Chapter 2 - Mia

Turning twenty-one was supposed to bring clarity and a sense of maturity. At least, that's what my packmates had promised me. But instead, it's brought the opposite. Four months later, and I'm still trying to find my place in the pack.

Everyone around me has their lives figured out, and I'm just kind of floundering. My sister Ava has found her mate, and they're expecting a baby any day now. And my brother Luke has taken a position as our alpha's personal bodyguard. They've found their purpose, and I'm thrilled for them, but it makes me feel like I'm just spinning my wheels when I compare myself to them.

I've tried to find a place where I can be useful, but every time I offer to help, I'm either not needed or I manage to screw things up. Like just last week, when I tried to help our pack witch Selene stock her shelves with a new shipment of herbs. I knocked over a whole shelf, sending everything crashing to the ground. It took me hours to clean up, and by the end, I was so flustered and embarrassed, I scurried out of there as fast as I could.

Now, I'm sitting here, wallowing in my self-pity, hating that I can't seem to do anything right. It's like no matter what I do, I'm always messing something up. I've spent the last year feeling completely worthless and like an outsider. And I hate it.

My mother died when I was only five, and my father was killed in a pack war just a few months before my twenty-first birthday when some she-wolf from another pack started a shit storm with ours. His death was hard on me, and the wounds are still raw. It's hard not to feel angry and alone, especially when the girl who started it all was welcomed into our pack with open arms.

Okay, it's not her fault. Callie was as much a victim as anyone. But it's still hard not to hold a grudge.

And now it feels like everyone's moving on, and I'm the only one stuck in place. Everyone is focused on the future, and I'm just trying to find my way. I wish I had someone to guide me, but the closest I have is Ava, and she's got enough going on right now. She's pregnant and in love, and she has everything she could ever want. But she's still hormonal and cranky, and sometimes, I can't even deal with her.

Just this morning, I overheard her telling her mate Waylen that she was worried I would never get my head out of the clouds. It wasn't said with any sort of malicious intent, but hearing her say those words stung. I've been doing my best not to burden anyone, but apparently, my efforts have been in vain.

"What's the point?" I mutter to myself, trudging through the forest. I've been walking for what feels like hours, just trying to clear my head. Sometimes, when the world feels like it's too much, I find that getting out in nature is the best way to get away from it all.

I stop and sit down on a fallen tree trunk, letting out a sigh. In front of me, the trees sway in the gentle breeze, and I can hear birds chirping in the distance. It's a beautiful day, but all I can feel is an overwhelming sense of melancholy. I rest my chin on my hand, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. My life isn't terrible, not by a long shot. But sometimes, it can be pretty lonely.

It would help if I could just find a way to fit in. I've tried everything, but nothing seems to work. No matter what I do, I'm always the odd one out. Even when we go on our hunts, I end up lagging behind the others. I'm slower and less agile, and I always feel like I'm holding the group back. To be fair, no one has ever once said anything to that effect, at least not to my face. But I've heard the whispers, and it's no big secret that I'm seen as the weakest link of the pack.

My dad, before he died, used to tell me that I was special. That I had a purpose that I just needed to discover. "Mia," he'd say in that soothing baritone voice, "you're different. You're special. One day, you're going to make a difference in this world, but only if you stay true to yourself."

But I don't feel special, and I certainly don't feel like I have a purpose. I'm just a nobody, and it feels like no matter how hard I try, I'll never be anything more. Maybe I'm not meant to be anything more. Maybe I'm just destined to be the weakling of the pack, the one who always has to be rescued. The one who can't ever do anything right.

A squirrel skitters up the tree to my right, stopping briefly to look at me before scampering higher. I wish I could be more like that squirrel, always moving and never looking back. But instead, I'm stuck here, in the middle of the forest, feeling sorry for myself.

I take a deep breath and stand, trying to shake off the self-pity. There's no use wallowing. If I want something to change, then I have to change it. I just have no idea how.

The wind shifts, and I catch a whiff of a new scent in the breeze. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I try to parse out what it is. It's faint, but there's no denying that it's not the usual aroma of pine and earth and sunshine. It's foreign, and it's definitely not a good sign.

I strain my ears, listening for any sign of danger, but the forest is eerily quiet. Not even the birds are chirping anymore. My heart begins to beat a little faster as I spin in a slow circle, trying to pinpoint the sudden change.

"Something's not right," I murmur to myself.

I'm not alone. Something's watching me. And it's not a squirrel.

My wolf stirs inside me, ready to protect me if necessary. I'm on edge, and my instincts are screaming at me to run. I take a few cautious steps forward, keeping my head on a swivel. The silence is unnerving. It's almost like the entire forest is holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

As I walk, I catch the scent again, stronger this time. It's musky and masculine, and something about it makes dread pool in the pit of my stomach. I turn around, ready to run, when I smack right into a solid wall of muscle.

"Gotcha," the figure growls as he wraps his arms around me, yanking me against him.

I open my mouth to scream, but a strong hand clamps down over my lips, cutting off the sound. Panic surges through me, and my heartbeat kicks into overdrive. I struggle against the man's grip, but it's no use. He's too strong.

"Let me go!" I shout, or at least I try to. The sound is muffled and barely audible.

"Shut up," he snaps. His voice is gruff and menacing. "Don't make a sound, or you'll regret it."

I close my eyes, calling my wolf to the front, but he seems to have anticipated this. His hands are covered with black gloves, and he makes quick work of slapping a silver cuff on each of my wrists. The metal immediately halts my shift, and my wolf recoils, whimpering in the back of my mind.

"There. Now you can't cause any trouble," he says, sounding smug.

I can't believe this is happening. I've heard of shifter hunters before, but I've never met one. I didn't think they actually existed. I always thought they were just stories parents told their children to keep them in line.

"Where are you taking me?" I demand, my voice coming out shaky.

He shoves me forward, and I stumble. "Don't ask questions," he snaps.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

He doesn't answer. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a strip of black cloth. Before I can react, he's wrapping it around my head, covering my mouth. He ties it tightly, and the material presses uncomfortably against my lips.

My breathing is coming fast and shallow now. I can feel panic swelling inside me. My knees are weak, and I'm trembling from head to toe. My thoughts race as I try to make sense of what's happening. Who is this guy, and why is he doing this? What does he want with me?

The man drags me through the forest, his grip on my arm so tight that I know there will be bruises later. I stumble along behind him, my feet clumsy and unsure, trying to gauge my surroundings as we move away from my pack's territory.

When we finally come to a stop, we're on a back road that winds up a mountain, and the man shoves me into the back of a van. There are no windows in the rear, and all the seats have been removed except the one for the driver. He slams the door behind us and climbs over me, crawling the front to settle behind the wheel.

The engine roars to life, and we start moving. The road is bumpy, and the ride is rough. It's not long before my body aches from the constant jostling, and I work to keep myself upright so I can see through the windshield.

The man drives without speaking, his silence almost as unnerving as his presence. I keep expecting him to say something, but he doesn't. He only grunts occasionally when he glances back at me through the rearview mirror like he's pleased with his catch.

I've never been more scared in my life. Every second that passes is filled with terror and uncertainty. I don't know where we're going or what will happen when we get there. All I can do is try to stay calm and pray that somehow, someone will come for me.

But even though I have the thought, I know it's futile. My pack won't realize I'm missing for days, if not longer. By the time they notice, it will be too late. Whatever is going to happen to me will already have happened.

The thought is so depressing, so terrifying, that tears spring to my eyes. They soak the blindfold as I struggle to keep my emotions under control.

I can't cry. I won't. If I'm going to survive this, I have to stay strong. I have to keep a level head. I take a deep breath, trying to quell the fear that's threatening to consume me. It doesn't work, but I repeat the action over and over again, and at the very least, it serves to distract me from the fact that I'm currently being abducted.

Time seems to stretch on endlessly. Every minute, every mile feels like it lasts an eternity. As the van speeds down the road, I catch sight of a green sign on the side of the highway.

Welcome to Green Lake.

My heart drops into my stomach. The Green Lake Pack is the one Callie ran from. Those are the wolves who attacked us and killed my father. And now, I'm being dragged right into their midst.

I have no idea what these shifters could possibly want with me. It can't be a ransom; I'm a nobody. Ram isn't going to put our pack in danger for me.

I swallow hard, my throat dry and tight. I glance around the van, searching for something, anything, that might help me. But there's nothing. Just bare metal and the smell of motor oil.

This can't be happening. This is a nightmare. It has to be.

"Welcome home, blondie," the man sneers at me. "Welcome home."