The Cottage

Victoria moves to scatter the males away from where they are standing. I've learned since being in the Eastern pack that Victoria does not tolerate most males and accepts all females.

"Have you talked to your brother?" Victoria speaks low.

"We spoke yesterday."

"Good." She keeps moving down the trail, leading us away from the main house.

"Did you get the letter, Meela?"
Her words don't miss a beat, but my heart does. The white envelope with a pale wax seal that hasn't been cracked flashes before blinking the image away. The Northerner's smell still lingers on my fingertips no matter how hard I scrubbed my hands clean. I couldn't wash that scent off me, no matter how hard I tried last night. The tentacles of him followed me into my dreams last night; I woke up with my pillow wet. The dream wasn't remembered.

The ground is all I can see as I keep my attention on it instead of answering her. The weight of the pack is heavy, adjusting it to the other shoulder.

"Here, I'll help you, Sunshine. The trick is to balance the inside of the pack so you don't have the weight on one side. It's called distribution." Charlie gives a subtle glance, his eyes stopping on me for a fraction longer than normal. His voice sounds agitated, but his face says otherwise. His fingers graze my shoulder over my sweater to pull off one of the straps, to take the burden off my shoulders. He rummages through the pack, fixing things before holding it up so I can put the pack back on. A little shift of my body and the pack feels better now.

"Thanks.” He looks different in the light of day, his hard exterior trapped behind bloodshot eyes and a worn-out white T-shirt.

"You're staring, Sunshine.” He waits until I look away before taking Victoria’s left, not before hitting my hip with his—not enough to make me stumble, but enough to know he touched me.

"Charlie, she's Luna Meela.” I can hear Victoria chastizing him. He’s the only one who doesn't call me by the name Victoria makes everyone address me by.

"Sunshine suits her, don't you think, Vic?" Both of them look over their shoulders; I don't smile. They nod their heads. Only Charlie can talk to the Queen that way. No one else calls her Vic. Even the female Becca, who at times stands on her left, calls her Alpha or Victoria.

"He'll take your throat if he hears you call her that." Her words nip into Charlie, who doesn't flinch; instead, he reaches behind him to his back pocket, pulling out a flask.

"I don't care, Victoria." He speaks with a hollowed sound.

"I care, Charlie." She stops on the trail, and her hand goes to his shoulder, which he shrugs off
.
"You shouldn't," he twists the cap off. "I'm a grown male." I watch as his throat moves, drinking down what's inside it. The taste of old whiskey still lingers from last night, and I want to ask if I could have a little nip. It could get me through our walk towards the cottage that Victoria wanted to go to this weekend; she said she needed some time to herself after coming in bruised and bloody from a fight with a male that challenged her hierarchy. He didn't live, and Victoria turned to me, eyes pained, and said, "Sometimes you have to be the monster everyone thinks you are."

It was unsettling to watch the Queen fall that night. In the morning, she walked downstairs to her table with her straight-lined mouth and braids that were tightly woven in her hair. She looked pained but still ate and did her dishes after she was done. I remember the first time eating at her table, it was hard to spoon anything in my mouth. Shoulders hunched over, my back always hurt from the curl of muscles that felt atrophied in their place. Victoria would raise my chin up, eyes looking forward, and whisper in my ear, "Living things need food, Meela. You're a living thing that needs to eat. You can't eat that way; you need to sit straighter in your chair so you can swallow down what's on your plate, Luna." Looking around the table, the wolves there all sat with their backs straight, chin up, eating. More females than males, their hair braided, resembling Victoria's.

A trickle of sweat runs down the side of my face, wiping it away with the sleeve of my sweater that falls past my hands. I want to take off the heavy material but know I can't. It would make these wolves sick at what silver can do to flesh if held in the right hands.

The perfect hands...

Charlie drops back again to walk at my side as Becca takes Victoria's left. At times she can pass as a male if you glance quickly at her. The only reason I know she's female is the way she smells, not by the way she looks. I was hesitant first meeting her because I wasn't sure if she was a male or female, and when Victoria said her name I was taken by surprise by her soft smile and hard press of her cheek against mine.

"You can take that off." Charlie tugs at the sleeve of my sweater.

"I'm alright," pulling the material out of his grip.

"You look warm,"

"I'll manage," focusing on the ground.

"Your cheeks are flushed, and you're sweating, and so am I." He stops setting his pack on the ground to pull off his shirt. Underneath the fabric, scars are etched in the skin. When he puts his backpack back on, the bottles clink together as he adjusts the weight. I love that sound.

Only Victoria's inner circle is here. A few females and one male. She's not looking around like she usually does when she's outside of her home. She doesn't have her hackles standing on end, anticipating a fight at any minute. Victoria stated clearly, and hard, that if I were to be harmed, it would not be hurting her; it would be harming the Alpha of the North. He would come to the East and she would let him seek his vengeance on all that took part in my pain. Victoria doesn't understand that there is nothing anyone can do to bring more pain to me. The Northerner will always remain my pain-bringer. In my waking hours to my dreams. I can't escape him.

"We're here," Charlie says, stopping his walk while I watch Victoria quicken her pace. She’s the first to reach the door, her nose pressed against the wood, and I can see her inhaling.

The cottage is beautifully isolated, nestled silently next to a great Oak tree.

When she opens the door, she doesn't go inside—no, she stands there looking inside, her hand on the wooden frame. The wolves around us start to shrug off their packs that hold food and some clothing. “Meela,” she gestures to me with a creeping smile that reveals too many teeth to be considered happy, but for Victoria, I think that’s her bright smile—teeth showing.

Stepping towards the door, nothing is inside it. Bare wooden floors and stark walls.

"What do you think?" Her shoulders pull back, chin lifted.

"It seems peaceful inside."

"We did a lot of work to it; the roof had holes, and the floor was growing trees. We had to replace a lot of things, but the beams," she stretches her hands towards the ceiling, "these weren't ruined. They are original to the cottage." Victoria talks fast, excited, and for the first time since coming into her pack, she looks younger than what I think she is. I always have to remind myself she isn't as old as her responsibilities seem.

Charlie stands in the doorway. “ We fixed it up good right, Charlie?” Her voice cracks before she clears the sound away.

"We fixed it up good, Victoria."

"We did, Charlie." She looks around, turning in a small circle, and I see a smile form on lips that shake.

With her eyes now closed, she says, “I love it here; it’s perfect.” When she opens her lids, blue eyes shine, framed by raven black hair.

"It is perfect." Becca stands beside Victoria, nudging her cheek against hers, "Like you." That came out in a whisper, but I heard it. The rest of the group comes inside with sleeping bags that they spread out on the floor. There is no furniture inside, nothing but barren walls and a small window that even I couldn't get through if I tried. Most of Victoria's pack might hate her, and even the Moon, but the ones she brought here love her, unconditionally.

Looking around, it seems everyone here sheds their guard away. No one stands on edge, looking around, sweeping their heads from side to side with a squint in their eyes.

Calm.

Relaxed.

Soothing.

"Here," a cup is placed in my hands; taking a sip it's been watered down.

"What's this, Charlie?'

"Your share of the bottle."

"It has water in it."

"Isn't that how you drink it?" The scar on his face pulls tight when his jaw clenches.

"Not anymore. Don't ever water this down again." A snap out, he snaps back, and Victoria comes to stand in the middle.

"No fighting between friends; I've brought more than enough." Victoria takes the back of Charlie's head; pulling him to her their mouths almost touch. Her hand slides along the stubble of his unshaven face before it falls away.

"We're in my home; there’s never fighting in my home. You know that."

"I do," he kisses her forehead before turning away and walking outside.

Victoria watches him until he starts to make a fire outside from logs that have already been split.

"Welcome to my home, Meela." The feel of her hand clasping mine is solid. She doesn't let it go when she guides me to a wall. "This is where I want the sink, and over there is where I'm going to put the bathroom. My table will go there, and in that tree where the branch is sticking out, I want a swing to go there." Her eyes close again. "I can see it all. Everything I want inside here. It's a dream of mine." Her skin barrier sheds, letting me glimpse inside her private world for a moment before it's sealed back up.

"I need a drink." Victoria goes to her backpack, taking two bottles of red out, then a third and finally a fourth.

"Aren't you worried about wolves coming here?" Asking this, she turns with a flash of fang.

"My brother is in charge right now. The pack likes him better than me. Elliot will keep them away for a few days.” She already has the cork out of the bottle and is pouring herself a drink. I’ve finished what was given to me and decided to sit next to Charlie on a log that's been turned into a seat.

Pouring myself a drink from the bottle that is at Charlie's feet, he remains shirtless while I'm covered completely.

Even the Sun can't get close to my skin anymore.

Swallowing down the burn; it's become something I look forward to. I know it only burns for a few moments and then it goes away. Everything will go away, and that's what I love about whiskey. Enough of it and the pain goes away.

"Are you hungry, Meela?" Charlie doesn't look at me. He just asks sipping on his own cup of freedom from pain.

"No, I'm not hungry right now," taking another sip, relishing the caress that liquid amber has on me. It's warm, soothing; somehow I feel the honey of its embrace. So sweet that I can't help but want more of it.

Victoria sits beside Becca, and they share a bottle together. The rest sit on either side of us, looking into the bonfire that's blazing high.

Two more glasses, and I can't help but ask Charlie, "Are you in love with Victoria?"

He takes a drink.

"I love her."

"I thought so. I can tell."

Charlie doesn't laugh he just exhales. "As my friend."

"But I see you look at her, and you guys seem close."

"How do I look at her, Meela?" Charlie gets closer to me; his breath is felt on my cheek. His eyes stare into mine. "How do I look at her?" I'm looking at his eyes, which aren’t looking at mine; he’s got his fixed on my lips. He smells of whiskey, fresh, undiluted whiskey.

"I've noticed how you look at her."

"How do I look at her?" His face gets closer.

"With love."

"I do love her, but not that way."

"I don't believe you." He pulls himself away from my space.

"Don't believe me, I don't care." He takes another swallow, a big one this time. He replaces his empty glass with a full one. He tops mine up, too.

"Do you love her?'

"What?"

"I've seen how you look at her, Meela."

"I think she's beautiful."

"Well, to me, it seems you love her.” His voice could be mistaken for a tease; I’m not sure. Charlie doesn’t tease; he growls and snaps his teeth together if you irritate him too much. His nonverbals are how he communicates the most with other wolves. He’s all bite before a word slips out of his mouth.

"Do you think she's beautiful, Charlie?"

"I do," a pause, a shuffle of his throat. "I think you're beautiful too." A slight slur to his voice, but his eyes are still focused. I blink, not thinking I heard him properly."

"What?"

"Nothing," he pours himself another drink.

"Do you like it here, Meela?"

"I miss my brother," taking a long drink.

"Would you like to go visit him? I could take you."

"It's alright, he's coming next week."

"Good." Charlie gets up to go behind a tree to pee.

The Moon finally rises high in the sky - it eats away the dark from the Night.

"Can I ask you something?" Looking at him over the lip of the cup.

"What?' He stiffens.

"How did you get all those scars?"

"These," he looks at his chest and arms.

"Yes."

"I had to fight." His mouth opens, and closes, and nothing more is said about his scars.

Some wolves are stumbling, while others are sinking into their skin. My body feels heavy, but my mind is light and floating. It’s my tongue that gets the best of me, slurring at times so that Charlie looks at me as if I am talking a strange language.

"Does Victoria have a male?"

"Victoria isn't into males anymore, Meela." He points his chin.

I look...

A blanket is spread out by the fire; Victoria and Becca are on it. A hand is inside Victoria's open pants. “You’re beautiful,” Becca whispers. Victoria’s eyes are closed, her mouth slightly open, and her teeth are stained red from the wine.

"So beautiful," Becca says, pressing her lips against Victoria's ear before a slow kiss is placed against a mouth that welcomes it.

Looking away, ashamed to be witnessing something private between two wolves.

"I didn't know."

"Not many do, and it's to be kept that way."

'I wouldn't tell anyone."

"I know. You're not that much of a talker, Sunshine."

"What about Victoria's mate?"

"He's not a male worthy of Victoria, and one day, I'm going to seek my retribution."

"Who is he?"

"He's nothing. That's who he is. Nothing." Charlie spits into the fire, making a sizzling noise.

"Can you beat him?"

"I'm a warrior, Meela. Warriors fight. There is nothing more sacred than dying a Warrior."

"I don't want you to die, Charlie." Trying to get his attention.

"It wouldn't be dying. I would be reuniting with all my family." His jaw shifts back and forth, and his eyes squeeze shut after he looks at the Moon.

The silence sticks itself between us, and all that's heard is the swallowing down of whiskey that no longer burns a throat.

The flames of the fire reach to try to touch the sky. We watch them side by side until I'm lifted up in strong arms.

"I'm taking you to bed; you almost fell off the log." The cup falls from my hand, "You're a good wolf, Charlie." Telling him this when my back hits the covers that have been laid out on the floor.

"I'm not that good, Meela." He brings the covers to my chin. I close my eyes but open them when I feel something pressed against my lips. Nothing is there. Charlie is getting into his blankets with his back to me.

"Goodnight, Sunshine." He's already snoring before I have time to say goodnight, so I don't. Closing my eyes, hoping all that happens is I wake up with a sore head instead of a broken heart.



Copyright @Rachelle Mills 2018. All Rights Reserved.