The Wolf Of Penshaw Lake
Chapter 21

Why did I open my big, fat mouth? A whole year we had managed to keep away from prying eyes, able to stave off questions with one word answers and petty lies. All it took was for one incredibly handsome man to profess how much he likes me and I completely unravel. I sigh, tucking my legs up underneath me and resting my chin on my knees whilst Mason stands and paces in front of the swing.

“The run?” He states, clearly in disbelief. “Why are you on the run?”

I panic. Nobody is supposed to know. I try to think of a quick lie, but nothing escapes my mouth. I currently look like a goldfish, my mouth opening and closing as I try and stutter out a sentence. I shake my head, as though that simple action will stop Mason from his incessant pacing.

“Stop pacing,” I choose to say instead. “You’re making me dizzy.”

Mason stops. He stands in front of me and kneels on the grass, not caring that his jeans will be full of grass stains. I grimace at them as they sink into the soft ground.

“You’re going to ruin your jeans,” I tell him.

Mason sighs, “I don’t care about my jeans. Tell me, why are you on the run?”

Okay. There is no getting past him on this question.

“It’s nothing really,” I laugh breezily, “Honestly, it’s not that big of a deal. You were saying? About liking me?”

Trying to skirt around the subject earns me a low growl from Mason. Since when did men growl anyway? The low rumbles came from the middle of his chest and he grits his teeth together as though trying to stop the sound from coming out at all.

“Stop dancing around the subject Sophie.”

Definitely wrong. All wrong coming from his mouth. It sounded as though he was addressing somebody else.

“Heidi,” I correct.

“Stop dancing around the subject,Heidi,” He repeats.

Yes, that is so much better. I can feel my toes curl involuntarily in my shoes as he tries out my name on his tongue. I nod, but I can see we are getting nowhere and it’s beginning to get cold.

“Can we go back inside?” I ask and Mason places his hands on my thighs, his fingers squeezing through the soft, black material of my work trousers and into my skin. Really, it feels as though there is no material there at all, reminding me of how his fingers skimmed up my leg that night after our date.

“Tell me now,” He orders.

I drop my shoulders in defeat. Mason wasn’t going to let the subject slide. I couldn’t tell him about Dan. It was far too risky and if something ever went wrong with Mason? No, I couldn’t ever tell anyone about Dan. Not while he was still, possibly, looking for us.

“My mum was seeing some guy, really briefly, and it went wrong and he tried to hurt her so she panicked and dragged me out here.”

Nice. It wasn’t a lie as such, more of a general stretch of the original truth.

“Are you in danger?” He demands, his deep, black eyes focusing on my own.

I shake my head, “I don’t think so. It’s been a long time.”

Mason visibly relaxes, and I follow suit, glad he bought it. If he reacted so strongly to that little snippet of information, he would surely hunt down and kill Dan if knew what he had done to me. I place my hand on Mason’s cheek, who is still knelt down in front of me, and tilt his head up to look at me once more.

“I’m safe here, with you. Right?”

Mason stands up and goes to sit back down on the swing. I think he is just going to sit next to me, but he surprises me by lifting me up by my hips and straddling my legs either side of his body. He keeps his hands on my hips, stopping me from moving.

“You have never been safer,” He reassures me. “I will never let anybody hurt you.”

With a newfound confidence I never knew I had, I lean down and press my lips gently upon Mason’s. They are soft and full and there’s no mistaking the pure pleasure I feel as Mason places one hand on my back to trap me against him. His lips brush delicately against mine, as though he is trying to restrain himself. I let out a small, breathy moan against his lips and his hands impossibly tighten around my waist. He quickly decides against the soft, sensual kiss and hungrily begins to embrace me, passion igniting within my core as I fist my hand in his hair. Mason moans and nothing in this world has ever sounded sexier.

Without noticing, my hips begin grinding against his pelvis, clearly with a mind of their own. I can feel Mason’s erection beneath his jeans. Hard. Aroused. Powerful. The feeling of him beneath me sends my brain into overdrive. I want him, I don’t care that we are still on the swing, in his garden, in daylight.

“We need,” he pants, “To stop.”

“No,” I breathe, “We don’t.”

Mason’s hips rise up to meet mine and I tilt my head back at the desire running through my blood. I feel Mason’s fingers continue to dig into my flesh and his mouth at my neck, his teeth running across the soft, supple skin that lies there. But suddenly, the desire turns to pain as his fingers prod painfully into my sides and his teeth feel like blades against my skin. I pull away, but it only results in his fingers stabbing me in the sides.

I cry out in pain and this time, Mason pulls away. In shock, I stare at his face, only it is not Mason anymore. His normally beautiful, straight teeth are now home to sharp, dangerous canines and his fingers have elongated into claws that have broken the skin in my flesh and caused warm, red blood to run down my hips.

I do the only thing possible in this situation.

I scream.

And run.

I leap from Mason’s body and pelt my whole body into the woods behind the swing. I pant through the tears, pumping my legs as fast as they can go. The branches whip me in the face and the roots trip me, as though to make it harder for me to get away. With my heart on overdrive, I barely notice the sound of crashing behind me until it is nearly upon me.

I was never a runner. Not as a child, not as a teenager and de finitely not now as an adult. I was the kind of girl who hung back during sports lessons to talk to her friends, lightly jogging if the teacher ever shouted our way. But never a runner. Not even the fear and adrenaline pumping through my veins can allow me to run forever and soon I begin to slow.

Which is when a monstrous, black mass overtakes and sends me skidding to a halt. I hold a hand to my heart, as though to stop it from leaping out of my chest as I take in the sight before me. Midnight, black fur. A mouth full of razor sharp teeth dripping saliva as black eyes stare hungrily at me. It stands defensively, with four huge paws digging into the dirt beneath me.

It’s funny. I always thought Dan would be the one to eventually kill me. I used to imagine what would happen if I ever escaped Dan, found love and settled down. Would I die happily of old age? Or would it be illness?

Never, did my imagination ever take me to this scenario. That I would die by the hands of a wolf.

I hold my hands out in front of it, fully aware of the tears cascading down my cheeks as I try to back up. A twig snaps behind me and it growls, as though warning me not to take another step.

“Okay, okay,” I whisper. “God, please don’t hurt me.”

Where was Mason? I had half a mind to scream for him, until realising what had happened to him. The canines. The claws. His eyes.

No. It wasn’t possible.

This wolf was absolutely NOT Mason. I stared at it, but it made no move to attack me. Instead it dropped its head in submission and lay down. I gulped, was it tricking me? Waiting for me to run so it could play chase? Did wolves even play with their food? It looked up at me and cocked its head to the side. If I wasn’t in a life or death situation, I would found the move cute. Suddenly, it stands back up on all four paws and stretches its legs, making itself even larger than it was before.

A crack sounds out, echoing through the trees. Followed by another, and another. I watch in grotesque curiosity as the wolf’s fur replaces itself with skin, the paws replace themselves with hands and before I know it, Mason is crouched in front of me.

Completely naked.

He stands, his hands outstretched in front of me in surrender.

“I won’t hurt you,” He states, taking a step forward.

“Don’t!” I cry, taking two steps back. “Don’t come near me.”

Mason’s eyes are full of sorrow, but I can’t concentrate on that right now. Mason is a werewolf. Werewolves exist. And yet, here I am still having nightmares about a human man. Spending half of my life terrified of one human man and now I’m standing in front of fiction’s most powerful, mythical beast.

“Please,” I choke, my voice stuck behind the lump in my throat, “Please just let me out of here. I won’t tell anyone I swear.”

“Heidi,” He tries again, reaching out his arm for me. “Heidi, please let me explain.”

I shake my head, the sobs now escaping my mouth, I can’t focus enough to stop them.

“What are you?” I ask.

“A lycan,” Mason explains.

“What’s a lycan?”

“Humans refer to them in popular culture as werewolves, but it is not our correct term. Lycanthrope is the correct way to refer to our species.”

“You can turn into a wolf,” I state, the obvious clearly not registering in my mind, blocked out by the shock.

“Yes.”

“But it’s not a full moon,” I reply with a frown.

Mason has the audacity to let out a small laugh. “We do not need the moon. We are simply both human and wolf. Many of us choose to live our lives as wolves where we can, living in dense forest or unpopulated areas. Alaska, I know, is home to many lycan packs who spend most of their days as regular wolves.

However, the moon does affect us in some ways. A full moon activates our lycan side more powerfully. We can’t always control the shift. We get angry and irritable. I do not feel the affects of it as younger wolves may.”

Whilst Mason talks, I try and plan my escape route. My only trouble is that I am completely lost in the middle of the forest.

“You won’t hurt me, right?”

Mason shakes his head, “It would kill me to harm you.”

His voice sounds geninue and sincere, but I have no idea if he is really telling the truth. I sniff and wipe my eyes, looking back in the direction that I came.

“Will you show me the way out?”

Mason nods and starts walking back in the direction that we came. I make sure to place distance between us, although I know if he decides to change his mind; I’m good as dead.

The forest soon thins and I can see the gravel of the road and the red brick of houses. A familiar road is soon upon us and I can see that Mason has brought us out by the manor.

“Come inside. We can explain everything to you.”

“We?” I gasp.

“My family,” Mason explain, as though it is obvious.

I shake my head. One man turning into a wolf is enough for my lifetime.

“Please just let me go home, I need to think,” I tell him.

Mason softens and he looks torn. Then, he nods quietly.

“I can give you until tomorrow, but then you must speak with my family. Please,” he adds desperately, “Do not tell anybody. The risks are far greater for you than for us.”

I wasn’t going to tell a soul. Nobody would believe me anyway. I just had to get out of here and with our running expertise, I knew getting away would be time critical. I hastily walk away from Mason, relieved to find that he turns away and heads back into the manor. I speed my walk up to a jog and then a sprint, finally reaching the door of the B&B. I unlock it and crash through, locking it behind me.

I stand against the door, my heart thumping through my chest. My eyes were threatening to fill with tears, but I didn’t have the time. I could cry when I was safe. Mum was with Jane, I could send her a text when I was out to...

I stop. Jane was Mason’s mother.

Mum.

Was mum in danger? Could I leave her? Mum didn’t know. She would be safe if she didn’t find out. I had to believe she would be ok.

I found my backpack beneath my bed and started throwing necessities inside. It was scary, really, how naturally packing light came to me. Money, phone, identification. A couple of shirts, underwear and a pair of trousers. Jeans were too bulky. I swapped the black, ballet pumps on my feet for trainers and changed out of my work uniform, instead choosing to wear a long-sleeved top, plain, black leggings and a baseball cap. Not much of a disguise, but considering I never wore them, it would surely throw them off the scent. My hair, tied up in a messy ponytail would also hopefully stop me from being easily recognised.

A sudden thought struck me. Did wolves have a heightened sense of smell? That’s what all the books and TV taught me. I sprayed mum’s perfume all over my body, choking on the overpowering smell. I then sprayed my clothes with a strong, cheap deodorant, hoping it would mask my scent.

Mason said he would give me until tomorrow.

I had twenty four hours to get out of Penshaw Lake and disappear from him for good.

But something told me that Mason wanted me even more than Dan, and would stop at nothing to find me.

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