Breakfast with the Beta...

The wait that ensued in readiness for Doc Harlow’s impending arrival felt to last for that of an eternity, leaving me with nothing else to do other than fend off the gnawing anticipation settling inside of my stomach. Undoubtfully feeling increasingly more desperate to be back on my feet than I had done before, I hope the Doc offers me reprieve from a further stint of bedrest, allowing me the chance to go off in search of Ash and the girls. When he finally turns up, his calming and pleasant nature relinquishes me of any rising nerves with close to little effort required. Middle-aged and balding, the kind doctor potters his way through my examination while thoroughly explaining the full extent of injuries found upon my discovery many weeks ago—finishing his divulgence of information with the mention of what medication I’d already received and what I would need to take from now on. When discussing my cracked ribs and fractured skull, the Doc refuses to hold back when telling me of how lucky I am to even be alive—claiming it to be some type of miracle given how badly my throat was savagely torn, admitting he was initially unsure of whether I’d make it through.

Passing my medical tests with flying colours, the Doc wastes no time in removing the wires and tubes attached to me, ordering his staff to cart the no longer active monitors away and far out of my sight. With the Doc bidding his farewell after filling the siblings in on my progress, Dakota returns upon his leave with a shower bag in hand before placing it within my own. Grabbing my new pyjamas, she returns to my side to help me out of bed—guiding me towards the ensuite bathroom while I weakly clutch onto her, struggling to hold myself up. Stepping through the door, my eyes dart around in awe while I examine the fresh interior of the bathroom laid out before me—clean and pristine, seemingly unused, just like the bedroom. Placing a bare foot onto the cold floor, I shudder sharply as the contact from the onyx marble sends a cold shock to trickle through me like a bolt of surging electricity. As Dakota leads me further inside, I falter for a few moments while hesitating to stand on my own before eventually letting go—allowing Dakota to release her hold after signalling that I’m okay with an unsteady thumbs up.

“Take your time getting in there. I’ll be waiting right out here in case you need anything. If you do, just bang on the wall or something?” Dakota chortles while hovering in the doorway, waiting for me to nod before closing the door behind her to grant me some privacy.

Left on my own, I take off the unflattering oversized shirt hanging around my shoulders; embracing the icy chill of still air while it rolls down my goosebump covered skin as I stand exposed—cooling my aches and soothing the burning pains nestling within my unused muscles. Reaching up, I slowly unravel the winding bandage immaculately tied around my neck, carefully taking my time as its soreness remains known with every breath that I take. Not wanting to expose myself to the visuals of my wound just yet, I keep my back turned towards the hanging mirror clasped against the wall while heading over to the overly grand shower unit. Opening the glass door, I stagger into the misted dome and turn on the tap—indulgently allowing the fresh warm water to pour over me as if I were standing in the midst of a summer storm; happily washing away any remains of my induced slumber while I gradually feel myself slowly liven up.

Indulging in the scented floral soap and fruity shower wash Dakota had given me, I refuse to rush. Set on enjoying the peaceful solitude that I’ve been given, I try to relish in the sorely missed sensation I had long forgotten when I was deep within the death-riddled woods. Using my time wisely, I painstakingly try to piece together all that’s going on—wrapping my arms around myself tightly while I run through all that I know. With my mind stuck in overdrive, I struggle to find a blissful moment of relaxation while I hover beneath the hot downpour with a bowed head. Unable to fathom a singular reason as to why these people are so set on helping me, I stand defeated while pondering over my unanswered questions as I undo my messy plaits—unravelling them before washing my hair. Leaning against the tiled wall as I stare at the floor through a cloud of steam, I watch as the deflating bubbles drift down the drain. The longer I massage my fingers into my scalp, the more the dripping foam fades into a pale shade of pink while the last lingering flakes of dried blood wash away ominously at my feet like a sordid reminder.

Clean and ready, I jump out and wrap myself in a towel before heading over to the mirror. Hesitating before wiping away the misted coating casting over it, I brace myself for the stark revelation of my honest reflection. Recoiling back from shock, I drop the blanketing cover from my frame and scan over my appearance in disdain—staggered by how frail and underweight I’ve grown to look while my shoulders and ribcage stand out distinctly. Getting a better look at myself than I managed to the day before, my face scrunches in despair as I gander over my once full and bright features, now only appearing sunken and dull. With my hair overgrown, it hangs in wet tangles, looking untidy and neglected while dripping far past my bruised chest. Glancing towards my neck, my recent wound bears much larger than the first which sits directly underneath, wider as it glows a scarlet shade of red while continuing to heal—making what looks to be that of an X mark the side of my throat.

Unable to look at the ghastly sight anymore, I turn away and quickly dry myself off before wrapping a fresh towel around my hair and getting dressed in my silk pyjamas. As the feather-like fabric glides against my pale skin, it slips over my bone-protruding frame with ease—leaving plenty of room within the lacey attire for me to fill out over time. Disliking the blotchy bruises and grizzly scars left on display for all to see, I self-consciously grab the long matching robe and wrap it around myself—hiding what lies beneath while binding the threaded ribbon sash around my waist. Opening the door, Dakota’s gaze peels away from her glowing phone while she lounges on the bed carelessly, knocking it off as she greets me with a wide and welcoming smile upon my re-emergence.

“Feel any better?” Dakota asks while sitting up lazily, leaving me to nod honestly in return, “Good. Then you better take a seat, little wolf. Let’s get you ready for the day, hm? I’ll have you feeling brand new in no time, just you wait,” she flashes me a mischievous wink.

Gracefully jumping from the freshly made bed, Dakota skips towards me before leading me over to the vanity table. Pulling out the chair, she pats the cushioned seat, signalling for me to sit down so that she can get to work while picking up a hairdryer with her free hand. Treading carefully across Dakota’s good graces, I comply after shuffling the chair away from the table and out of the mirror's reach; proceeding to unwind the dampening towel wrapped around my head. Placing her phone in the back pocket of her shorts, I watch as concentration consumes Dakota’s face—with her eyes squinting while she pokes out her tongue, she brushes my hair softly; drying it with utmost care as she makes sure not to pull on any knots or bump my neck, constantly checking throughout that I’m okay.

“That’ll do,” Dakota stands back to inspect her handiwork while switching off the dryer, allowing the room to fall into silence when she announces, “-perfect. Right, we better get that neck of yours wrapped up again. Stay there for a second,” she requests while spinning around to head towards the bedside cabinet; opening the top draw before exclaiming, “-ah, there they are,” while taking out a green medical bag with a recognisable white cross stitched across its front.

As she walks back over, Dakota rummages around inside the overfilled pack before revealing a fresh roll of bandages and a handful of ointments. As Dakota dabs at my raw flesh with cotton balls, I close my eyes while gripping the sides of my seat; wincing as my lips tighten from the sharp flashes of pain spreading across my neck. Ending within a few minutes, the torturous ordeal comes to a halt when Dakota turns her attention to unravelling a strip of white woven fabric before neatly wrapping it around my throat. As she pins the binding in place, I raise my hand and brush my fingertips against the side of my throat while gulping loudly, replaying the Doc’s stark words within my mind—numbly hoping that there’s no more foreseeable danger waiting out there for me after everything I’ve already faced.

“It’ll keep fading as the weeks go on, don’t worry. Harlow said it’s healing a lot better than he expected. I know it's hard, but try not to dwell on it,” Dakota misinterprets my silence for sadness while placing a squeezing hand on my shoulder reassuringly “-I gotta admit, I think your scar looks pretty badass. Anyway, are you ready to go and get some breakfast? I checked with the Doc and he said your throat tissue has healed enough for you to eat. Fancy giving it a go?” my stomach rumbles keenly—answering her question promptly on my behalf, “-I’ll take that as a yes then,” she chuckles warmly.

As I leave the confines of the bedroom, Dakota carries most of my weight as she steers me towards the door. Clutching onto her arm, I cautiously step into the hallway and sigh with relief when I’m greeted by the very opposite of what my night terror had forced me to venture, grateful that the menacing corridor I had dreamt about was nowhere to be seen. Brushing off the dark omen hanging above me like a guillotine awaiting release, I push any troublesome thoughts to the back of my mind; focussing my efforts on taking in my unfamiliar surroundings. With each unsteady step that I take, I allow my head to swing from side to side while I observe the beautiful décor presented throughout; modern yet homely, inviting and open. Noticing how weary I feel from the brief journey completed, I hold on to Dakota dependently while trying to regain control over my laboured breathing—inhaling the sweet scents filling the air as they radiate from the towering decorative vases placed sporadically down the hall.

When we hit the end of the corridor, I’m guided down a stretch of dark wooden stairs that lead to an open room at the bottom—steadying myself as I clasp onto the handrail while we make our slow descent. When we reach the last step, I stand at the edge of what appears to be the living area—seemingly appearing to look more like a showroom than someone’s occupied home. Eager to explore, my inner need for venture is put on hold when Dakota guides me through a set of panelled doors to our side. Pushing them open, we glide through the swinging barricades while they chatter to a standstill behind us. With flaring nostrils, I become overwhelmed by the unexpecting barrage of delectable scents hitting me all at once—leaving my stomach to twist from hunger and my mouth to salivate like a rabid dog; inundated by the strong aromas filling the kitchen.

“How’s it looking in here? Is there anything I can do to help?” Dakota’s stare wonders to the far side of the room where a smartly dressed Isaac turns around, hiding his exhaustion beneath a smugly worn grin while donning a grease smeared apron somewhat proudly.

“Nope. I’ve got it all covered. Well, I think I do. I haven’t burnt anything,” Isaac pauses before comically continuing through a shrug, “-yet. So, I think I’m good,” he pulls his lips to the side, striking a joking face of grimace, “-I’m just waiting for the eggs to finish up. They shouldn’t take much longer,” he points towards the lit stove with a spatula in hand, “-I hope scrambled is okay?” his considerate gaze levitates towards me along with his question, leaving me to nod hungrily—happy to accept whatever is being offered.

“I wouldn’t be too excited about eating whatever it is that he’s made,” Dakota shudders teasingly, “-if I had it my way, this guy wouldn’t be allowed to step another foot inside a kitchen for as long as he lives.”

“Oh, come on,” Isaac grins cockily, “-I’m not that bad,” he unconvincingly reasons while throwing a hand in the air dismissively.

“Not bad?” Dakota snorts wickedly while throwing her head back in amusement, “Do I need to remind you about the time when you almost set fire to the manor? You were making cookies for Moon Goddesses sake, man. It’s not rocket science.”

“Seriously? I was thirteen when that happened. And it was the first time I had ever used an oven on my own. Cut me some slack, will you?” Isaac offendedly retorts, unable to fight against the widening grin tugging away at the corner of his lips during the playful bicker, “-ignore her, Willow. I’ve gotten better over the years. How’re you feeling today, anyway? You look a little better,” his steel eyes fixate on me; narrowing slightly with concern as he asks with sincerity while resting his hands on the counter island stood between us, “-do you feel it?”

“Well, The Doc said that her results were looking promising and that her wounds are healing pretty nicely,” Dakota reaches out for a piece of waiting toast reluctantly; inspecting it suspiciously before taking an unenjoyable bite of the burnt piece, “-he mentioned that as long as she takes it easy, she should be able to speak soon enough, too.”

“That’s brilliant news,” Isaac leans back; his face appearing to unburden after hearing the update while returning to his steaming frying pan, “-well, I hope you’ve both woken up with an appetite. I might have overdone it and made a bit too much,” he spins around, showing off the last dish left to join the table—laying it out ready in a waiting bowl placed on the worktop.

“Aw. Isn’t this nice?” an unrecognisable voice calls out while I sit down; startling me as I turn my head to see an oddly familiar man walk through the swaying doors while ruffling his messy golden curls—a contagious smirk spreading from ear to ear while he strolls towards the counter, “It’s nice to see you up and about, Willow,” he sits directly opposite to me, his tone cheerful while he reaches for the recently filled coffee pot to pour himself a cup.

Staring back in confusion, I look on in silence—not sure of how to respond as I remain unsure of who he is while his amber eyes lower at my reaction, disappointedly. Despite feeling as if I somewhat recognise him, my mind traces through all of my memories—dredging through those that are old and new, unable to place where I know him from.

“I should’ve figured that you wouldn’t have recognised me. Sorry about that. It’s just me, Mato,” he smiles sheepishly while scratching his upper arm, ruffling his short sleeve and revealing an identical tattoo to the one that’s placed on Dakota’s lower calf—the same image that was carved into the cover of the gifted pack book I had received from Isaac.

“Woah, what’s got into you? You haven't been in your human form during your free time since you enlisted to be a Warrior,” she smirks, punching his arm lightly while she walks past to take a seat beside him, “-don’t tell me you’ve gotten bored with your training already? You’ve only done it for nine months,” she sarcastically comments, causing Mato to pull an immature face, “-surely you can handle another three.”

"No-” Mato scoffs while crossing his arms defensively, “Of course, I haven’t. Stop talking nonsense, will you? I’m like this because Willow’s woken up, hasn’t she? It would’ve been a little rude of me to stay in my wolf form, don’t you think?" Mato shrugs as he brushes off his sister’s teasing, "Plus, you know me," he raises his arms to hold an imaginary set of braces, “-I like to be polite,” he snaps them mockingly before allowing his attention to divert to the resting bacon plated in front of him, diving in without a second thought needed.

“Relax. I was only teasing,” Dakota rolls her eyes, “Have either of you heard from the Chief at all this morning?“ she asks through a bored huff while leaning against the stone counter, unimpressed with her brother's lack of playful argumentativeness, “-I thought he would’ve been here by now,” she inquires while pouring herself a warm drink, watching Isaac as his eyes shift downward.

“Uh, yeah. That was supposed to be the plan, but yesterday didn’t pan out as we had expected. I thought my ears were going to explode by the time he’d finished ranting. He’s hoping to get the meeting rearranged for today and out of the way. Fingers crossed that’ll calm down-“ Isaac tilts his head conspicuously as he cautiously teeters around whatever topic it is that they are discussing, “-his, you know. And if it does, he’ll be popping around tonight so that he can check on sleeping beauty over here," Isaac reaches up to scratch his head, turning back to the unlit stove while fidgeting around with the empty pans divertingly.

“Ah,” Mato comments through a mouthful of food, “-I’m guessing that they didn’t turn up last night then?”

“Nope,” Isaac pops his lips with annoyance, “-but then again, I can’t say that I’m exactly surprised.”

“They’ve been dragging this out for too long. What does that make it now? Like the sixth time they’ve cancelled on us? I’m surprised your brother has kept his cool about all of this for as long as he has,” Mato looks at Isaac in disgusted disbelief, “-especially given how he’s been acting lately.”

“He’s worried about keeping the peace. I say screw that. They’re bloody time wasters,” Dakota fumes, looking visibly agitated by what Isaac has said, “-they’re doing this on purpose. You know that, right? Just as always, that stinking daddy’s girl is doing whatever she can to get her way-“ she suddenly cuts herself off mid-flow, noticing Isaac’s disapproving glare aimed her way like a set of piercing daggers.

“We can discuss that later. Let’s not bore our guest with tiresome conversation about meetings, shall we?” Isaac clears his throat sternly, straightening his back as he projects his strong aura upon his quietening friends before returning his attention towards me, “So, I hope you’ll excuse me but I’m not one to beat around the bush, Willow. I suppose you have questions for us, and I guess it would be fair to say that we owe you a bit of an explanation in return for why you’re here. Do you have any idea where you are?” I shake my head truthfully, not entirely sure about anything right now.

“You’re in the Luna City. I’m guessing this was where you and your friends were heading?” I nod once again while picking up my cutlery, continuing to listen attentively, “Well, my full name is Isaac Night-“ he looks at Mato who nods back, prompting him to continue, “-I’m the Beta of the Shadow Pack. Have you heard of us?”

My body tenses as the realisation hits me. Dropping my fork, it clatters loudly against my plate while I look around the room—terrified by the dawning knowledge that each individual sat at my side belongs to the most notorious pack of wolves known throughout all of our kind. Feeling lightheaded, I watch as the trusting foundation I had recently built crumbles to pieces before me. Growing cold, my body quivers gently while I clasp onto the sturdy countertop—trying my best not to appear frightful while my mind flits through all of the rumours I had heard about them over time; recalling the fearsome stories of their former Alpha and the man that forcefully succeeded after him.

“Smooth, Isaac. Real smooth,” Dakota swivels on her seat to face me after watching my expression drastically switch, “-look at her. For someone who’s supposed to be smart, you lack a hell of an amount of common sense. You couldn’t think of a more of a tactful way around telling her, hm?” she tuts scornfully towards him, “Honestly, Willow. Please don’t panic. We’re not as bad as what everyone makes us out to be,” Dakota’s voice laces with earnest sympathy while she goes to place a hand on my tense arm; drawing back when I flinch away, “-we’re just here to look after you. Don’t freak out, hm?” she smiles genuinely, waiting for me to respond.

Looking into her eyes, I search for a reason to run, but despite how much I peer in, there’s nothing found to fear. Gulping down, I relax my shoulders and sink back into my chair before nodding back at Dakota acceptingly, trusting them as she urges me to do. With her rosy cheeks returning, Dakota turns back to her plate—satisfied with my answer before dishing herself some breakfast, contently going about her morning. Carrying on with what they were doing, the awkwardness that fell upon the room lifts while Mato continues to shift in his seat fidgetingly—twirling his fork amongst his eggs while biting his lip, almost as if he were holding back on saying something that he wished.

“What is it?” Isaac draws a long breath in anticipation, looking in no way ready to entertain what Mato is about to say while he rubs his temples as if already stressed.

“You can’t really blame her for that reaction. Your father didn’t exactly do us any favours when he was in charge,” Mato trails off while feeling the warmth radiate from Isaacs contemptuous scowl, “-but the Chief has helped a lot with that,” he quickly backtracks, “-you know, with what he’s doing for the city and stuff.”

“Do yourself a favour and just stop talking,” Dakota flatly warns her sibling, “-like, right now.”

“Yup. Got it,” Mato mockingly buttons his lip before taking a sip of his coffee guiltily.

“Anyway,” Isaac rubs his hands together, steering the conversation back on track, “-my brother, Elijah, hasn’t long taken over from our father. Given by that reaction of yours, you’ve probably heard what our old man was like, so I won’t burden you with any more horror stories about him. But, we’re trying our best to turn the pack around for the better and undo what our father did,” he admits truthfully while keeping eye contact, “-and I’d be lying if I said it’s gone smoothly because it hasn’t. We’re not the monsters that everyone continues to whisper about, I can assure you—we’re not him. I just want to make that clear.”

“How did he know?” Mato muses out loud while taking an overly large bite from his plate, lost in thought as he ponders over his unspoken questions—appearing disengaged by what we were discussing.

“Okay. Now you’ve lost me,” Dakota groans, “-what’re you going on about now?”

“Well, he knew exactly where she was that night. It’s strange, don’t you think? I didn’t think the whole connection stuff worked that way,” Mato murmurs dozily before swallowing down, his eyes still glued to his overflowing plate, “-I thought you had to meet each other before you felt anything the other did?”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Dakota snaps at Mato, causing him to awaken from his absent-minded rambling, “-hurry up and get back into your wolf form. Since you shifted, all you’ve done is put your foot in your mouth. Shut it already.”

“Whoops,” Mato raises another forkful to his mouth, dropping his head down towards his food as he refuses to meet his sister's thunderous stare.

“Anyway, Willow, how’re you settling in? I hope this place is satisfactory enough for you,” I pour myself a glass of orange juice while Isaac skilfully diverts the conversation once more, leaving me to nod back politely with no further time to think over what the siblings had just said.

“That’s good to hear. I’m glad, but don’t hesitate to let us know if there’s anything else that you need, okay?” Isaac kindly reminds me of Dakota’s earlier offer, “We decorated as much as we could before we brought you here from the hospital, seeing as the place still hadn’t sold. Elijah wasn’t too keen on leaving you there, so he thought a place of your own would make you feel safer, given what you’ve been through and all.”

“Unfortunately, other than that little wolf, I don’t have much more that I can tell you right now. I think it’s best if my brother explains the rest—it’ll probably make a bite more sense coming from him, anyway. But for now, just know that you’re safe,” Isaac begins to fill his empty plate.

“Tsk. Stop being so greedy. Learn to chew, you animal,” Dakota scoffs beneath her breath at her brother while throwing a crust of her unfinished toast towards him—disgusted by his lack of manners when he chomps even louder at his sister’s whining complaints, exposing a mouthful of chewed food in her direction grossly, “-ugh. You pig.”

“Eat up, Willow. It’ll get cold soon,” Mato splutters while glancing at my untouched plate as he clears his own, “-otherwise I might swipe it,” he jokes, causing those around the table to chuckle.

After allowing my tastebuds to explode from flavour, Isaac clears the table while Dakota leads me into the living room—guiding me towards the waiting box of movies sitting in front of the television, put there ready for the remainder of the day. Following his sister’s advice, Mato returns in his wolf form as he claims the corner seat of the sofa for himself before sinking in, defeated by his large breakfast while his eyes flutter tiredly. As we both sit down at each of his sides, he sprawls out between us lazily—keeping us warm when Isaac enters the room with a tray of steaming mugs. Placing them down, his eyes flicker over towards the ticking clock hanging on the wall while the powerful aroma of freshly ground coffee fills the air.

“Well, seeing as it’s only noon, we’ve got a few hours to kill before Elijah turns up. Who wants to pick what we should watch first?” Isaac beams while glancing across our faces eagerly.