Just a Rogue

Not Just A Wolf

Evan

I’m barely present as my wolf runs. All I want is to lose myself, not have to think, not have to worry, vanish into the back of my wolf’s mind. I want to be just a wolf.

Even though I’ve let my wolf take charge, and normally he’d just run forever if I let him, after a few minutes he slows down.

He apparently has other ideas.

A couple of miles away from the packhouse, he says, “You do know this is idiotic, right?”

I don’t care. I try to stay silent, stay submerged, refuse to surface, avoid facing my problems. But he won’t let me. Rather than continuing to run, he completely stops moving, drops to the mulchy earth here under the pine and oak trees, and lays his head on his paws.

I sulk, and he waits.

After several minutes, I sense that he is starting to fall asleep, and if he does I will, and I reluctantly realize that taking a big nap all afternoon in the middle of the forest is not going to accomplish anything. The plan will move forward without me, and even worse, I will be wasting what little time I have left with Corinne.

Also, I’m running off like a spoiled brat, concerned only with my own hurt feelings, while Corinne is doing the most selfless thing I’ve ever heard of. I’m leaving her to deal with it on her own, not supporting her like I should be. Am I helping her, protecting her, comforting her, contributing in any way? No. What an asshole I’m being.

“Figured that out, did you?” my wolf snarkily observes.

I sigh, only mentally of course, my body still under his control. I can’t just pretend that the rogue plan isn’t happening. I can’t just ignore the whole thing and let my wolf remain in charge of our body. I’m not just a wolf.

No, sadly, I’m a man too. And to be a real man, I have to live up to my responsibility to take care of my woman. This is no way to demonstrate my love and concern for her.

“Take us back,” I tell my wolf glumly.

He quickly gets us back to the fenceline, thankfully remaining silent now that I’ve come to my senses. After I shift back, wondering how I am going to avoid walking naked in front of everybody through the packhouse to my room, I see that Corinne and Dom and Amelia are conveniently sitting outside near the fence. Thank goodness.

Dom immediately does what I ask and fetches some clothes for me, and I am really grateful that none of them even mention what just happened. Instead, Dom and Amelia make themselves scarce, leaving me alone with Corinne.

This is certainly working out better than I could have hoped. There’s even food, and I’m starving - being a wolf burns a lot of calories and makes you very hungry.

There is an awkward silence as I pick up one of the sandwiches, then at the exact same instant, Corinne and I say the exact same thing.

“I’m sorry.”

It breaks the ice a little, this funny coincidence. A tiny smile comes to her face, and it makes her look even more beautiful, and even more tragic. She lets me go first.

“I’m sorry for running off like that,” I apologize. “I won’t do it again. I’m going to help you get through this. I’ll do anything to make sure that you come through it safely.”

She nods, and her face screws up for a second like she is going to cry, but she controls herself. I imagine she’s had a lot of practice doing that. “I’m sorry this is so hard for you,” is what she wants to apologize for, thinking as always not of herself, but of someone else. “I know you didn’t want me to go, and I’m really glad that you stopped me when I tried before. But this is what I have to do, and the packs are going to help me. What you stopped wouldn’t have worked, but I think this way it might.”

I nod. I’m done trying to talk her out of anything. I just want to help her. So I ask, “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do to help you?”

She nods, and this time she can’t keep the tears from brushing her eyelashes. She wipes them away with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. It always makes me so happy to see her wearing it. Especially now, when I can’t touch her, if she’s at least wearing my shirt, my arms are around her, in a way. Right?

But then I watch with dismay as she reaches in front of herself, crosses her wrists at the bottom of the sweatshirt, and pulls it over her head. She sets it on the table and pushes it over to me. “Can you hang onto this for me?” she asks.

I start to protest, but before I get the chance to tell her yet again to keep it, she says, “I can’t have it with me. It smells too much like you still, even though I’ve been wearing it for a week. I can’t have anything on me that smells like anyone in the pack.”

Stricken, I put my hand on it. I realize that she’s right, but this takes away the one thing that made me feel like I was still connected to her. She says, very softly, “But can you….” then she hesitates.

“Can I what?” I ask immediately. “Anything. Ask me anything.”

She whispers, “Can you wear it? It’ll be like I am still with you, in a way. And when I come back, you can give it back to me, and it will smell like you all over again.” Her lovely brow furrows as she watches me, her gray eyes clear and smooth like a fogbank in front of the sun.

I immediately put the shirt on. It smells like her.