A Howl In The Night - Lorelei Sutton (books to read romance .txt) 📗

have honestly tried to change myself.

It has been difficult, of course. I have been struggling to prevent myself from snapping at my teachers, but the way they chastise me about my lack of progress over the last few days has really gotten on my nerves.

It isn’t like I haven’t been in the garden for countless hours, forcing my restless mind to meditate just like the rude Spier master suggested. It isn’t like I haven’t been poring over the books on basic werewolf etiquette that Lady Miranda had commanded me to read. And most of all, it isn’t like I haven’t participated in the daily assignment of scouring the prophecy that I am supposed to be a crucial part of about a million times. I hate Analysis class the most.

That is the worst. I hate looking for things that just aren’t there.

I’m not really sure what Mr. Vigilance is hoping I will find. He has told me to do everything; from sweeping my thumb over every letter in the original text to sleeping with a copy of the prophecy beneath my head. Supposedly I have been, as the old baldy would say, “blessed with a superior insight that could lead to a greater understanding concerning the details of my mission if applied in the correct manner.” Or something like that. I stopped listening to him after the very first day. For that matter, I stopped listening to pretty much everybody.

So it probably is my fault that I haven’t learned anything of substance since I began these cursed tutoring sessions. I think my teachers aren’t used to a student that just can’t learn and progress, so that’s why they are going crazy. I am sure to them I seem like a normal kid, with nothing to set me apart from anyone else.

But honestly. I did try. I’m still trying.

It is just difficult when Mr. Vigilance is breathing over my neck, his angry face too close for comfort.

“Mona, do you even understand the point of this class? It is not all fun and games, you know.”

I sigh, fingering the rugged parchment upon which is written that awful paragraph that supposedly defines my life. “I never considered this class to be fun and games, Mr. Vigilance.” That much was true. Very true.

“Then have you not been studying the document? Tell me at least one thing that you learned since yesterday.”

He twists around to the front of the table where I sit, glaring at me like a ferocious animal. Admittedly, Mr. Vigilance is rather handsome. Everyone around here pretty much is. I have almost gotten sick of the attractive facial features, the long, glowing hair, and the perfect bodies that surround me daily. It is as if each of us looks like a china doll, living in our own little world that is ethereal to me even now. Mr. Vigilance is probably one of the least handsome werewolves I have seen, with a light gray buzz cut, sharp, pointed looks, and an athletic body. His muscles are nothing compared to some of the frightening Hulk look-a-likes prowling around the premises. I have seen a few that really put the green monster to shame.

It is strange how my perception has changed over these last few days. Comparing men’s muscles with such impartiality and indifference… I must be going crazy. This place is a madhouse.

Mr. Vigilance’s green eyes glow as he joins me in surveying the document, mistaking my boredom for intense concentration.

“What do you see, Chosen One?” He whispers, his voice tinged with barely contained excitement.

“I see paper.” I decide to humor him, holding my hand above the document. At the movement, he nearly jumps up and down, frenzy with anticipation and excitement. “I see…”

“What is it?!” He asks, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. I never imagined that a werewolf could manage to make an unattractive face, but he just proved me wrong.

“I see a ghost,” I hastily choke, scrambling for something enlightening to say. I said the same thing yesterday… and today he will probably not be satisfied. I can tell by the way his eyes slightly dim as he looks straight at me.

“Surely there’s more,” he says, grasping the edges of the table. His knuckles turn white, and cracks start to blossom within the furniture. I look up at him with a pointed glare, and he seems to realize what he is doing. He releases the hold on the table and starts fiddling with his sleeves.

“There is a wolf.” My eyes slip to a close, the exhaustion from the past few nights starting to get to me. For some reason, I have not gotten more than a few hours of frequently interrupted sleep since I decided to go through the stupid Sharuken ritual. Every time I try to rest, I am awakened by the same horrible nightmare. There is no escape. At least not for me.

Even now, the familiar vision is appearing before my eyes. Dark foliage and towering trees surround my form as I suddenly am transported to a deep forest, with no way back.

 

I look around, searching for someone. Anyone. However, the only things here to keep me company are the mosquitos, spiders, and other disgusting bugs. For a minute, I observe one of the gigantic arachnids as it weaves a spectacular web a few feet away from my face. Of course, that doesn’t last long.

The emotion of hopelessness constricts my heart, my breathing heavy and forced. I feel lost. Completely alone… and completely helpless.

How am I supposed to take care of myself in such a dark, scary place? I don’t even know if I can start a fire by myself, let alone gather food.

I sit by the trunk of a tree for a short while, exhausted for no reason at all. Against my will, my eyes start to slip to a close, and everything becomes hazy.

No. Not this time.

I snap to attention, fighting the overwhelming fatigue. Shakily standing up, I edge over to the small cluster of bushes in front of me. I don’t know how I knew. But as I plucked a small, purple berry from the bush, I just felt certain that this was exactly what I needed.

I plop one after the other into my mouth, savoring the sweetness for only seconds between bites. For some reason, I cannot stop eating them. My hands keep moving towards my face while filled with berries. They are strange, unfamiliar hands that are withered and worn.

The tiredness comes again, and this time it is impossible to overcome. Sleep caresses my body, weaving his hands across my arms and legs until I am filled with him. Drunken with sleep.

Get up. Keep fighting.

The protest is squelched by Sleep as he captures it between his fingertips, squeezing the words tightly until they cease to exist. Before long, he breathes lightly in my ear, his work completed. He has convinced my consciousness to take a stroll with him, leaving only my body behind.

Somehow this feels so wrong.

I float to my feet, staring at my forsaken body. After a few seconds of silence, I take a step closer to the body. An arm takes mine before I get any closer, and I drown in Sleep’s unwavering gaze. Swiveling me around on my heel, he whispers sweet nothings in my ear that makes me blush and giggle like a senseless preteen. Not even a hint of doubt remains in my mind. He smiles like an angel, sweeping me off into the night with a gracefulness that causes me to never look back.

 

***

 

Get up! You are about to miss your chance!

I groan, holding my belly subconsciously as my consciousness starts to return. From a love-filled night, my consciousness is giggling once more and waving at the elusive figure standing a few feet away. She watches him as he walks back into the darkness, obviously forlorn about her time with him being cut short. With a sigh, she comes back to me, releasing me from Sleep’s bindings. My eyes fly open, and a full wave of nausea hits me hard. I choke, the air leaving my lungs. The pain worsens in my stomach and I keel over. What is this madness? What is wrong with me?

The pain doesn’t stop, crippling me until I am only a heap upon the ground. My breathing is strained and heavy, and I am unable to think. I look at my feet, and then around me in a desperate search for water. There seems to be a pond about ten feet from me, but it seems like miles away in my terrible state. Something had to be causing this.

My frantic search for water continues, this state of delirium toying with me until I can hardly stand it. My eyes land upon a small berry which had somehow made its way over to my side. The hunger immediately roars to life, making my stomach ache even more. I moan in pain as my face grows white.

The berries.

Those awful berries.

I cannot stop myself from retching, and afterwards I stare at the purple junk, splattered across the wretched ground, that had come from my mouth. Carefully I edge away, slowly but surely, in my stunted position. With a fate like this, I might be better off quickly dying from some sort of injury or disease. Looks like I am going to be suffering for a very long time.

This is what happens when I trust my gut. Never… never again.

I feel myself about to throw up again, the nausea building within me. The agony is unrelenting.

Don’t give up. Almost here.

But I forget all that when I hear the footsteps.

My heart stops as not one, not two, but several footsteps troop through the forest. They seem to be coming at an alarmingly fast rate, too fast for me to even comprehend. The blood leaves my brain as before I know it, they are about to either pass me or run over me.

It is strange, but I seem to sense the quiet footsteps instead of hear them. The ground pounds with their arrival, the birds fly away in a hurry, and the other animals run and hide. They know it too. They know someone, or something, is coming.

I struggle to look up, looking like a chicken in the process. Scanning the area, I hope to catch a glimpse of the mysterious creatures. An image stirs in my mind, an image of these creatures. Somehow, the blurry thought cannot seem to focus. I have forgotten something.

A whoosh occurs to my left, and out of the corner of my eye I see five figures. I blink, and they are gone. Just like that. I still can feel them, their retreating footsteps as they continue on their journey. What a strange sight.

And then it is over.

The pain returns as quickly as it disappeared. I edge towards the tree in order to lean against it, but in my haste forgot about the muddy puddle that was to my right. I gasp as the cold wetness splashes against my arms, and seconds later I realize I am thoroughly soaked in brown water. A feeling of hopelessness enters me and I realize that I am completely helpless. Helpless and ready to die in order to escape the pain.

What are you saying?!

I shake myself mentally. I am not a coward, I think angrily to myself, I am better than this. My body starts to tremble as I place my hands on the ledge next to the puddle. Hopefully I can drag myself out of the shallow water.

The pain, however, is absolutely mind-boggling. Every movement I make amplifies the hurt, and I can’t help but let out a scream. My hands release the ledge and I fall further towards the center of the puddle. I start to cry, the salty tears slipping down my cheeks like a waterfall. It only seems to make the aching worse, but it’s the only thing I can do.

My blood turns cold as a hand appears in my view.

Anger overwhelms