The Mates of Monsters

Chapter 21

Part 2

I think I fell in love with the idea of running away when my grandfather was dying and we traveled to see him. All of it was so exciting; the airport, the commotion, the flight. The moment the plane pushed from the ground and that strange floating feeling spiked in my gut, I was hooked. My eyes never left the window.

My father was apprehensive about the whole thing, but he wouldn't dare keep my mother from saying one last goodbye to her father. While he was quiet and reserved the entire time, I knew being around humans and pretending to be one of them wasn't his style. Like David, he is prideful in what he is, who he is, and the traditions he so passionately keeps alive. It's our culture, our sense of self, and he liked these distinctions between us and them. Humans were so painfully singular—selfish, he would say. The structure of the pack depended on togetherness—communication, trust, and all of the things he so elegantly and professionally instilled in my young mind.

Most of the time, I wished he would simply be my father. I wish he would have taught me these things instead of lecturing them. But I'm grown now, and another man has taken me from my father's nest.

I think about this special trip as David and I travel to the secluded meeting place of Alphas and Lunas from all over. We take a small plane out of a private airport and fly up north, further north than my old pack, and further than I have ever thought about going. The clouds are dense and sink low to the earth, rendering the view outside the windows as nothing but an off-white, grey mist. I touch my fingers to it and feel the chill.

The last thing I can recall before David is waking me up, telling me that we're landing, is the rustling and jolting of the plane—how it feels different with my eyes closed.

David stays close as we exit the plane. Other than the long strip of cement, there is an off-roading vehicle and nothing else. I do a bit of a spin as I scan the horizon. It's flat—tan, tough grass powdered with snow and sprinkled with boulders here and there. There is nowhere to hide, and only to the south do I see the blue outline of mountains. It's utterly wild; a nature documentary come to life right under my feet. If the cold bothered me, I'm sure the sharp breeze would herd me back up into the plane like a proper human.

The pilot of the plane leaves us and the role of our guide is taken over by the nameless owner of the vehicle. He and David collect the luggage and toss it into the back of the car as I wander a little off of the road. I squint as I try to decipher whether or not that is an ocean to the North.

"Brigette," David calls, and I hurry over.

As the driver takes us to where we need to be, I ask, "Do you live here?"

The man—rough and bearded with skin as thick as a seal's—says, "I do. To the west, there's a small town, only about a hundred or so people. It's a port town, not so bad for a man like me."

"You're a fisherman?"

"Used to be, back when I was younger, before I gone and hurt my back."

I realize we're driving east. David places his hand on my knee, and when I turn to him, I find him looking at me. "Are you doing alright?" He asks.

"Yeah. I kind of like it out here. It's—well, it's kind of peaceful."

"It's the only reason to be out this far," the man says. "People this far are either wild at heart or hiding from something. Usually, it's not so hard to tell."

I smile a bit. He must be some kind of wild to knowingly and willingly be around beings like us.

The place he takes us reminds me of a historic castle or fort from times long before my own. One large stone building grows out of the icy terrain like something from a fantasy, and surrounding it are others ranging in different architectural periods—none later than 1900.