Enter the Monster

Scarlett

O ver an hour later, we are back on the road. The playful mood from this morning feels like ages ago. My mood is completely off with just the thought of coming face-to-face with him.

I don't know how to cope with the emotions that are rushing through me. Hatred, disgust, fear, unease, anxiousness. How will I feel when I come face-to-face with him?

I'm just glad Elijah knows not to annoy me right now.

I am dressed in a black tank top, black skinny jeans, a black leather jacket and boots. I have my hair pulled into a ponytail with a few strands left out to frame my face. Some mascara and eyeliner accent my eyes and my usual matte-red lipstick finishes it off. I'm trying to be myself, trying to show everyone, and maybe even me, that I am in control.

I am in control.

I have to be.

We both know how risky this mission is, and how dangerous it is, and I know there are a hundred things that can go wrong. The thick tension hangs in the air as I stare silently out of the window, blind to everything that passes us by.

But with every mile that slips by, the closer we get to our destination.

"Scarlett," Elijah calls me, as I see the signboard that notifies me that Kendal is near.

"Mm?"

"Try not to attack anyone, at least with your bare hands. The wounds you inflict don't heal. There's something special about you, and I don't think it's wise to let others know that." His explanation is followed by him tugging the neck of his black t-shirt aside, the scratches from yesterday are only now slightly scabbing, but they aren't healing.

They would have healed by now if anyone else had caused them.

"Special?" I scoff. "I think the word you're looking for is freak show."

Elijah frowns at me. "Being different does not make you a fucking freak, Red."

"I know that, but that's what everyone else thinks, right? Don't you? I mean, isn't keeping someone like me in the pack dangerous for you all?" I ask icily, now turning towards him.

He observes me for a second, almost as if he can see through me, and sense my agitation. I feel restless and right now he's the only one I can take that pent-up anxiousness out on.

But he doesn't react. Instead, he reaches over, placing a hand on my thigh, and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"We're werewolves. We're fucking dangerous, anyway. You're part of the Blood Moon Pack. No matter how different you are, I don't care. You belong in our pack." His words are comforting, but I frown.

"Yeah, whatever, that doesn't change the fact that I'm not normal." I know that I am looking for an excuse to lash out and vent my frustration. I want him to get angry so I can unleash the rage within me, but his every response is only calming and comforting. What am I supposed to do?

"It doesn't fucking matter. And it's going to be okay," he assures me.

I sigh, resting my head back against the headrest. I'm not so sure about that. Zidane is a monster unlike any I'm sure he's ever faced.

We park at the edge of the forest. I don't really remember where the Desert Storm Pack territory starts. Elijah did not want his new car wrecked, not after what happened to mine the last time we ran into wolves from this pack.

The scenery is beautiful; the trees are green and rustling in the soft wind and the sun is peeking through the high treetops. The ground is covered in dirt and stones, and uprooted tree trunks occasionally cross our path. It is oddly quiet, unlike the wilderness in our own pack.

I didn't realise until now that there's a lack of sounds from forest animals. I glance over at Elijah, who nods.

The strange silence only adds to the discomfort that is scurrying around the pit of my stomach.

I am not good with directions, but the forest area we are currently in is familiar. Certain areas bring back memories, most of which are not pleasant. I shiver, looking at a large tree trunk just up ahead. Towards the lower side of the trunk, it is splintered and hacked at, as if it had been used as a punching bag or for weapon training.

However, I also know it has been used for a lot more than that. The sounds of the screams and growls return to me.

The memory of my head being slammed against it repeatedly returns to me, the pain that jarred up my body returns, and my heart thuds in my chest. The ghost-like memory of the pain splitting through my head makes me freeze.

I'm there again. I'm crying and begging for mercy. Asking the Goddess to help me, wondering why there was no one in existence to protect me. I take deep laboured breaths, trying to calm myself, my blood running cold. He must know we're here! There's no way we got so far without him realising.

Without even realising it, we are now officially on his territory. I look around, my eyes are wide as the fear I tried so hard to squash returns. I wish I had never come here. I shouldn't have brought Elijah here!

"Scarlett?" Elijah's voice feels distant and it takes me a second to realise he is calling me.

He snaps his fingers in front of my face, making my breath hitch sharply but it brings me back to the present. "Bringing back the memories?" he asks softly, caressing my cheek. "You're pale, Red."

I don't reply; I've locked those emotions away for a reason. I don't want to talk about them. I know I won't be able to cope with them. Elijah seems to understand and doesn't push for an answer.

We're in this together. He simply takes my hand, lacing his fingers in mine. I look up at him, my heart skipping a beat. I am glad he is here with me. I step closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder for a moment.

Just then, I hear the crunch of dirt beneath a foot and a cold, powerful aura surrounds us.

An aura that makes my heart thump.

He's here.

Seven men step into the opening, and I turn slowly. Elijah's grip on my hand tightens and my eyes fall on the man in the middle who oozes power. His hands rest casually in the pockets of his white designer suit pants that hug his muscled legs.

I do not need to look up to know who the man is, and I find myself staring at his sleek, smart shoes. There isn't a speck of dirt on them, despite being in the middle of a forest. There was always something weird about how he was always so clean. It was just how it was back then, despite everything he did, he never left any sign of it.

He might be able to keep physical dirt off him, but his heart is full of filth.

I slowly look up. Under his white suit, he has on a black shirt, a few buttons left open, showing off his muscled chest. He is tall, probably about the same height as Elijah. His skin is pale as if he does not spend much time in the sun; skin that reminds me of mine.

His hair is not the strawberry blond that it used to be, instead, it's a platinum blond, it's short on the side and long at the top. His eyes are the same sage green as mine, but they look like cold glaciers, lacking any emotion. He barely looks a day over twenty-five.

That is him, right? He looks freakishly young, Elijah says through the mind-link.

It is…

Werewolves do age slower, but even then, he looks younger than Mama and Dad, who could easily pass for their early thirties. It is around thirty when werewolves tend to slow down ageing, but somehow, it appears that time stopped earlier for him.

My eyes lock with the cold green ones before me. He has not changed, but he's missing the blood splattered on his suit and the manic rage within his eyes. An emotionless, cold smirk crosses his lips, his eyes fixed on me.

"Well, well, look who we have here." His low, chilling guttural voice comes, and it sends a sinister shiver through my body.

Elijah's hold on my hand tightens. The Monster's power feels like a weight, capturing us in a suffocating chokehold.

Suddenly, I feel an immense surge of power. My breath hitches, realising it's coming from none other than Elijah. I turn sharply, as does the Monster. As both alphas stare one another down, I glance at him, seeing a glimmer in his dead eyes that disappears as quickly as it comes.

Power of such high calibre emitting from them both, dangerous cobalt blue eyes meet cold green as they stare one another down, their heightened auras slamming against one another like a ground-shattering clash and the six other men stagger back.

I somehow manage to stand there, staring up at Elijah.

He is on my side.

I'm not alone.

Right?