less and more terrifying all at once. His hot breath and large teeth enveloped her throat as she fell hard to the ground, and several hundred pounds of Grey lay atop her, crushing her until she could barely move. Something in her middle gave, and the pain made her light headed and nauseous. Her eyes bulged with terror, and she could not stop herself from her limbs digging into the soil with desperation and fear. A strangled noise issued from her lips that gaped like a fish out of water. Had his teeth had not impeded her breathing, she wouldn’t never have been able to keep herself from whimpering. Her hands grabbed at him defensively, hauling on the coarse fur and stopped instantly for the pain in her finger and the pain at her throat when he squeezed harder in warning. She froze and remained as still as she could manage when the quiet pause that had overtaken him earlier again caused him to stop. The instant he sat up her body’s lungs sucked in air in panicked pants. She dare not move, and watched him wearily was his fingers caressed her bruised flesh. She swallowed. Fresh tears slid down her cheeks. Without warning her face exploded in pain, pinpointed at her cheekbone that fractured on contact. It felt as though her eye would explode. The sweet metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and she almost retched from the agony. As it was, a sob escaped her as she turned her face away. When he rose she rolled to her side and curled into a ball, hiding her face in her knees as she shook violently. His words were utterly lost on Red who was now so stunned and in pain she never even heard him. Red lay there a long, long time. It had been quiet for easily and hour when slowly Red’s eyes opened. The sun was not yet high in the sky. She was fiercely cold, stiff, and in so much pain she couldn’t think. Her mind kept latching onto nonsense and letting it go before picking up a memory, or some other inane line of thought like a morbid slide show that wouldn’t stop. Instinct was strong in the she wolf though, and slowly, slowly she rolled onto her hands and knees. The gashes that Grey had played with caused so much hurt that when she moved her arms she almost blacked out and the cracked ribs she had endured made it impossible to breathe as she staged to her feet. Her right eye was blurry and her face felt huge and hot and puffy. The blood from her finger had caked in a mix of crimson and dirt that ached every moment. Her throat was raw and already dark bruises dappled the tender freckled skin. She was alive. She almost wished she wasn’t but that wasn’t an option. She had to keep Roma safe. Slowly she staggered, one foot at a time to the west. She made time by locking her traumatized and golden gaze to an easy landmark and walking to it. When she reached it she stopped, sucked down gulps of air and found a new point. When she saw the brim of the oasis the sun was setting. With every agonized step her body betrayed her, begging for her to stop. There was no conscious decision that she chose to find the oasis. Maybe it was because the last time she had been here … they had been happy. The alpha they had promised to forget and had actively forced themselves not to think of was fresh in her mind. They had not been in the Fallen territory since then. She fell to her knees near the water’s edge as the moon rose. She was so thirsty, but she was so tired and cold. Tears filled her golden gaze. She couldn’t shift … not now. It was too late for that, and Red had left Roma with a battered body that she could never possibly suffer. Slowly she rolled onto her side into the sand, pulling her legs up and snugging into the smallest ball she could. “You’re safe now,” Red mumbled. Lovingly she tucked Roma into the folds of her mind, shielding her away even deeper from the raw unadulterated agony. She was alone. All at once her shields came down and a noise escaped her, and another. There was no one there to see, no one there that posed a threat. She could hardly believe it. A sob erupted, and another until the dead quiet of the silver-blue oasis was broken by the eerie first cries of a she-wolf trapped in a human body. The emotions she had learned to cut off in this mess of a human shell came crashing back ten-fold … Red cried for herself, for Roma, for the fear she could still feel in her bones. She cried for what she had lost, cried because the lines between them were blurring and Red had made a severe mistake. She cried for being so scared all of the time, for taking Roma away from the things she loved in interest of protecting her … and failing and she cried because God but she hurt. In ever way possible. She sobbed until she couldn’t cry anymore, until the moon began to set and the sky became an inky black. Only then after exhaustion and exposure whittled away her ability to stay awake did she finally, mercifully fall asleep.

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